All At Sea

I don't pay any attention to the speaker in conference room two. The future of print media seems such an arbitrary thing to fixate on, despite Miss Grant's interest in it. No matter how people get their media, they will still want it. Why concentrate so fiercely about the form? Why panic that print's dying? So what? Be the best in the online world, then.

Miss Grant, though, is engrossed. Or maybe she's just a better actress than I give her credit for. I'm a mess of emotions. She cupped my cheek. She called me Kara.

And yet…she forbade me from sleeping with Marjorie, like she has a say in it. Such arrogance! How can she do that and think it's okay? Like this is something a boss can demand?

I see Marjorie in the corner of the room, propping open a door, preparing for the speech to end. They're doing Q&A now so it won't be much longer. Our eyes meet. She smirks at me.

I quickly skid my gaze back to Miss Grant, who is scribbling notes all over her program. She'll expect me to type them up for her later, and my head aches at the thought of turning her random scratch marks into coherent thoughts.

I peek again at the doors. Marjorie is standing beside a poster advertising a beautiful Fijian beach. She leans into it, taps it and points at me. Oh yes, that sounds every kind of divine.

Her smile becomes inviting…and seductive. Oh.

I swallow. My heart speeds up a little. Dare I? Just because Miss Grant orders a thing, doesn't make it so. Right?

Suddenly there's nothing I want more than to defy my imperious boss.

The speaker wraps up. I lean into Miss Grant, ignoring the subtle notes of her floral scent that has driven me wild for months.

"Miss Grant," I whisper. "Is there anything else you need before dinner?"

I try to look indifferent but she clearly knows me well. Her neck arcs a little. She pulls her glasses off. "Anxious to get to the beach, are we?"

"Maybe?" I give her a teasing smile. "We are in Fiji after all. But of course I'd only go if you don't need me any more for now."

"No," Miss Grant says firmly. She holds my eye, studies me for far too long, like she's deciding something. Something important. "I don't need you."

I stare at her, and pray to Rao my shock at the cold dismissal isn't showing. That was so… I mean there's little doubting the point of those cutting words. I'm just a minion. She's reminding me. Putting me back in my place, after my…lapses toward her.

She tosses her itinerary in my lap. "See that this is written up by tonight, though," Miss Grant tells me. She slides her glasses back on and adds. "Keira."

A part of me curls up into a tiny ball and wants to cry. A larger part of me is irritated with myself. I've always known, deep down, that this was one-sided. Now I know for sure. She's telling me, clearly, what I am to her. All I am. So I don't make an even bigger fool of myself.

Disappointment and embarrassment flood me, along with anger at her dismissiveness. "Yes, Miss Grant," I grind out. I rise and am gone from her side in moments. I don't want to stay anyway. Even the sight of her now feels toxic to my poor, vulnerable heart.

I lean against Marjorie as attendees file past her at the door.

"Ten minutes?" I whisper.

Her smile is wide. "Meet me by the tiki bar. I'll show you the best spot we can get some sun."

Why shouldn't I have someone who wants me, anyway? Or at least bask in their appreciation a little? My ego could use the warmth. And Miss Grant's chill is colder than Greenland. (And I know—I've been.)

I could bite my tongue out. Was it really necessary to say something so cold? Or be so brutal in my dismissal? I knew the moment I saw her face fall and eyes tighten that I crossed a line. My selfish interest in protecting myself seems to have hurt Kara quite badly.

I'm an old fool. I need to rectify this. I'm not entirely sure what to do. I can't encourage her crush, but I don't want her to feel…unappreciated and unremarkable. She could never be either of these things.

I pace our suite. Kara was gone before I got back here. Obviously she has a speed advantage on me, but I can't blame her for not wanting to be around someone who just told her she isn't needed.

Who does that?

Pouring myself a drink, I go to the window, and gaze at the soft swells of the ocean tumbling below. It's beautiful here. Relaxing. Peaceful in a way you just can't get in a city. Stress slides right off my shoulder blades. Or it should. I still feel tense.

My gaze falls to the assorted tourists, some in the water, some tanning on the sand. And two women in white timber deck chairs facing the sea. They're holding fruity drinks and laughing, heads tilted toward each other.

I'd know my assistant's silhouette any day. And the woman with her? Well. It seems Kara's beach companion is six foot tall, female, and a little… I frown… handsy.

I grit my teeth.

Fine.

She's her own woman. Despite what I told her, she can spend time with whomever she wishes. It's not like I wasn't aware she'd be seeking her own distractions on her downtime.

And did I, or did I not tell myself before we'd left, that I'd just stay in my room and let her have her fun?

They're laughing now. Heads bowed toward each other.

That's it. Desperate times, call for desperate measures. I virtually sprint for the phone.

