The Model Agent
By SarahsSupplyCloset
Author's Note: I have found living on this planet unbearable lately and I've sort of locked myself up in my apartment by myself for months now so I came up with a new idea and frankly I really need to put my head to better use than just being upset and paranoid all the time so I am trying something I literally came up with the other day. I don't have any idea of the direction or what it'll eventually even be about. But I just have a scenario so I don't know how this will go or pan out. I'd love feedback either way. And again, I have to warn, somewhere down the line because it's what I do, this will contain sex scenes at some point.
Summary: Sarah Walker's modeling career is in its budding stages when the CIA recruits her into their ranks at 16. 10 years later, she's balancing being a world famous supermodel and actress with spying for the CIA. Her existence is fraught with danger and she's constantly on the go, until she meets a disarmingly sincere man on the beach...and her life is changed forever.
Disclaimer: I do not own CHUCK. I am not making any money writing this story.
Chapter 1: Chemistry
"This way, Miss Walker."
"What is this anyways? I've got a chemistry test in 5th period tomorrow, you know. And I'm not great at chemistry so missing 5th and 6th period today isn't gonna help me at all."
She watched as the tall man in the suit stopped, turned to face her, and wordlessly directed her towards a dark van with a sweep of his long arm. "Oh, hell no. I've seen late night specials on this kind of shit. I'm not getting in a black van with tinted windows. The hell kind of school is this that lets 16 year olds get pulled out of class by creepers in black suits to go get kidnapped in his creeper van?"
"Miss Walker, I'm not a creeper. I'm a federal agent."
Her jaw dropped. "Do you say that to all the teenage girls?"
"You're wasting our time. Will you please get into the van?"
"No! This is insane! I'm going back to class to memorize the periodic table. Says a lot about you that I'd rather do that, you freak."
But as she tried to walk away, his hand clamped down on her arm. Without a second thought, she whipped herself around and cracked her elbow into his jaw, sending him teetering to the side, his hand loosening just enough for her to break free. She then kneed him in the face, and spun to run, but another pair of hands clamped around her bicep, and a set of arms grabbed her around her midsection.
"LET ME G—"
The rest of her yelling was muffled by a hand. She bit the hand hard enough to taste blood and her captor yelped in pain, but he didn't let go. And just like that she was in the van, the door slid shut tightly, locking her in with her kidnappers.
She pushed them off of her and pushed herself up against the seat, as far away from them as she could, even as the nearest asshole kept his grip on her arm. "The hell do you want from me? You after my money? I've only done a few advertisements, modeling bits here and there. I don't even have that m—"
"I don't care about your money, Miss Walker. I do care that you—a 16 year old girl—just took out one of my better agents."
"Agents?" She stared, not believing him for a second. "You're still trying this federal agent thing, huh? I'm not stupid."
"Oh, I know. That's why I'm here. Sarah, my name is Langston Graham. I'm with the Central Intelligence Agency." She blinked. "The CIA."
"Whaaaaaaaat?!" she gasped. What in the hell was going on? "What does the CIA want with me? Am I in trouble? Is there some law against working in the modeling industry when you're under 18? Do you guys arrest child actors too?"
"We're not—You aren't being arrested, Sarah." He sighed patiently. "The intelligence community has a lot more pressing issues to deal with than the modeling industry. Well…" He pressed his hands together in front of him. "Let me walk that back. You see, Sarah, we do very important work in the CIA."
"You guys are, like…James Bond or something but without the accent, right?"
He exchanged looks with the other men in the car. And she didn't feel all that bad for the guy currently holding a handkerchief to his hand, the splotches of red on it her doing, she knew. He should've thought about that before he attacked her. "Um, something like that. We keep Americans safe. We deal with national security issues. We collect human intelligence."
"Right, you guys spy."
"That's part of it, yes. But the key to what we do is that we collect our intelligence overseas. In Europe, in Asia, in other parts of the world, rather than domestically. And we discovered a while back that there are certain industries in this country with people who could make a lot of difference. For us."
Sarah was starting to sort of put it together. "Wait, wait. Are you trying to tell me you want me to work for the CIA? I don't know how to shoot a gun and I definitely don't wanna learn."
"I know about your father, Sarah."
Her blood went ice cold. Wrapping her arms around herself, she pushed herself further back against her seat, her features hard. "What about my father?"
"I know he's a very wealthy man, Sarah. And in spite of your parents separating when you were a little girl, you and your mother were able to live a rather cushy shall we say, life. I'm not sure you're fully aware of just how your father came by his fortune. You're young, and I'm sure you see your dad as a hero—"
"My dad is a jerk," she interrupted. "And I've seen movies and TV shows, okay? You trying to get me to inadvertently implicate my dad in some kind of crime by acting like you already know he's done a crime. That's pure bluff right there. I'm not an idiot."
Graham chuckled and shook his head. "You're making me very glad I decided on approaching you out of all of our potential candidates."
"Cool. Can I go back to class?"
He ignored her seamlessly and Sarah thought if this guy ever taught her mom his skills she'd be in deep shit.
"The modeling industry requires travel. World travel. You get access to some of the highest echelons of humanity. Celebrities, very rich business people, even world leaders."
"Me? Listen…sir…" She thought she should attempt politeness. She didn't want these guys darkening her door ever again. "I'm 16. Sure, some people are seeing my face in the ads, but I'm not Kate Moss, okay? I'm not a millionaire or anything."
"No, you're not. But you're on the fast track. I have ears in the industry. You are the next big thing, Sarah Walker. You'll be getting job after job after job pretty soon here, and I can push the button that ensures you an even easier road to the top."
She made a face. "I don't want that."
"Then I won't," he said, shrugging. "You can do it all on your own. But that's the catch. If we accept you into our CIA ranks as one of us, it needs to be secret. Nobody can know. We'll train you around your schedule to keep it all under wraps. And you will get us intelligence as you graduate into a jet-setting role in the modeling world."
