Author's Note: Dang, guys! Almost 150 reviews and only a few (seven?) chapters in? You guys are amazing! I'm so glad you're taking to Marianne and Owen so far, as well as Sophie and everyone else, as they're along for the ride too. I'm honored to be writing for you guys and to have your attention, as well as to be the recipient of such fantastic reviews!

Again, just a reminder, I did post some stuff on Pinterest, which you can find under the "Fanfiction" board if you follow the link via my profile page. Some Marianne conceptions, as well as Sophie, Claire, Owen, Zach, Gray, and Marianne's car. Actually, Marianne's car is based off of my own baby, a 1981 Chevrolet Camaro Berlinetta. The picture posted is the car I own, which is close to Marianne's. The only difference is Marianne got the better deal (the Z28, with new paint and pinstripes!).

Again; many, many thanks, and I'm excited to see where this goes!

Chapter Eight

"What do you mean she ate the other sibling? Is that even possible?"

Claire shifted her eyes between the window of her office, leaned far back in the leather, cream-colored computer chair with her feet propped delicately on the edge of her desk, as to not cause chaos to the pristine organization thereof. She bit down lightly on one of her manicured nails and then sighed as the lab technician rambled on about something having to do with sharks before she snapped at him again, furiously confused.

"No, you're not listening. I want to speak to Dr. Wu immediately." He protested rapidly and somewhat shakily, as if he were afraid she'd reach through the phone and strangle him, "No? Well, if you want to keep your job, I suggest you track him down." With that, she ended the call on her Samsung and let it slip out of her hand to her desk, where it collided with the steel and echoed slightly across the empty, modernized room.

She sighed, disgustedly, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She did not need this today. With a million other things demanding her attention, she didn't need bad news from the lab-especially news like this. Investor's were arriving at noon to close the deal on the newly finished aviary-United Airlines, as irony would have it-and she had a publicity meeting with a representative from Children's Hospital out of Chicago. Not to mention, she had meant to go and check up on Marianne Randal's first day at the paddock with Owen-just out of curiosity, she told herself. Actually, she just wanted to see if there was any way to fire the woman much less keep her. Claire glanced at the clock. Just after two.

Owen would be getting ready to head back to the paddock. Claire knew his schedule well enough-men weren't hard to figure out, especially if you'd dated one long enough. Though their relationship had developed purely around a drunken tequila gut-spilling and had lasted three weeks, it had been enough time for Claire to know Owens's whereabouts and regular schedule. He may not have been physically organized, but as a Navy man, he knew how to stick to a schedule and keep it well. Perhaps the only thing Claire really admired about him-the rest was in need of serious...work.

But, he was the only decent guy she'd come across since high school, so that meant something. Though having ended their relationship on less than glamorous terms, Claire would admit-on her deathbed-that she still was attracted to him, still drawn in by those sharp, intelligent blue eyes that had taunted her most of their relationship. She still was mesmerized by his childish grin and his flippant outlook on life, as well as his crazy stories and by-the-seat-of-his-pants plans. Claire had asked herself a million times if it was desperation which attracted her to him, or it was the need to break free from control and her...brilliance, or if she needed to fire her psychiatrist.

But Marianne...there was something about her Claire couldn't place, besides the fact she had blatantly insulted her intelligence in the car. She frowned at the thought of that...boorish woman, telling her what she would and wouldn't do and about control. All Claire could think about her was that she was indeed boorish...she certainly looked the part, anyway; and Claire ran her hand across her abdomen-she'd worked two summers for these abs and were proud of them.

Any worry she had about Marianne in such...close quarters with Owen immediately took flight from her mind. Owen wouldn't go for a girl like that. He was shallow in that department, and most guys were. At least she had that on Marianne, if everything else she could think of somehow failed. After all, a picture was worth a thousand words. And men were visually stimulated before anything else.

Claire tapped her finger on the desk, eyes glued to the face of the computer, which was dark. The bright and airy room was silent, her tapping her feet to nothing unparticular as she sorted through the events of the day. Wu...now, representative at five, United at five thirty, and Owen at six.

