CEO Booked A Fishing Trip To Unwind. He Never Expected To Fall For The Woman Running The
Finding the Calm within the Storm
The first hour was rough. Ferris hated the rocking, the wind messing up his hair, and that Brier seemed to enjoy watching him struggle with the fishing rod like it was a toddler’s toy.
“Try not to let it go overboard,” she said, casually sipping from a battered thermos.
“I run one of the largest financial firms in Boston,” he muttered, gripping the pole. “This shouldn’t be hard.”
She laughed low and unbothered. “Out here, the fish don’t care about your portfolio.”
He glanced at her leaning against the side rail, hair whipping in the breeze and sun catching on her cheekbones. There was something raw about her—no makeup, no filter, no pretense. He didn’t know what to do with that.
“You do this full-time?” he asked.
“Yep. Charter runs mostly. Sometimes I take locals out for lobstering or mackerel, whatever’s biting.”
“No crew?”
“No need,” she said. “I trust myself more than I trust anyone else.”
Ferris nodded, eyes scanning the horizon. “I get that.”
She turned toward him. “You. Me. What? What made you book a fishing trip alone? You don’t look like you’ve ever touched bait in your life.”
He cracked a smile. “I needed a break. I haven’t taken a real vacation in seven years. My assistant forced me to come.”
Brier raised an eyebrow. “Seven years? What, you allergic to fun?”
“Something like that.”
The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t awkward; it was calm. It was the kind of quiet Ferris hadn’t experienced in a long time. Then his rod jerked violently, and he nearly dropped it.
“Woah! What?”
“Reel it in!” Brier shouted, lunging forward. “Don’t let it slack!”
He fumbled, trying to follow her instructions, but the fish was fighting hard.
“Keep the tip up higher! No, not like that, you’re going to snap it!”
She grabbed his hands, steadying the rod with her own. Her body pressed close to his, her breath on his neck, her hands over his. Together they reeled. The fish broke the surface seconds later, a silver flash.
Brier whooped. “Nice one!” she said, grinning wide. “You got a striped bass.”
Ferris looked at her, heart pounding—not from the fish, but from her. That night they docked at a quiet inlet where she anchored.
“You can sleep below deck,” Brier said, tossing him a pillow. “It’s not the Ritz, but it doesn’t leak.”
Ferris stared at the stars above them.
“Mind if I stay up a bit?”
She nodded. “Suit yourself.”
She joined him on the bow, sitting cross-legged beside him.
“You always do overnight charters?” he asked.
“Only when I like the company.”
He turned to her. “So you like me now?”
She met his eyes. “You’re tolerable for a guy who wears cologne to fish.”
He laughed, then looked at her longer. “You’re not like anyone I’ve met.”
“That’s probably a good thing.”
“I mean it,” he said.
Her expression softened. He didn’t know what came over him, but he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She didn’t pull away.
Her voice dropped. “You’ll be gone in the morning. Back to your big city boardrooms.”
“Maybe I don’t want to go back tomorrow.”
She looked at him, eyes searching his. “Then don’t.”
Suddenly, for the first time in over a decade, Ferris Langston wasn’t thinking about stock prices or quarterly margins. He was thinking about her.
Ferris woke to the scent of salt and something sizzling. He pushed himself up and climbed to the deck. Brier stood over a stove, flipping something in a pan.
“You sleep like a rock,” she said.
“I don’t usually,” Ferris said. “Must have been the fresh air.”
“More like the exhaustion,” she said, passing him a plate of eggs and toast. “You looked like someone unplugged your battery last night.”
“What made you start doing this?” he asked.
“My dad ran charters out of this area for 30 years,” she said. “I grew up on the water, took over when he passed.”
“You ever think about leaving?”
“I did once,” she said. She moved to Portland, tried the office routine, even had a boyfriend who thought he could fix boats better than she could. “Didn’t stick.”
“What happened?”
“He wanted me to sell the boat,” she said. “I told him where to shove it.”
Rain tapped steadily against the cabin roof later that day. Ferris sat below deck, flipping through a weathered logbook of past fishing trips. He closed it just as Brier stepped down, hair damp.
“Storm’s passing slow,” she said. “We’ll be stuck here for a while.”
She moved to the galley and pulled down two mugs. “My mom used to make this when we got caught in storms. Said it kept the nerves warm.”
“You get nervous out here?”
“Not anymore,” she said. “But I used to. First few years, every time the wind shifted, I thought I’d end up in the rocks.”
“You ever actually crash?”
“Once,” she admitted. “Tore the rudder clean off. I sat on the deck in the pouring rain and cried until the Coast Guard found me.”
“That’s the kind of failure most people don’t come back from,” he said.
“I didn’t have a choice,” she said. “This boat’s all I had left. I’m not built for starting over. I’m built for holding on.”
“I walked away from a deal last week,” he said suddenly. “I walked out of the meeting midway through the pitch. Left the other partners at the table.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t trust them,” he said. “They wanted control. I’ve spent 12 years building that company from nothing, and I didn’t want to hand it over.”
“Good,” she said simply. “You trusted your gut.”
Hours later, the rain stopped. Ferris stepped onto the deck as the clouds broke, revealing a pale pink sky.
“You don’t have to stay,” she said finally. “When we get back to the mainland, I’ll drop you wherever you need.”
“You think I’m just passing through,” he said.
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m realizing maybe I’ve been chasing the wrong things,” he replied. “Being near you makes me want to stop running.”
“I don’t do halfway,” she said softly.
He stepped closer. “Neither do I.”
Their lips met—the inevitable collision of two people moving toward each other. The kiss was raw and certain.
“I’m not going back tomorrow,” he said.
“Good,” she whispered. “Because I wasn’t ready to let you go.”