Sarah shook her head slowly. "Is this a joke?" He made it clear with his unamused look that it was not. "You want me to become some sort of secret agent fronting as a jet-setting supermodel? That's crazy!"
"The FBI has their foot on your daddy's neck, Sarah. Jack Walker is this close to being indicted and thrown in jail for fraud."
She recoiled at the suddenness of his change in demeanor. It was a rapid 180. "W-What? Fraud?"
She wasn't stupid. She'd never been stupid. She knew what her dad had gotten up to as she grew up, flitting around between her dad, her mom, and her grandmother. That was precisely why she'd always tried to keep her distance as much as possible from Jack Walker. She knew he hadn't gotten his money the way he pretended he had. And it sat heavily in her gut. It was why her parents had split. And it was why her mom had so many issues, creating a rift in Emma and Sarah's relationship as well.
"Yes, Sarah. If you agree to this proposition, joining the CIA, being trained by our best professionals, and becoming our very own secret agent in the modeling world, getting us access to the people and information we need access to…I'll make sure the FBI forgets your dad even exists." He crossed his arms.
"You can do that?" Then she shook her head. "Wait. No. This is nuts. Seriously. I'm—I can't be a spy. I'm not—I can't…do it."
"You've done a mighty fine job working your way through this world, hiding your dad's double dealings, learning French, Spanish, and German by the age of 16…"
"It's-It's part of the job. I was told. I'm just good at languages. Look, I just want to be a model, okay? I'm good at it. I love it. I don't want this side gig of spying. It's dangerous! I'll get shot or fall off a building or something!"
"You've also tested exceedingly high in our standardized test. Top one percent. You're appropriately world-weary…"
"Yeah, well, the world is trash."
"Sometimes it can be. You can help us make it better." She snorted and gave him a dubious look. "If you don't accept my offer, your father can expect to be arrested and indicted for his crimes. They've got the evidence they need."
She narrowed her eyes. "Are you serious? He's really gonna be arrested?"
"He is. I can stop it…if you want me to."
She wanted him to.
She really wanted him to.
And that was how she found herself sitting in chemistry class half an hour later, staring down at the periodic table on the desk in front of her, seeing nothing but an uncertain future in front of her.
All she knew was that apparently the CIA would be a part of it.
+—
10 Years Later
She slammed her foot on the gas the second she came out of the turn, ripping the wig off of her head even as fear and adrenaline rocketed through her system. She thought she'd lost her pursuers by now but she wasn't taking any chances.
Driving up the ramp into a parking structure, she wound her way up to the 5th floor of the 6 story structure, pulled into a parking space, and grabbed the backpack from the floor of the passenger seat, shoving the wig inside of it. She grabbed a T-shirt out and shrugged the torn blouse up over her head, putting the shirt on, then struggled a bit to get the pants off with the stupid steering wheel in the way.
She slammed her knee against it at least twice and knew she'd have bruises there later. She'd have to have some reason for it when the makeup artists got to her for that perfume ad shoot on Friday.
But she'd handled it the way she always did. Blame it on her active, outdoorsy life. Maybe this time she "went rock climbing" and hit her knee. They'd cover it up with some makeup or just photoshop it away.
Like they always did.
Once she got the skirt on, she shoved everything in her backpack and pulled the Docs out, sticking her feet in them without even bothering to tie them. Mussing up her hair and slipping sunglasses on, she grabbed her coat out of the back of the car, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and abandoned the car, taking the back stairs.
She excelled at not sticking out, and while that was something they'd taught her at the Farm, it came in handy for her career as a supermodel whose face was practically plastered everywhere now.
Advertisements, TV commercials, a three-part film series about an explorer who awakens an ancient Norse curse and has to fight zombie Vikings, and the pick of any and all runways she wanted to walk down, all combined to make her one of the most sought-after people in the world.
Somehow, the more fame and fortune Sarah Walker found, the easier it was for her to do her job under the job—obtaining intelligence for now Director Langston Graham of the CIA. Nobody suspected. Nobody knew.
Except for her driver.
Who should arrive at the stop light she was walking towards in 3, 2, 1.
The black car with tinted windows came around the corner and slid to a stop at the red light. And without missing a beat, she opened the back door, got inside, shut it again, and smirked as the light turned green and he moved on.
"Done?" John Casey of the NSA asked, looking over his shoulder.
He'd opted to wear his driver's hat, which she thought was silly because it made people think whoever was in the car was important. But then again, the windows were tinted so much that nobody would see his hat from outside the car anyway.
"It's done," she said, unzipping her backpack and pulling the blouse out. It was torn from a bullet that had missed her vitals at least. It had missed her completely, but she'd liked this blouse. "On top of all of your numerous talents, Casey, I really wish you'd also learned to sew."
He snorted. "Fat chance."
Well, then. The blouse was done.
"Where now?"
"Home."
"Which one?"
She sent him a look. "The one. Stop doing that to me. I'm allowed to have as many places as I want, okay? I do my fair share of philanthropy and saving the world, but a girl needs a few places to hide away from the stupid fucking paps, just in case. If they ever find out where I live, I need someplace else I can go to."
"Mhm, 3 someplace else's."
"One of them is in Malibu so it doesn't count."
He chuckled.
"Anyway, since when did you become such a stick in the mud about the money I make? If I didn't have all this money and celebrity, we'd get nowhere near the people and places we need to be near to do our jobs, and you know that's the truth, partner."
He grumbled. "Yeah, well…sometimes it sucks being 'the driver' and 'the bodyguard'."
"Do you want paparazzi chasing you everywhere, Casey? I didn't realize. Toss on a pair of my heels and see how you like it."
"Hey, you chose this field of expertise, lady. And you like it. Don't lie."
"I love it. It's thrilling. And I'm good at it."