Or, make that seven. She decided she hated these pants.

Her phone pinged. She glanced at it, recognizing the text from Zach. She closed her eyes, sighing. She'd forgotten about them...again. Claire had sent her personal assistant, Zara, out to look after them as she was at work, but she'd failed to keep the boys reeled in and had slugged back into the office. Claire had been furious, but couldn't blame the woman. They were impossible...from what she could remember, anyway.

She texted him back, told him dinner was at six thirty at the steakhouse by the resort. Tapping her finger on the arm of her computer chair, she slipped her feet from the desk and back into her heels, grabbing her ID badge from the drawer. Twirling the lanyard around her finger, she grinned, and headed towards the door.

Make Owen eight, then.

. . .

Marianne's breathe came in short spurts, her lungs gasping for air, burning as if they'd suddenly been filled with sulfur instead of thick, muggy jungle air.

Her stomach rumbled as she pressed her fingers into the dirt, her feet skidding across the rocks of the gravel road only slightly as she propelled herself forward. Dripping curls swatted her face, but she did nothing to curb them, pumping her arms alongside her as the jungle to her left passed by in a blur. Her vision was focused on the Camaro in front of her at twenty yards...then ten...then five. Her heart was hammering and the stitch in her side burned like mad.

She practically fell into the Camaro's front, panting and sweating. She checked her watch, realizing it was almost two thirty and that lunch was over in fifteen minutes. Sprawling on the hood of the car, the hot metal searing her skin, she closed her eyes and let the sticky air, absent of breeze, fill her lungs.

Her stomach gurgled.

Having decided to forgo lunch, she'd driven back to her bungalow instead and had rummaged through a box to find a pair of tennis shoes. Having changed into a pair of sweats and a work-out shirt, Marianne had ripped a bed sheet in half and had driven half-way to the paddock , parking a mile out. Stopping at a large tree, she'd made her way through the overgrown ditch and tied the bed-sheet around a tree, then got in her car and had done her best at calculating fifty yards. Getting out of the car and into the blistering head and been discouraging, but she'd managed. However, by the fifth suicide-run, she not only had a stitch in her side, but her outfit was thoroughly soaked with sweat. Silently cursing her family gene pool, she draped an arm over her belly and moaned.

This would be the start of her exercising routine, as much as she hated the prospect.

Slipping off the hood of the car, she looked in both directions and found no one coming or going to or from the paddock. So, stripping off her exercise clothes, she donned the outfit she'd worn into the office, sweaty and all, and drove back to the paddock. Finding the technicians-she recalled Owen introducing them as Silas and Briggs-hard at work loading a Polaris side-by-side with a huge box, she parked her car and approached them, keys at hand. They instantly stopped to stare at her, the bigger man with a black wide-brimmed hat wiped sweat from his upper lip, devouring her with his eyes.

A huge man of what she assumed was close to two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and experience, he had shoulder-length brown hair which hung in stringy strands, as well as leathery, tanned skin. Faded jeans, boots, and an open-leather vest over a bare chest completed his look, and Marianne remembered Owen had said something about the man coming from Australia. He certainly looked the part, but that didn't set her at ease, because his eyes were dark and stared at her as if she were meat. Squaring her shoulders, she nodded to them.

"Hey," she stopped and gestured to the box, "looks like you guys are working hard."

The smaller man, Silas; a blonde bodybuilder type, spit to the side and leaned against the vehicle, pulling gloves off his hands. He had a mustache and side-burns, complete with glowing green eyes which she thought were a bit awkward. He was a head taller than her and broader, with extenuated, curving muscle. "Yeah, we are. Could say the same thing about you." He gave her a half smile and gestured to her wet curls, "Climate's a bit rough your first few weeks. You'll get used of it."

Feeling embarrassed her sweating was noticeable, she felt a blush coming onto her nose, and hoped it blended in with whatever was left of her sunburn, "I hope so."

