About twenty swift laps in, she catches sight of me on a breath. She swims my way to the edge of the pool. Lifting her goggles atop her head, she rests her elbows on the ledge and meets my gaze. A wicked glint lights her cat-green eyes.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the gopher.”

I simmer. “My name is Zoey.”

“Just hanging out?”

“Yeah, just hanging out.”

“You should come in for a swim. The water is warm and delicious. And God knows, you sure could use the exercise.”

The insult stings, but I bite back my tongue. “I’m not dressed for a swim.” And it’s not my thing.

“Just take off your clothes and go for a skinny dip. Or should I say fatty dip.” She laughs at her own cleverness.

Rage whips through my bloodstream like an angry cobra. I want to sink my fangs into her. But I can’t. She’s my boss’s fiancée.

“Katrina, I’m going to head in.”

Her face darkens. “Please don’t. We need to have a little chat.”

“There’s nothing to chat about.”

Her eyes narrow into poisonous arrows. “I don’t like you hanging around Brandon so much. I want you to stop it.”

“That’s my job and I don’t take orders from you.”

“Well, you better get used to it because soon I’m going to be the boss of this house.”

I’ve had enough. “I’m leaving.”

Katrina scowls at my defiance. “Show a little respect, Zo-eeeey.”

“Excuse me.” I push myself off the chaise to a standing position.

“Don’t leave me.”

I don’t respond and start to walk away.

“Excuse me. Do you have a hearing problem? I said not to leave.”

On my next step, I feel a cold clamp clutching my ankle. I look down. It’s Katrina. I try to free my foot from her grip, but her hand grasps it tight like a shackle.

“Let go!” I yell, struggling to free myself.

“Bitch! You’re not going anywhere.”

Tightening her grip, she yanks my ankle so forcefully I lose my balance, and on my next breath, I’m flying into the deep end of the pool. I hit the water hard and open my mouth to scream, but as I go under, the warm salt water rushes in, choking me, burning my throat. Tumbling in all directions, I somehow manage to rise to the surface.

“Enjoy your little swim,” snickers Katrina as she hoists herself out of the pool.

Flailing, I plead, “Don’t leave me.”

She looms above me and scoffs. “Funny, that’s just what I said to you.”

My head goes back under. Water rushes through my mouth and my nose, this time filling and searing my lungs. I frantically wave my hands and kick my legs in all directions. I rise to the surface again, only to see Katrina loping toward her robe. Terror fills me.

“Katrina,” I shout out. “Come back! I can’t swim.”

She ignores me. Panic sets in.

Oh, God! I’m drowning! I’m going to die the same way my mother did.

The weight of my soaked sweatshirt—and pure panic—pulls me under again. I try breathing through my nose, only to have more water break in and enter my lungs. The terrifying cycle repeats itself. I manage to surface, but it’s only a few seconds until I’m back under. More water gathers in my lungs, permeating and burning every crevice.

Gasping for air, I resurface, my head barely above the water. I struggle not to sink back under, but I’m literally and figuratively in over my head. I shout out another desperate plea for help. I glimpse Katrina, smirking. Tears of despair gather in my eyes.

In full-blown panic mode, my mind races. Think, Zoey. Think! If I could only grab on to the edge. It’s my only hope. But all my thrashing is pulling me farther and farther away, closer to the middle of the pool. I feel helpless and hopeless. And I’m growing exhausted.

This time when I go under, I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe it’s just a nightmare. A bad dream. This can’t be happening to me. No, it can’t be! It’s not my time. I try to wish it away. But as more water seeps through my lungs, my horrid reality sets back in. I don’t know how to swim. The pool is my nemesis. I’m a drowning fool.

When my head slices through the water, I blink open my eyes and see Katrina hovering over me. A smug smile plays on her lips.

“Katrina, please! Help me!” I choke. Tears pour from my stinging eyes.

She sneers. “You are so pathetic.”

I grow desperate. “Help! Help! Help!” Maybe God will hear me and rescue me.

He doesn’t because after my next fading cry for help I’m under again. My lungs are aching. It feels like my chest is going to burst because the air wants to come out so badly. But I don’t want to let it go. It’s the only air I have. For the first time, I notice swirls of colorful lights beneath the water. Suddenly, I feel like I’m suffocating, drowning in a sea of Kool-Aid. And then, a peacefulness washes over me. I’m floating. I belong to the water now. To my astonishment, I see my mother’s serene face, her long Celtic-red hair fanned out all around her. She’s floating toward me, her slender arms extended with those beautiful fingers beckoning me. I reach out for them. Oh, Mama! You’ve come back for me. We’re together again!

“Baby girl, I’m going to take you to Papa.” Her melodic voice ripples in my ears.

A vortex of white light shrouds me and then I sink into a black abyss.

Brandon

After the focus group, I drive straight home. Before I dive into the season finale, I need to finish reading the script that’s shooting this week and go over my lines. In just two days, I’ll be on the set again, something that both excites and unnerves me.

I pull my car into my garage and head into my adjoining house. I step into the kitchen and go straight to the fridge. I swing open the door and pull out a beer. Then, I meander to the living room. The sides that Zoey printed out are still on the coffee table where I left them. Twisting open the bottle cap, I sink into the couch and take a swig.

I haven’t seen my assistant since the Katrina incident. After coming back from her meeting with her father, she avoided me like the plague and figured out a way to get all my requests done without having to see me. Maybe I should have asked her to undress me, but the smart-mouth would have probably told me: “Taking your clothes off is not part of my contract.” Nah-nah-nah-nah! The truth, disrobing me probably isn’t one of her job requirements. Whoever negotiated this contract should have their ass fired.

My eyes shift to my sides. An uplifting thought crosses my mind. It’s almost a light bulb moment. I can ask her to rehearse my lines with me. She told me she does that as part of her job. Setting the beer down next to the sides folder, I slip my phone out from my jeans pocket and text her.

I need u to help me with my lines. I’m home.

I hit send and wait for a response. Nada. The little tease is playing games with me again. Tick. Tick. Tick. My patience is wearing thin. I text her again.

COME NOW!

My cock twitches as I type those two shouty words. And my pulse quickens. Why does this girl affect me? Considering Katrina and the gorgeous women I’ve been associated with in the past, she’s definitely not my type. Plus, she’s got the bristly personality of a porcupine. I’m always waiting for her to shower me with quills. Yet, inexplicably, I’m attracted to her—her lush curves and her sharp wit. Her fine ass and sass trump Katrina’s fine bones and class.

Once again, she doesn’t respond. From where I’m sitting, I can glimpse her little house and the lights are out. Maybe she’s sleeping and doesn’t hear her phone. Or has it turned off. Or maybe she’s out with her boyfriend again. The unsettling thought rattles me. Mental note: Talk to her tomorrow and make it crystal-clear she must tell me where she is and what she’s doing at all times. Maybe throw in some restrictions. Like you can’t see your boyfriend while working for me.