"Well there ya go. No complaining then."
"I'm not complaining. I'm well aware of my privilege, thank you. Only complaints I have are about the old grump they stuck as my partner 8 years ago."
"I wasn't old then, but I sure am now. 8 years of having to keep your prissy ass alive."
"Fuck off, John." She cracked up and reached forward to shove at his shoulder.
He'd been like an uncle almost, or more of a much older brother, to her since Graham and General Beckman of the NSA stuck her with a seasoned veteran. An NSA agent and ex-marine who'd been at this since he was around her age at the time.
It had been weird, having him step into her role as a "bodyguard", her career taking off. And at night, he'd drive her off on whatever their mission happened to be. He traveled with her sometimes as her "driver/bodyguard". And other times, he'd stick close to home and get whatever they needed done in Los Angeles done.
Things had started out awkward, and he'd treated her like crap in a lot of ways, complaining about his assignment to her face. But they'd proven themselves to be a formidable partnership. They'd had each other's backs since then. And their friendship turned a corner when Casey knocked a paparazzi photographer out for crossing a line.
General Beckman had covered for him and they'd paid the photographer off to keep it from becoming a big blow-up on all the tabloids but that had been the real moment a bond outside of just their spy partnership was formed.
And so it stayed.
When they pulled up to the gate of her house 2 hours later, she glanced out of her window to watch as a young couple pushed a stroller down the sidewalk past the other grand gates that separated neighbors from one another and protected them from lookie-loos.
It was why she'd bought this house. She also loved it, with its old Hollywood charm, the Spanish architecture and the fountain in the roundabout, the veranda and courtyard in the middle of the home that formed a square around it. But mainly it was at the end of a tree-lined driveway that led up to where the 2-story home sat, apart from the rest of the world.
At least that was how she imagined it.
The young couple with their stroller and the baby she imagined inside of it lived as a part of the world.
Her celebrity aside, being a spy had meant keeping some distance in a lot of aspects of her life. Granted, that was an excuse she used to only visit her mother, and separately, her father. But it was the reality for most of the rest of her existence.
Her phone rang as she finally climbed out of the backseat of the car. "Thanks, Casey," she called, saluting him. "Drinks later?"
"Yeah. Sure. Text me." He got back inside of the car and drove it around the house to the garage where his own NSA sanctioned car awaited him. He had an apartment more in town because the truth was that Sarah Walker the supermodel didn't really need a bodyguard. She guarded her own body with all the skills she'd learned from the CIA in the last 10 years.
She could feel the cool steel of the knife strapped to her thigh even now as she looked at her phone.
Rolling her eyes, she smirked at the picture of one of the only other people she hadn't kept a whole lot of distance from, and she swiped to answer. "Hi, Red."
"Oh, so finally she answers!" Carina Miller drawled. "To what do I owe this honor?"
"You rang me on the phone. That's what."
"Didn't work earlier."
"I was busy."
"Ooooooo, what's his name?" she sang.
Sarah paused for just a split second, wracking her brain. "He's my dentist and he says I've got great teeth."
"Wait, you're sleeping with your dentist?"
"No, I am not. He's like 60 years old and has extremely long nose hairs." She shivered. "I was at my dentist's office getting my teeth cleaned, you freak."
She kicked her shoes off in the entryway of her home after she turned off the alarm, locking the door behind her. Sure, she was confident that her identity as one of the world's foremost supermodels was enough of a cover that no one would ever believe she was the CIA's "Ice Queen", a secret agent in service to the United States of America these last 10 years when she wasn't on the catwalk or the cover of Vogue, Elle, Vanity Fair...but she wasn't taking any chances by leaving her doors unlocked.
Not to mention there were a lot of creepy fans out there, wanting to know where she was and what she was doing at all times, assuming they knew everything about her private life, assuming they deserved to know. Sure she was secretly married to this random guy, or that guy because of such and such clues.
She'd prefer not to have one of them stalk her to her home and walk right in.
She'd kill them on the spot and have Casey help her hide the body if they tried, but still.
"Oh. Okay, well…you're excused then," Carina continued. "I was going to ask a favor, actually."
"A favor? Sure. What's up?"
"Weeeellll…" She could almost feel the other woman wincing. "A guy invited me onto his yacht over the weekend. I know you've got your shoot on Friday but do you think you could take care of my apartment? Specifically Randy. I know he'll miss me less if you're there. He loves you."
Sarah sighed heavily. "Seriously? You're going on some guy's yacht for a weekend? You better not have just met him…"
"No comment."
"Carina…"
"Sarah, it's a yacht."
"You'd better bring protection."
Carina choked out a laugh. "Uh, excuse me. I am always on birth—"
"I meant pepper spray," Sarah interrupted. "Or a knife or gun or something. In case he's a kidnapper." That incident outside of her high school 10 years earlier when Graham and his agents had grabbed her and dragged her to the van had gotten under her skin in ways she still found herself dealing with even now. It wasn't something she'd ever tell anyone. And sometimes kidnapping was a little too much on her mind. Like now, for instance.
"Sarah, come on, I'll be fine. I've got all that self-defense under my belt now ever since my stalker ex, remember?"
That was true. She did.
"Yeah, I remember."
"So? Will you take care of Randy? Please?" Sarah rolled her eyes in frustration, and as if Carina could see it through the phone, she added, "You can stay there if you want. Get away from everything. And it's right on the beeeeaach…"
"I get to use your best board," Sarah said. "And then it's a deal."
"Ugh, really? My best one?" She groaned. "Okay, it's a deal. You can stay at my place and use my best board."
Sarah chuckled. "Awesome. Done. When do I start?"
+—
The supermodel and secret agent was methodical, precise. If she did this wrong, it could mean the end of everything. She had to get it just right…
She lightly tapped the container with her pointer finger and a few flakes fell out and onto the surface of the water.