Silas turned from her and reached into the vehicle, Briggs still staring. She gave him a weak smile before backing up a few steps, and waving at them, "I'll see you guys later-"

"You did real good today," Briggs said abruptly. She stopped short, blinked at him, waiting for him to complete his thought, "with the girls. No one's ever warmed up to them that quick." He gave her a once over, "Especially you bein' a sheila and whatnot. You got some brass-"

Before Marianne could interrupt him, a revving of an engine caught him mid-sentence, Marianne whipping her attention over her shoulder, where she spotted Owen and a little girl riding in. She turned back to Briggs, gave him a half smile, and turned back to Owen, where he slowed the bike and dropped his feet to the ground, eyes locked on her Camaro. He revved the gas again, dropped his hands from the handle-bars, unaware she was approaching. Marianne, feeling slightly impressive, came up to the bike and caught the little girl's attention.

She whipped her helmeted head towards Marianne, stared at her a minute, and tapped his shoulder. Owen turned his head and smiled at her, then lowered the kick-stand on his bike before flicking the keys off. The little girl hurried off the bike, Owen following by swinging his leg over. He helped her out of the helmet and set it on the seat. Swinging her black curls, Marianne remembered the girl as Sophie, from B-Deck the day before. Then she remembered Owen as an Uncle and their reunion on the dock.

Owen crossed his arms over his chest, Sophie still staring at Marianne. Marianne gave her a small smile and wave. "When you said you had a car on the island, you really meant a car," he shook his head, then shot a glance at her with a sparkle in his eye, "I'm impressed."

Marianne, trying not to blush, shrugged a shoulder. "Thanks. And you should be impressed; it's an 1981, and I redid it myself." She tipped her head to the side and looked to the little girl, "And I remember you, Sophie Forester. From B-Deck."

The girl nodded, "Yeah. And I remember you...Marianne, right?"

She gave the girl a firm nod, "You got it." Marianne gave Owen a look with raised brows, "So...your niece?" She crossed her arms, then pointed at Owen and looked to Sophie, "He's your Uncle?"

Sophie nodded, her eyes twinkling, and looked up to him, "Yep. My Mom's brother." Marianne nodded slowly, bit down on her lower lip gently, and looked between them.

"Your first time at Jurassic World?" She asked, curious. The girl couldn't have been more than eight years old, and by the look in her eyes and the exhaustion imprinted on her face, Marianne had guessed it was a first time visit for the girl, as she looked as if she hadn't seen Owen in forever.

The girl nodded, Owen lowering a hand for her to take. She did and smiled at Marianne. "Yeah. I got a ticket for my birthday." She shrugged, "It was a month ago, but still." Owen and Marianne shared a look before looking to Sophie.

Marianne nodded to her, "Well then, happy late birthday." She then asked, "How old are you?"

"Eight."

"Cool. Two more years until double digits, huh?"

Owen widened his eyes at Sophie and then shook his head, "Oh god. I don't think the world's ready." This elicited giggles from Sophie, and caused Marianne to crack a grin. Owen, shifting his weight and turning to her car, released Sophie's hand and began to make his way around her car slowly, running his fingers along the pinstripes on the driver's side. He whistled, "Dang. You said it was an '81?"

Marianne nodded, sauntering over to the car to stand at the other side, by the passenger's fender. She ran her finger along the pinstriping carefully, remembering the memories of the summer she'd done them with her Dad, "Yep. This is the Z28 model, as compared to the-"

"-Berlinetta model," he nodded and gave her a lopsided smile. Stopping beside her on the passenger's side, he squatted to look into the tinted windows, cupping his hands around his eyes to peer inside. Marianne closed her eyes, inhaled sharply, and hoped he didn't see her workout clothes on the floor.

"Yeah. The Z28 is lighter, faster, and has a bit more torque-"

"I know, my sister had the Berlinetta," he stood to his full height beside her, "A buddy had the Z28. Smoked her every time," he winked, "Not that I would know or anything."

"You raced Mom's car?" Sophie piped up from behind them. Both adults turned to listen to her, giving her their full attention, "Did she know? She'd kill you if she found out, Uncle Owen!" Her smile denounced all concern she may have had for the incident, and Owen raised his chin at her and chuckled, leaning against the rocker-panel of the Camaro, arms crossed over his brazened chest.