I look up from my chat with Marjorie when I hear the sand shifting behind me, and the quiet murmur of voices. One in particular.

"Well here's a coincidence, wouldn't you say, Roger?" Miss Grant's voice sounds surprised, teasing and altogether too happy to actually belong to the boss I know well. It's her fakest let's-all-be-friends tone which she usually only foists on advertisers at parties.

She lightly slaps the tanned, barrel chest of the media magnate she'd been with earlier and he beams like car headlights.

What is she doing with Burns?

A stupid question. It's pretty obvious what she's doing with him. Flirting up a storm.

Marjorie's eyebrows shoot up. "Hello again, Cat. I didn't think I'd see you quite so soon." She looks amused about something. "Planning a dip?"

"Just taking in the view," Miss Grant decrees. She glances at the vacant deck chairs beside me, before shaking out her towel.

Then, like some Vogue model, she slowly removes her beach shirt with an elegant flourish, and situates herself on the lounger. Well, drapes might be a better word.

Cat Grant is wearing the smallest white bikini I've ever seen. Her skin is soft, supple and her petite frame settles on the towel. She is stunning. Roger Burns is staring, too. I relate to the charming idiot's thunderstruck look.

She stretches out her legs, wiggling her toes for her audience, then crosses her feet at the ankles. She turns ever so slightly toward her date, which gives me a side view of her ass. Her smooth and perfect ass, so pert it would put an apricot to shame.

My throat dries like a dusty road and I hastily slurp my drink.

"Thirsty?" Miss Grant asks. Her head lolls back to face me. Even that she seems to make languid and graceful.

I drain the rest of the drink. "It's hot," is all I can think to say.

"Oh, it is." Her eyes trace my body, draped in a black tankini, and I feel like she has her own X-ray vision. It's like fingers have trailed all across my skin. I break out into goose bumps which would be embarrassing if not for my confusion. I dart a look at her face but she seems unaware of what she's doing, or doing to me.

I exhale and turn to Marjorie to escape that evocative gaze. Only to find an intensely curious one on my right.

"It comes with Fiji," Marjorie is saying.

I blink, having no idea what she's talking about.

"Beautiful skies, hot weather." She pauses, raking her eyes over me. "Glorious views."

I blush furiously now, having completely forgotten her interest in me, so it comes as a shock. And, of course, that's what I do these days. Turn myself into a stop light. My God, it's getting tedious. I swing my gaze back to Miss Grant whose eyes are narrowed and fixed on Marjorie. It's a lethal look, one I've not seen often.

There's so much heat between them I'm starting to wonder if Miss Grant lied. Maybe she has some interest in Marjorie after all.

"I'm surprised to see you here," Miss Grant drawls to Marjorie. "I'd have thought with your organization sponsoring the conference you'd be too busy prepping the upcoming events."

"Never too busy to make new friends," she says, waving my way. "Besides, there's nothing more planned until the evening. And anything else that comes up? Well, that's what we have assistants for, at the ready. Am I right?" Her smile is slow and curling.

Miss Grant's gaze is now half lidded. She turns to her left and pats her date on the chest. "Roger, could you be a dear and get me a margarita? I'm suddenly parched. All the small talk at these things dries me out. You know how it is."

The media mogul rises to his feet, looking completely bewildered. Clearly he's not a man accustomed to fetching his own drinks. His head swings around wildly.

"Over there," I tell him, pointing to a windowless thatched hut. "I can recommend the pineapple daiquiris."

"Of course you can," Miss Grant murmurs.

"Miss Grant?"

"Oh I don't know, it's exactly the drink I'd have imagined for you." She glances at Marjorie. "And you? Hard liquor I presume? You always liked to sail close to the wind, didn't you?"

"You think I'm a lush?" Marjorie asks, lips quirking. "Or is that just how you wish to paint me in this awkward little triangle."

I blink. Um. What? What is she implying? That Miss Grant likes her and…me? I give Miss Grant a worried look. The indignation is all over her face. Figures that she'd hate that implication.

"Triang…" Miss Grant starts. The protest dies on her lips and her head turns, eyes squinting.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I could have sworn I heard…"

I look to where she is now pointing. Shock rockets through me at the sight of a tourist plane, one of those four-seaters that buzz around the islands, giving tourists good photo angles. Instead of climbing steadily, it's dipping and the engine noise is erratic. My shock is not that it's now in trouble…but my own obliviousness.

By Rao, how could Miss Grant have noticed that before me? I'm distracted. My selfishness is appalling. I give myself a mental shake and firmly tell myself that no one's bikini is that good. Even if that's a lie.

I sit up, biting my lip.

"Kara?" Marjorie asks. "Going somewhere?"

"I should…" I glance around in a panic. "Alert the authorities."