The little blue fish bobbed back and forth, then darted up to the surface to suck the flakes in between his little "o"-shaped mouth.
"There ya go, Randy. Enjoy your breakfast."
She sighed and set the fish food container next to the bowl.
Carina's attachment to this little fish was something else. He was a cute little guy, for sure… but he was just a fish. Named Randy.
"Wanna come out and surf with me today, Randy?" she asked, leaning down and watching him eat. "Am I absolutely nuts for talking to a fish like it's a person? Yep."
With a sigh, she stood to her full height and stretched her arms up over her head, humming happily at the satisfying pops in her back and shoulders. She had to admit, Carina had an incredibly comfortable bed in her guest room.
And it had been a total godsend, spending her whole Saturday curled up with a book in an apartment near enough to the beach that she could just listen to the waves and know that she wouldn't be bothered by anyone.
It helped that she informed Casey first. He'd know where to find her if it was an emergency, but for an entire 24 hours, she was blissfully ignorant of the rest of the world.
Now she was going to catch a few waves.
Sarah pointedly took Carina's favorite board, one she claimed had been made in Phuket for her by a big fan of hers in Thailand. Thankfully her face wasn't on it. But the intricate hibiscus flowers the fan painted on the bottom were stunning, and the board just sliced through the water like a freaking dolphin. It was so sleek and lightweight and easy to maneuver.
It was Carina's favorite, though, so she knew she had to be extra careful. If she did anything to damage it, Carina might murder her. She probably had the dents and dings documented or something.
Sarah took it out anyway, paddling out into the virtually empty water. A few people were swimming, and she guessed if there'd been more at 10:30 in the morning, she'd be asked by a lifeguard to wrap it up and come back earlier the next day. But she didn't see a lifeguard in the tower down the beach, so she supposed it was an honor system type of situation.
Apparently she had no honor.
Smirking, she sat up on her board and stared out to the west, taking in the beautiful blue horizon that stretched for thousands of miles. Sometimes she thought about getting on a boat and going into it, just to see what was really out there. And then other times, she knew she couldn't let herself dwell too much on things like that, because she had a job here. Two jobs. One infinitely more important than the other.
It had become something of a joke for Casey, and she thought Beckman was probably a little in on it too, ever since she took full control of their team, Graham only advising Sarah when he needed a solo job he thought only she could handle. But Sarah Walker was both verging on a household name with her job as a supermodel, and working as a secret agent which required her to stick to the shadows. The dichotomy between those 2 things was fascinating.
But there were times it was exhausting more than fascinating. Getting a weekend to step away from it all and hide out in Carina's pad was seriously necessary and she hadn't even realized it until this moment, floating out in the Pacific Ocean on her board, waiting for a good wave.
She felt like her life was a lot like a broken record. There was some variety in the people she met, the photoshoots, the runway shows, the advertisements, movie and TV sets she spent time on, not to mention the missions that took her across the world, the information she collected while Casey did the big stuff: leading ops and whole teams while she faded out of the situation altogether so as not to be recognized. But it all had a way of feeling the same.
Maybe because she rarely gave herself a break. Physically, emotionally, mentally, she was constantly on duty. If she wasn't in front of someone's camera lens, she was using her connections to get into a party where she'd be able to get her hands on crucial intel, or secretly pass that intel off to someone else.
Within the next 30 minutes, she managed to catch 2 good waves, and she paddled back out to try to get a 3rd. She supposed that'd be enough for one day, considering there were a few more beachgoers starting to hobble in. She didn't want to chance being recognized.
So she waited…and waited…and waited some for a really good one to cap off her morning.
And then she'd heat some water on the stove for tea while she took a luxurious bath in Carina's massive clawfoot tub, and then she would watch TV until she passed out.
Or maybe she'd call her mom back finally. She'd listened to the message her mom left while her phone was off the day before and still hadn't called back. The woman was in her Beverly Hills tower, overlooking the city from her throne, "trying to reach out", she said. Reach out.
If she'd wanted to reach out, she should've done so when Sarah was a kid and could've used a more attentive mom. Instead of letting her go off and be her dad's cute kid tool he used to weasel endorsements and sponsorships that got his company off the ground. That was before the fraudulent deals he made that filled his pockets. Sarah still wasn't clear on who his victims were. Most likely other filthy rich people. But it still didn't excuse his bullshit criminal behavior. And it frustrated her like crazy that he still didn't know she'd agreed to aid the CIA if they set him free from the incoming arrest and indictment.
He was scrubbed from the crosshairs of the FBI, she was a secret agent, and he was free to continue his business.
And still, he had the gall to text her the other night that he "missed seeing" his "little girl".
Bullshit.
She didn't have time for their holier than thou acts they both played with her. Like the last time she spoke with her mom a few days ago and her mom had asked why in the hell she thought doing an interview with Reggie Gala was a good idea, because he's a "second rate non-journalist who just wants to be able to say he interviewed you." She'd been disappointed in Sarah, going after an interview like that just for publicity, knowing how "vacuous and shallow" the line of questioning would be.
Emma Walker was correct. The line of questioning was so shallow she'd had a hard time acting okay with it herself. Questions about her ex-boyfriends, whether she'd dated any costars, if there was a thing between her and Eric Wafterson since they'd been photographed together, money questions, but nothing asking about her charity work or philanthropy, the thing she made clear was foremost on her mind.
Her mom liked to pretend that walking her into a modeling agency when she was 13 years old was a purely selfless act, something to give her daughter (who was already overbooked with extracurriculars) to do, a way for her to "make friends".
None of them had imagined that modeling would get under Sarah's skin so quickly and so intensely. She'd loved it immediately. And the people in the agency, and the commercial directors, the advertisement photographers, saw in her something special. "Special" was the word everyone had used.
Really, she'd been born lucky. And beautiful. Which was oftentimes the same thing.
And she used that to her full advantage.
Whenever she could.