"I know she would. It'll be our secret," he shifted his eyes towards Marianne, narrowing them and giving her a suspicious look. His tone, however, was entirely sarcastic. "that is, if Marianne here can be trusted."

Marianne, giving a mock-serious face, straightened and saluted at him, trying not to crack a smile. "Scout's honor," she then winked at Sophie and Owen pushed himself off the car, heading around the bike and taking Sophie's hand. Marianne began to follow the pair.

"Sophie here's gunna spend the rest of the day with us in the office," Owen called to her over his shoulder, "while I go over some of the basic charts and logs with you and explain them in detail, since next week we'll start on field work and whatever else you'll need to know." Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a square of folded papers, and pronounced them to her between his fingers, "I managed to swipe a few vet sheets so we can make copies. I forgot we were out."

Marianne, raising her brows behind them, was impressed. She had highly doubted the fact he knew where the keys to the file cabinet had been, much less that he needed copies. The KA-BAR she wore inside her boot rubbed awkwardly against her ankle, and she realized she'd forgotten to put new socks on after stripping off her old ones. Sighing, she trudged the steps and followed Sophie and Owen into the office.

Instantly Sophie seated herself in the computer chair and began rolling slightly behind the desk, obviously bored. Owen rounded the desk, set the folded square of paper on the desk, and then froze. He looked around, did a full circle, and jerked a look back to Marianne.

"The stuff-"

She stopped him, "Done," she chimed, gesturing to the cabinet, "filed away. Whatever wasn't relevant I organized into the shelf behind you." She motioned for the bookcase, where she'd written on the spines and tabs of the folders and had stacked them accordingly. He approached, plucked one, scanned the label, and fingered through it. He chuckled, impressed, and flopped it close, careful to replace it in its proper spot.

"Holy," he released a breathe, "that didn't take long."

Marianne shrugged and seated herself across the desk from Sophie, who was busy trying to hack into Owen's computer rapidly. "I told you it wouldn't. I wouldn't be doing my job if it did take me forever. I'd give you permission to pummel me if it took longer than a day."

He came up behind Sophie, then tickled her sides from behind, causing her to burst into loud, rich, and pure laughter. Marianne smiled at the two of them, and Owen put his hands on the desk on either side of Sophie, trapping her inside. He looked up to Marianne and then to the computer, "Well, I don't think I'd hit a girl over something as stupid as paperwork."

"You shouldn't hit girls at all," Sophie retorted, looking up at him. He stared down at her, smiling, their noses almost touching. "And especially not a girl as nice as Marianne. She helped me on the boat."

He tipped his head slightly to the side, giving Marianne his attention. She felt as if she'd drop through the floor and into the paddock to become raptor chow at any moment, but when she didn't, she wasn't relieved. "She did now?"

Sophie nodded. "Yup." Owen stood and shrugged a shoulder, punching in a few keys on the keyboard and motioning for Sophie to get up out of the chair. When she obeyed, he sat, and then she sank onto his knee and stared into his computer screen as he clicked away.

"Well then, many thanks for helping my lost and confused little bug on her journey across the big water," he smiled and nuzzled his chin into Sophie's neck. She curled into a ball, giggled, and Marianne watched them, her heart swelling. It sank immediately. He looked at her, "But seriously. Thanks."

Marianne nodded. "Yeah. Glad to help."

He nodded once, clapped his hands together and rubbed them as if completing a masterminded plot in his head, and pointed both index fingers at the paper-square on his desk. He puffed out an exasperated breath, leaned back in his chair, and ran a hand through his hair, only to smooth his mustache with his fingers. "Ok then. So. Let's talk about this and then I'll show you some stuff on the computer." He motioned between the two with his fingers.

Marianne gave a firm nod, crossing one leg over the other. "Alright. You have my attention."

His eyes sparkled, catching her off guard, and he gave her a half smile. "Right on. Let's do this."