Under Pressure(6)

Asher clung desperately to the excuse she’d given him. “You know I can’t talk about our missions with the SEALs.”

She shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. Or not exactly. Just...how did you guys become friends, start the business?”

“All right.”

Asher took a deep breath. With Kennedy close, he suddenly felt as if he was going to suffocate sitting in this tiny room.

She frowned at him, creases forming right between her eyes. He could imagine the disappointment that would fill them when she finally realized he was about to ruin everything.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he gritted out, not meaning it at all. But he wasn’t about to tell her the truth.

Her whiskey eyes toured his face. Years of practice allowed Asher to clamp down on his reactions, forcing a calm he didn’t feel to settle over his features.

Her mouth compressed into a tight line, but before she could say anything more, Daniel squeezed between them.

“Kennedy has explained what I’m looking for?”

“Yes,” Asher answered, forcefully pulling his gaze away from Kennedy.

“Excellent.”

Everyone backed away from him, and for the first time since walking into the room, his personal space was his own. He’d wanted that, but the relief was short-lived when the people who’d crowded in scuttled off to the edges of the room.

They were lined up against the wall, out of the line of the camera, but available should they be needed.

And they were all staring at him. Silent. Waiting.

He’d lived through this nightmare before. Sitting in the middle of a classroom with all the kids around him playing witness to his humiliation and failure. Impatience oozing from them because he couldn’t open his mouth and get a simple goddamn word past his uncooperative vocal cords to answer the teacher.

The frustration and resentment.

But this was different than those moments. So much worse. Everything he said and did would not only be witnessed by these people, but recorded and reflected back. Every flaw and gaffe magnified for the entire world to see.

He’d faced down terrorists, bombers—men, women and, hell, children—who’d wanted to kill him merely because of who he was and what he represented. With the SEALs he’d gained a reputation for having ice in his veins, walking into the most chaotic situations with a confidence that bordered on insanity.

Because he trusted in his training, his skills and those of the men fighting beside him.

It was terrifying not to be able to trust his own body to perform the way it should. Not to have the skills to conquer the irrational fear roiling inside of him because of a stupid inanimate object—a camera.

He would not lose his shit now. Not over this.

Swallowing the gigantic lump that was trying to suffocate him, Asher’s gaze found the expectant eye of the lens...and Kennedy. She stood several feet behind the camera positioned on the large metal frame.

To her left the director said, “Action.”

To her right the camera moved. Asher’s system flooded with adrenaline. His senses, dialed up to a ten already, kicked into overdrive.

His fingers curled around the edge of the desk, the wood biting into his skin hard enough to leave marks.

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

The director cut a glance at Kennedy, who frowned and shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

“Asher, why don’t you start by telling us who you are and how you got involved with Trident Diving?”

He nodded, swallowed and tried again. But nothing came out.

Shit.

The quiet that had descended over the room began to fade. Feet shuffled. Someone murmured. Somewhere paper fluttered.

He wasn’t going to be able to do this.

The memory of every humiliation he’d ever experienced because of his failures came flooding back to him. His struggle to be understood through the debilitating stutter that all the experts claimed was psychological, but that he couldn’t seem to stop. Each time he’d seen sorrow, frustration and disappointment in his grandmother’s eyes when therapy didn’t work. His inability to make his mom happy. Make her stay. Walking into his home, after being gone for months, to find it absolutely empty of everything but the divorce papers Krista had left for him.

“Fuck this,” he growled, shoving away from the desk and stalking toward the door. He didn’t need to add another failure to a list that was already plenty long.

No one tried to stop him. The crowd stared even as they parted to let him pass. He didn’t look at any of them.

He didn’t need to.

The expression of utter horror on Kennedy’s face was enough.

* * *

HOLY HELL, WHAT had just happened?

One minute Asher had been leaning against the desk looking all remote, brooding and eminently lickable, and the next he’d been cursing and storming out.

The second he disappeared every eye in the place turned to her. She had no clue what to say.

Daniel scowled at her. “What was that?”

She shook her head, at a complete loss. “I have no idea.”

“Ms. Duchane, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how valuable our time is. Every minute we sit idle costs the company money. No one is going to be happy about this. Our entire show revolves around that man.” He pointed out the door.

“I’ll fix this.”

“You better. No one at Naughton Media was thrilled when your brother backed out.”

Yeah, neither was she, but there wasn’t much she could do about it.

“I have just as much invested in this as you do, Daniel.” Maybe more since her entire future hinged on this going well. If the documentary faltered her position in Seattle could be in jeopardy.

Kennedy pulled in some much-needed oxygen, hoping it would settle her own jangling nerves.

“Look, I just need a little time to figure out what’s going on.” Turning fully toward him, she placed her hand on his arm and pressed into his personal space. It was a calculated tactic, but one she didn’t feel a smidge of remorse for employing.

She’d do whatever she had to in order to fix this.

“It isn’t like you can just pack up and leave.”

She realized maybe those weren’t the best words she could have chosen when Daniel’s mouth went tight.

“I’ll take care of it,” she promised again.

She didn’t wait for Daniel to react before pushing through the people clustered at the doorway.

She stood in the hallway for several seconds, scrolling through a list of places in her head that Asher could have disappeared to. His room was a logical choice, but he’d realize that and probably avoid it. There was the upper deck, but it wouldn’t provide much in the way of privacy. The captain was in the wheelhouse steering the Amphitrite. The galley and mess were rejected pretty much before she’d thought of them because everyone went there when they had time off.

Where would he go?

In a flash, it hit her. When Jackson was frustrated, he turned to the water. When Knox needed to clear his head, he took his car out on to the open road. On more than one occasion she’d found Asher in an empty office at Trident, the guts of several guns spread out across the desk as he painstakingly cleaned each one.

The only problem was empty space was at a premium. Luckily, she knew a little secret.

Instead of heading toward the open deck, Kennedy strode farther down the hall, away from the fresh air and light. Down a tight set of stairs at the back of the hallway.

The noise of the engines rumbled louder and louder, but she ignored it. The vibration running through her chest was more difficult to dismiss.

The space was dark and damp and uncomfortably warm from the combination of tropical heat and running engines. Her clothes began to cling to her skin.

There was a small room that most people didn’t even know was down here. They stored spare parts for the ship, tools, equipment that was rarely used.

And a small table she’d never understood the need for. She did now.

Jerking open the door, she was pleased when her hunch proved correct. Asher didn’t even look up as he continued to break apart the piece in his hands.

She couldn’t help but watch his dexterous fingers sliding across the smooth metal with authority and familiarity.

What would those hands feel like on her skin?

Kennedy pushed the question away, refusing to acknowledge that it even existed.

“What the hell happened back there?” she asked.

His hot gaze flicked up to hers for a brief moment before dropping back to his task.

At least he didn’t try to pretend he had no clue what she was talking about...he simply ignored her. Kennedy thought maybe that was worse.

Her temper flared, which wasn’t anything new with this man. There was something about Asher that got under her skin, pulled a reaction from her that seemed too big to control.

What was it about him that drew her in even as she realized the only result would be pain, irritation and probably humiliation?

Today, she’d had enough.

Stalking forward, Kennedy stopped on the opposite side of the table from him. Without hesitation, she leaned over and snatched the gun out of his hand.

He reached after her, trying to grab it back. She might be small, but she was quick, and the table stood between them.

“Give that back,” he growled. “You could hurt yourself.”

“Please.” To prove her point, Kennedy studied the weapon for a moment, scooped up the missing parts from the table and quickly reassembled the piece.