But there were repercussions to this existence, something her mom didn't understand. It was something Sarah's agent Tyler Martin said was "the hard part of all this".
"You want the money, right? The fame. The flashbulbs are gonna be in your face nonstop. You get pissed about these blokes for gettin' ya on film while grocery shoppin'? It'll only get worse the more ya face pops up." He'd warned her about tabloids, and she'd kept doing this anyway. She loved it. As hard as the downside could be some days. The lack of respect for her privacy.
Out here, sitting on a board, waiting for a good wave, she was safe from paparazzi. Nobody knew who she was out here, bobbing about in the ocean. No autographs or selfies. Nobody trying to make her hold their kid.
Nobody asking about her "messy break-up" with her latest paramour that happened over a year ago now. She'd stopped picking up magazines now, having to see his face all over them, nearly as much as hers was. And it was no accident it had only happened after he'd dated Sarah Walker.
That, she also blamed on Tyler. If they hadn't practically grown up through all this together in a way (in spite of him being 10 years older than her), she would've ditched him years ago. Probably. No, she wouldn't have. Because he was a good agent, and he genuinely kept her safe from bad gigs when one bad gig was all that might've stood between her and the end of her career.
She definitely disliked how often he made eyes at Carina, though. And she would forever hit him in the back of his head for that shit.
There it was. Coming towards her. Building…swelling…
She slid onto her belly and prepped herself, paddling, the wave catching Carina's board and picking her up, taking her with it. As the wave came to crest, she leapt up to her feet and swished her board around, grinning. This was what she needed. This was exactly what she needed.
Sarah bent her knees and thrashed at the wave again, the grin on her face widening. This was a long one. She felt rejuvenated as she swerved to run her board along the length of the wave, slicing through the water.
Suddenly something dark burst up from the water she was slicing through. Her first thought was that it was a seal. But then it turned and it was a human, with a human face, a human face wracked with terror.
"LOOK OUT!" she screamed, pulling back sharply, wrenching her board to the side.
There was a thump beneath her feet and it made her lose her footing as she tipped to the side. She landed hard, the wave flipping her underwater and she struggled to get her footing again against the ocean floor. But when she did, she had the sense to shove off, breaking the surface with a gasp.
Oh God, she'd killed someone.
That was her first lucid thought after taking a deep breath of glorious oxygen. Where were they? Were they still alive? God, she was so fucked. This was terrible. Where the hell did they go?
But then she heard a loud whoosh and sputtering behind her. She dove under a wave rolling at her, then came up again, unhooking the velcro that kept her board attached to her ankle and letting it wash to shore without her, since it was yanking at her leg.
A man shoved at his dark hair to get it out of his face and coughed, gasping for air. Without thinking twice, she swam to him and grabbed his arm. "You okay?"
He blinked at her, eyes wide. "Ye—"
A wave crashed over them, and she inwardly rolled her eyes as she was swept along with it, rolling through the water, heels over head, head over heels, until she could finally stand up and have her head over the water line.
She spun to look for the man she'd struck and was relieved to see him pop up, sputtering again.
She wasn't about to let the waves get the better of her again, so she slung her arm around his torso and pulled him towards the shore. She stopped when they could both stand with the water midway up her torso. "You can stand here," she said as he flailed, letting go of him. "Let's get to the shore, come on."
She led the way to the shore as he found his footing and stood with an embarrassed, "Oh."
It would've been funny if she wasn't absolutely certain there was lawsuit in her future. A big one. She could just imagine the headlines in the tabloids. They'd pick a picture of her that made her look like a felon. A picture they'd took some morning when she'd been particularly haggard after a party and went to the corner store on her condo's block to buy Ibuprofen for her hangover.
Tyler was going to be so pissed off. He already gave her shit for surfing in the first place, saying she'd somehow damage the merchandise, ruin her face, hurt herself, break her spine, get eaten by a shark.
His fear of water kept him far away from the ocean. Which was funny since he was born in England, basically a big skinny island.
And then there was Casey. He'd give her shit too. And Beckman and Graham would drag her over the coals for potentially jeopardizing her cover by getting involved in a high profile lawsuit.
In spite of all of this spiraling through her mind, she didn't consider even for a moment just leaving him in the water and letting him drown.
So there was that.
When she finally got to the dry shore, she hunched over with her hands on her knees and coughed a few times, pushing the strands of hair that had escaped her braid out of her face and taking deep breaths.
Her victim, on the other hand, (that was what they'd call him in the stories about this, she was sure) threw himself to the sand and groaned, breathing hard, and then he coughed a few times and pushed his hands through his hair.
Finally, he managed to get a hold of himself and he looked up at her.
And here it comes…
"Oh my God! Oh my God, I'm so sorry!"
Sarah blinked, her jaw falling open.
Did he just…apologize?
"I'm so stupid going way out to swim like that when there's a surfer—and I knew! I knew you were out there! I should've been way more careful. I mean, I saw you and knew you w—Not that I-I was watching you like a creeper or anything. It was pretty sick, the whole swoop thing with the board and—That's not the point. I'm really so so so sorry. Oh my God."
She genuinely wondered if he was okay. Did he have sand in his eyes or something?
Sarah furrowed her brow and knelt down next to where he was sprawled. "Are you okay? It felt like I hit you really hard with my board but I didn't see where. Did I hit your head?" She lifted a hand to put it on his head but paused and then dropped it again. Probably best she didn't touch him, just in case he tried to make a scene out of that.
"My…Oh, my head. No, my head is—I'm good. I'm okay. It wasn't my head. It was my shoulder and I'll definitely survive." He turned toward her. There was a nasty looking welt on his shoulder, a bruise that looked like it was already purpling, and she winced. "Just a bruise. It's…nothing."