Miss Grant's eyes shoot between the plane and me and back again.

"I just did," Marjorie lifts a small phone and waves it. "I texted my assistant and told her to get on it. She's calling everyone."

"Oh." I don't sit back down.

"There's nothing else you can do," Marjorie stares at me. "The authorities will be on it in no time."

"I-I think I need to get another pineapple drink," I say, standing. My eye is trained on the plane. I've just heard its left engine die. The right is sputtering. It's not long for this world either.

"I'll come with you," Marjorie says, making to rise. "I could use a top-up too. And you seem ready to jump out of your skin."

"I…I…"

Miss Grant is giving me an odd look over the cocktail she's sipping. For some reason, under her withering gaze, I can't come up with an excuse.

"No," I finally say. "Please no."

Marjorie frowns. "It's no trouble. I could use the walk."

"I've changed my mind." Miss Grant suddenly says.

"What?" I ask, in confusion.

"I don't want a margarita. I need a mai tai. Tell Roger while you're at the bar. " Miss Grant's hand shoots out to Marjorie and clamps onto her. "Sit," she orders. "I have some conference questions. Let my assistant do her job, and you can do yours. Mmm?"

I don't wait for a reply. I don't wait for anything. That plane has only a minute left. I'm gone before Marjorie even turns back to me. I find myself muttering a soft thanks to Cat without thinking. She probably won't hear it.

I'm almost out of range when I hear Miss Grant's almost-amused chuckle in reply.

I am too focused to think about what it means.

She saves the plane so quickly it's almost anti-climactic. One moment, I'm making up nonsense talking points for my former junior VP and fending off my now-returned, touchy-feely beach date, and the next, a streak of blue and red splits the sky.

That shuts them both up. Thank God. It was hard to work out who was more irksome.

I watch, awed as ever, as Kara saves the day.

"What on earth is Supergirl doing out here?" Roger asks. "It's miles from anywhere."

An excellent question. I have no immediate answer. Nothing plausible, at least.

Marjorie stares at the sky with a frown. I've seen that look before. She's a smart girl. Actually, a little too smart. There was a reason I chose to mentor her in the first place. If she fixates on this question long enough, she might suddenly start to form a conclusion.

"Marjorie," I say. "Tell me something, why did you so suddenly leave CatCo?"

It's a cruel question. One to which I already know the answer. Drunk dialling and proposing illicit relations with your boss will tend to see one skulk off at the first available job offer.

Her brows meet. She knows I know. But it instantly derails the conversation.

"I'm just going to see if Kara needs a hand," she murmurs, shooting me a dark look.

Well, I deserved that. I smirk.

"Hey," Kara says, appearing out of nowhere. "Did I hear my name?" She seems a little breathless. Her hair's wet. Probably the engine blowing water off the sea at her. No drinks. "I'm sorry I missed Roger at the bar. He must have gone around the other side."

Roger blinks at her in confusion.

Marjorie's staring at her hair. "Wet…how?"

With a pained look, Kara just stands there. I swear she used to be much better at bumbling out semi-plausible excuses. Has she taken leave of her senses? Must I do everything?

"Kara," I announce, standing. I pull my outer shirt on with sharp jerks. "We've wasted enough time doing the Fiji experience but we're here for work. I'd like you to transcribe those notes now. Come along."

"Yes, Miss Grant." Her grateful look as she springs to attention shouldn't affect me like it does. Has she realised I've called her the right name? Is that it? Or is it the reprieve from being under Marjorie's bare light bulb?

"Call me later?" Marjorie's voice is suggestive. "Room 105." Her eyes caress Kara as my assistant slings her towel over her shoulder. The teasing tone sets my teeth on edge.

I ignore her and trudge toward the hotel. The fact that elongated beanstalk has the temerity to flirt in front of m…

"Um, Cat? Haven't you forgotten something?" Marjorie's amused snort follows her question.

I stop and pivot. Roger's disappointed gaze hits me in the eye, from thirty feet away.

Oh right. That. Er, him.

"I thought we were…" he waves his fingers between himself and me. "You know." He gives me a hopeful look. "You didn't even try the Passionfruit Sunrise I got for you."

Kara glances between us, incredulity and distaste warring on her face, and then scuttles on, leaving me to my fate and excuses.

I feel a headache coming on. And I hate passionfruit. It's just so…peppy and teenage. The texture is slippery and inelegant. It gets gritty bits of black between your teeth which take an eternity to extract. I will not tolerate that indignity. Anyone with an ounce of sense would know this.

I stare at him for a moment. Roger Burns is the feeble personification of all that I'm not looking for in a companion. It's not his fault. But it doesn't change anything.

I'm tempted to sum up everything for him in eight words.

Kara would know to never give me passionfruit.