She hissed, leaning in to get a better look at it. She actually felt genuinely terrible, the storm of bad publicity and tons of money she'd be losing in the incoming lawsuit aside. "Shit, I'm so sorry. I really am. That looks really painful." She shook her head. "I shouldn't have been out there this late in the morning. I was being selfish. I wanted one last good wave and it was such a good one." She gave him a self-derisive look.
"Eh, then it was worth it. Except for the part where I popped up and wrecked it, though. I'm sorry." He wrinkled his nose, one side of his mouth lifting in a bit of a dopey smile. But then his gaze lingered on her face and she knew immediately that he finally recognized her, the trauma of what happened to him passed, his eyes working, his head clear. And now came the lawsuit part. He'd be a lot more hurt suddenly. On second thought, she did hit his head. He might have a concussion. He'd better go to the hospital.
She decided to try to cut him off early, beat him at his own game. She knew her way around this racket well enough, being acquainted with her father.
"I'd really rather avoid a lawsuit." She winced as he widened his eyes. "I absolutely take full responsibility for your injury. I shouldn't have been out there this late, and I should've been watching where I was going. I wasn't, so this-this is on me."
The guy looked off to the side, his brow furrowed in confusion, then he turned back to her again. "A lawsuit?" He shut his eyes then, looking upset. "Oh, shit. Are you suing me?"
She pulled back, surprised. "What? No! Aren't you going to sue me?"
He gaped at her for a moment, and then amusement broke on his face and he laughed. She didn't get the feeling he was laughing at her really, but it still made her frown. What was going on here?
The guy ducked his head, lifting his arm that didn't have the bruise (she noticed) to push this fingers through his wet, dark curls. She didn't know why her gaze seemed to get stuck on them.
Really, what was going on here?
"Sue you?" He gave her a what the fuck look. "For what? It's not like you paddled out there to hunt people with your surfboard." He gestured to the Thai-made board that thankfully rested a few feet away from them, in one piece. She would survive another day then.
But she could only stare at him in shock as he continued.
"Anyway, I burst out of the water like a freaking otter or something. I saw you, I had enough time to get out of the way but I froze like a freakin' jackass. I mean, you coulda taken off my head but you actually acted just in time to graze my shoulder instead. If anything, I'd say I owe you a drink or something for not killing me when you could've because I was too dumb to move."
Sarah could only gawk. "You're…not suing me…"
He frowned. "Is that a thing? Suing for something this trivial? Doesn't seem like a big deal to me. Everyone's alive. No major injuries."
She was worth a lot of money. Her face was plastered all over magazines. In advertisements online. She was everywhere. On TV, in movies…
How was he not taking advantage of this? People took advantage with less.
"I-I mean, if you've got hospital bills…" She shrugged. "I guess?"
He chuckled. "I'm not going to the hospital. So there won't be any bills. But I'll tell you what. You might be getting out of a lawsuit here," he teased, "but you're damn tootin' you'll be paying for an ice pack."
Sarah laughed, shaking her head. "You know what? I'll buy you an ice pack. That's more than fair."
"It is, isn't it?" The smile on his face was slow, pulling on just the right side of his lips. And his eyes sparkled, catching the sunlight just right.
She didn't know why she was fixating on certain things about him, considering he was still sitting sort of sprawled like a fish out of water. He didn't have awful shoulders, though, and his jaw was nice. He also wasn't suing her, so that was an added bonus.
He finally climbed to his feet and swatted at the sand on his trunks and legs. When he straightened to his full height, she was almost wowed by how tall he was. Standing in the water, she hadn't noticed it but now, she realized he was a couple inches over 6 feet. He wasn't even standing on a bit of raised sand or anything.
"I was just messin' around about you buying the ice pack. I'm not gonna make you do that."
"Nope. You're getting your ice. I don't know where from, but we'll find something."
He grinned and ducked his head with a short chuckle. Then he gestured towards a pile of clothes next to a towel further up the beach. "Let me just grab my stuff."
"Okay, I'm gonna make sure my friend's board doesn't wash out to sea."
She'd left everything in Carina's apartment save for a twenty she'd shoved into a waterproof pouch in her wet suit, and the keys to the apartment. She went to the board and snagged it, pulling it further up to dry sand and away from the waves lapping at it. Luckily it hadn't ended up lost while she'd been checking on the man she'd run into.
A very Carina-sounding voice in her head corrected "checking on" to "checking out" and she glowered at the stupid voice. Not right now, she thought to herself.
She hoisted her board up under her arm and closed the distance to wear he was toweling off. He pulled a white t-shirt on over his upper body, specifically his shoulders, then grabbed his keys and straightened up.
"Think the ice cream shop down there has ice?" she asked. There was a little ice cream stand a good ways away down the beach. And she found she was alright with that. It'd take at least 10 minutes to reach it. If she walked slow enough.
"Ice cream. Keyword ice."
"So…that's a yes?"
He chuckled and they walked towards it, shoulder to shoulder. She purposely didn't dictate the pace, just out of curiosity, and found him to be strolling rather slowly. She bit back a smirk, knowing they were most likely on the same page.
"Okay, so…I hate to ask, but…I gotta," the guy blurted then, looking pained.
Here it comes, she thought. Are you Sarah Walker? You know, like, the model? Oh my God I knew it! And everything would change after that. He'd get nervous or he'd hit on her. Blatant self-promotion. Flexing. Yes, flexing. She braced herself for a ridiculous show.
"Why'd you bring up a lawsuit earlier? You said, 'I'd really rather avoid a lawsuit'. I'm just curious." He cleared his throat when she didn't answer, as surprised as she was that he hadn't said anything even remotely similar to what she'd expected him to say. "Like, it was really such a minor thing, you bumped me with your surfboard, I was the stupid one, not you, no real harm done, you know? And you said that. It made me think you were gearing up to, like, pay me off or something." He tilted his head. "Do you run people over with that thing often?"
She could tell he was teasing her with that last question and she faux glared, making him chuckle. "No. I don't run people over with this thing. You were my first victim."
He laughed at that phrasing and it made her feel good. "I'm honored."
She bowed her head gracefully and he chuckled again.
"No, I-I don't know." She pointedly looked away, squinting towards the ice cream stand. "I guess I watch a lot of lawyer shows or something. It just occurred to me you might want to sue me for almost killing you. I'm glad I was wrong."
She felt a little lame, not just telling him.
"Man, you'd have to be a real asshole to twist what happened back there into a lawsuit. Like, that's con artist bullshit." Sarah swallowed hard at that. She'd know, she supposed. "I mean, there can't really be that many people out there who'd do that."
It wasn't all that rare, she thought to herself. But this guy probably couldn't know that. He wasn't a supermodel, or in the limelight. He was just a regular guy who probably surrounded himself with good people, people like him. Not that she knew him. At all. She just got a feeling from these last 10 or so minutes that he was at least nice and unassuming.
"I don't want to sound cynical, but the truth is some people look for ways to siphon money out of even the smallest situations. I'm sorry I thought you were one of them," she said sincerely. She regretted pinning him as an opportunist jerk.
"Hey, don't worry about it. I know I look like a bad sort of character. It's the sideburns."
She laughed, having to hold her board with two hands so that she didn't drop it. She was enjoying herself so much she didn't even think to be surprised by just how much.
"Um, so dooo you, um, do you come out here to surf often?" The angle of the sun hit him differently as they walked away from the water and she found herself thinking he was actually a peg above simply being cute. His attractiveness was really creeping up on her. And glancing at his profile, she liked his jaw, his nose, his long eyelashes…She could see his eyes a bit better now, too. They were an interesting light hue of brown.
In her business—both of her businesses—the men she came across were sculpted like Greek statues, every last inch of them meticulously paid attention to and worked on with strict diets and workout routines that were close to torture. A little less so in the spy world, but she didn't come across a lot of spies with how much her involvement in the CIA was hidden from virtually everyone. But the male models she was paired up with for photoshoots and commercials, and the handful of them she'd dated over the last 8 years, looked like gods.
By now, she was immune to it. Bored by it. She'd dated enough of them and she'd been screwed over by them in a variety of really fun ways. The deliciousness of their bodies and their beauty had grown stale. Anyways, a lot of it was very purposeful, knowing how to make their hair more appealing, the makeup, how to hold themselves and pose.
She was walking next to someone who looked like he exercised enough to be healthy and strong, but he definitely wasn't built like a god. He didn't look like he did bulk work, the way her costar had in the last Tabitha Rook film installment.
And then she was hit by a powerful sense of shame.
She was objectifying him in the way so many people did to her, professionals, people in journalism, in the media, in her own business, for fuck's sake.
She refused to do it to this guy.
So she reeled it back and purposely looked ahead as she answered.
"Not really. I thought I'd just try a new spot. Someone, uh, lives nearby and told me to try it out." That was a lie but she didn't want her best friend's apartment—one of her only sanctuaries that wasn't literally her own home—to be found out by anybody. And while this guy seemed trustworthy, she was a damn spy, if not a constantly followed celebrity. She wasn't chancing anything with him.
"I typically surf a little further south, actually. I've got my spot there. Not a lot of people. I'm more comfortable there. I know the way the water moves. I can read it. I understand it."
"Whoa…" She looked at him, furrowing her brow in question. "It's like you're the wave whisperer or something."
Sarah giggled. "Not today I'm not. I got maybe 3 waves. An all-time low."
"I mean, I saw you get more than that when I was watch…Uhhh." He paused and winced. "I did…I mean, you did catch my eye when I was chillin' on the beach earlier. I just thought it was cool."
"What, a woman surfing?" she asked, amused by how much he was blushing. So he had been watching. Interesting…
"No. Nah! No. Just…surfing in general. It's cool. I always thought it looked fun but I'm a big giant wimp. Right where you hit me, that's literally the furthest I'll go out. I never missed Shark Week when I was a kid, and I still watch it as a grown man, so you could say it's really made me, uhhhh, respect sharks."
"And by respect you mean stay far away from them," she provided.
"Yes," he said immediately and emphatically. "Far far away."
She laughed and he wrinkled his nose at her. It was incredibly adorable.
"I bet if you had a good teacher who was patient and made it fun for you, you'd like surfing a lot," she said.
"I bet you're right!" he agreed. "But I'm definitely too much of a fuddy-duddy to even try to figure out how to start. And I don't really know anyone who surfs." He shrugged matter-of-factly.
They finally arrived at the ice cream stand which was mercifully devoid of customers for the time being. It wasn't a terribly warm autumn day after all.
If she spoke up now, she knew she would probably offer to be the one to teach him. So she stayed quiet. It wasn't nice to just toss that out there, knowing she wouldn't be able to actually do it. It'd be an empty offer, an empty promise.
This life wasn't suited for casual meet-ups with other people, especially not with men who weren't specifically in her world, who didn't travel in her circles. The spy work aside, she wouldn't put anyone through the paparazzi and tabloids, the rampant speculation. The guys she'd dated before had all been models, save one who was an actor. They'd already been in her world and had welcomed the extra publicity. Only Hal, the actor, had seemed to have enough of her life, her fast-paced, dizzying world, and he'd broken up with her in an email while on set in Melbourne. The prick.
"Hi," she said at the teenager manning the stand. Her pigtails bobbed as she looked up from where she was wiping the counter in front of her. "Uh, do you have ice and maybe a bag to put it in? Minor surfing injury." She turned to exchange an amused look with her companion.
"Oh! Yeah, sure!" Thankfully the teen didn't seem to notice or care about who she was. It had been a risk.
"I'll pay for it."
The girl merely shrugged. "It's just frozen water and a bag," she said, filling the bag from the ice maker at the back of the stand. "And I get to be a medic for once instead of always scooping ice cream."
But then he stepped up to the counter. "Actually, I might make you scoop ice cream, too. Sorry. Two ice cream cones." He spun towards her. "Flavor?"
She was a little taken aback but her mouth automatically said, "Rocky Road."
"Oh. Crap. I'm sorry. That's, like, one of the flavors we don't have," the teenager said. "I'm sorry." The girl handed him the ice pack and winced. "Oh. Wow. You hit the ocean floor? I've gotten rashes like that from spilling on my board."
"It was the actual board," he replied, and Sarah twisted her lips to the side innocently as he sent her a wry but amused look.
"Oh man. You went hard, dude. Um. What flavors did you want?"
"Just chocolate for me," he said as he put the ice pack up against his shoulder. Sarah could see there was a bit of a mean scrape there, probably from the sand that was stuck on the bottom of her board, scraping across his skin as hard as it did. She felt even worse about the accident. "What would you like?"
She shook herself a bit. "Oh, um, same."
When he thrust money towards the teenager, Sarah tried to argue but he sent her a look and she let him pay.
They stepped back with their ice cream cones and she frowned at him. "Hey, I'm supposed to be the one paying for stuff. It's part of the you-not-suing-me deal."
"There is no me-not-suing-you deal, because I wasn't gonna sue you in the first place," he chuckled, licking the edges of the ice cream. She found herself fixating on his tongue and his lips, and she blushed, looking away as they moved further down the beach.
It had been long enough since she'd had sex and it hadn't been any kind of problem until right now. Apparently she needed to get laid if just this nice guy eating ice cream had her going this easily.
"Yeah, but…buying me ice cream?"
"It's a thank you. For the experience." He shrugged, shifting the ice on his shoulder.
"The experience of me running you over and wrecking your shoulder?" she asked, giving him a dubious look.
"First of all, I'll be fine. It isn't wrecked. More ice, a little ointment, I'll be fine. My sister's a doctor. I'm in good hands." His grin was rather cheeky and she pushed back against that fluttery feeling behind her belly button.
"Wait, your sister is a doctor? You gonna show her that? Great, she'll probably hate me." And why the hell did she care about this random guy's sister hating her?
He laughed. "Secondly," he pressed on, "I get to go home and tell everyone who ran me over."
Her stomach fell a little and she told herself to stop being so silly. Of course he knew who she was. She was on the covers of so many magazines. And what did it matter, really? He'd been kind, not a weirdo, not creepy, not rude or intrusive. He'd treated her like a human being instead of something to gawk at like a lot of people did—men and women. Why should it bother her that he'd recognized her? Why had she let herself get lulled into this weirdly comforting assumption that he genuinely thought she was a normal woman and not a big name celebrity? She was being so ridiculous.
"A seriously beautiful woman," he said, and then he gave her a bit of an awkward look. "Uh, that is, if you don't mind me saying that. It's just, you're objectively pretty gorgeous. Sorry." He blushed, clearing his throat, as she gaped again, not sure how to react. "I don't usually say stuff like that. I'm not really a blunt kind of guy. It just feels super apparent, I guess, like it's such an obvious fact that you're just—you're pretty, I mean—that I feel comfortable saying it? Although, uh, the more I ramble, the less comfortable I'm getting so maybe I'm just gonna stop talking now."
He didn't know. He had no idea who she was. He couldn't. He would've already said something, he would've shown it. He would've asked for something from her. Instead of seeing Sarah Walker the supermodel, all he saw was a woman who he, apparently, found pretty. Objectively pretty were the words he'd used.
Sarah couldn't help but beam at him. She wanted to hug him. She was glowing. She could feel it. But she wouldn't hug him. Instead, she put her hand on his shoulder and moved up onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
"That is for being so sweet," she said easily. All of this was easy. He made things feel easy. And that was why she needed to get out of here before he made sticking around easy. So she poked the ice he held to his shoulder, a look of awe on his face. "Keep icing that shoulder, huh?"
She had to go back to the apartment and drown her head in a hot bath. This couldn't be more than something she thought about every so often. She'd lose control with him. She knew it. She'd ask him out if she didn't walk away now.
It would ruin the magic of the last half hour she'd spent with this guy whose name she didn't even know.
So she moved away from him towards the steps that led up to the apartments.
"H-Hey! I don't know your name!" he said as he spun on his heel and watched her walk away.
"Sarah," she said, turning to face him and walking backwards towards the steps.
"I'm Chuck," he replied. "It was nice meeting you, Sarah."
She grinned at him. "Thanks for the ice cream."
"Next time I'll find you some Rocky Road," he said, and she giggled, turning back and walking away. It took every bit of self-control she had not to go back and get his number. This was for the best. She didn't belong in his world and he'd despise hers.
And now she could think about this fondly.
This unsullied experience of meeting a guy, liking a guy, and knowing he didn't have the stain of her celebrity in his brain when he talked to her.
This was something she'd keep to herself, whether he told his whole family or not didn't matter to her. She was keeping this for herself, to remind herself not to be a cynic or a pessimist. Because there were good guys out there. She'd just met one.
She froze halfway to Carina's apartment. What in the hell was she thinking?
She put the board down and rushed back to towards the steps, but as she scanned the beach, she couldn't spot him. He'd walked away. He'd left. And she didn't know where he'd gone. Probably to his car to leave, to drive home, wherever that was. And she'd never know.
He was out of sight. It was probably for the best. But what might've been a nice moment she'd think back on fondly as she grew older suddenly felt like regret, a whole lot of regret.
I know it's kind of a crazy premise. Which is why I say I really have no idea what's gonna happen with it. I know that's probably going to annoy some of you as it means posting will be kind of unpredictable but when has my posting ever been something you can count on consistently? Exactly.
Please let me know what you think so far. That will help a lot as I continue.
SarahsSupplyCloset