Just. Out. Of. Reach.

With a heavy sigh, he accepted his fate. He had no choice but to confront his friend.

“What’d he do now?” Cam peered over at Roan, then back to the black liquid gold now calling his name. He was eager to answer, only he was mentally weighing the risks of getting too close to Roan at the moment.

Roan snorted. “We’ve got a huge group comin’ in today. A freaking daycare, man. And he was supposed to do one simple thing. Get the waivers signed.” Roan yanked the paper out of the machine. “I can’t find ’em anywhere.”

“I did get ’em signed, you asshole.”

Speak of the devil.

Cam smirked at the sound of Dare’s voice coming from behind him, followed by the annoying ding of the electronic door notification system that, no matter how much they fucked with it, still sounded on a delay.

“If you’d just open your eyes and look,” Dare tacked on.

Dare Davis, the third owner of Pier 70 Marina, and another one of Cam’s closest friends, stepped into the office looking as casual as ever with his white T-shirt that sported the marina logo, knee-length swim shorts, Dallas Cowboys ball cap on backwards, and as usual, was bare-footed. Oh, and carrying a Red Bull. Of course.

“Then where the hell are they?” Roan barked, pinning Dare in place with his heated gaze.

Cam took a step back and watched the exchange, as did Lulu, who appeared a little concerned. Cam patted her head reassuringly.

“Where y’all told me to put ’em,” Dare countered, head cocked forward, as though pointing with his eyebrows. “That stupid rack you hung on the wall, remember?”

“Fine time for you to start listenin’ to what we ask you to do,” Roan groused.

Cam huffed a laugh, trying to cover it with a cough. With these two, he was always entertained.

“If I recall correctly,” Dare said, flashing a mischievous grin at Cam before looking back at Roan, “I tried to get y’all to nix the paper and move to iPads, but no.”

Roan shot a ball-shriveling scowl at Dare.

“No worries,” Dare said, still smirking and holding his hands up in an I surrender gesture. “I’m cool. Just happy to chill in the Stone Age, rubbin’ sticks together to make fire. Later, I’ll take a break and go spear us a buffalo for dinner.”

Rolling his eyes because he knew Dare was just looking to push Roan’s buttons, which wasn’t unusual, Cam made his way to the coffeepot, desperate to get his hands on a cup while Roan was distracted.

“You are such an ass—”

“Who’s handlin’ this party today?” Cam interrupted Roan’s tirade, hoping to change the subject and keep the two of them from going head to head so early in the day.

As entertaining as this ongoing squabble might be, they had shit to do.

Pier 70 Marina was a full-service marina and boat storage that Cam, Roan, and Dare had opened nearly a decade ago with the financial backing from Cam’s father. It’d grown to be one of the most exclusive, highly coveted marinas on Lake Buchanan. To the point that they’d acquired a staff of nearly twenty over the years, most of those people family or friends. Or family friends.

“Holly’s handlin’ the corporate event, and Teague’s gonna run point on the water,” Dare advised, tossing back what was left of his energy drink.

“Is she here yet?” Cam asked, referring to his younger sister, who’d recently taken over the position of party host.

Holly and her husband, Keith, had offered their services to Cam when the marina had been shorthanded a couple of summers back, and they’d stuck around ever since. They’d both adapted quickly to the prestigious party host role and now alternated between handling the off-water activities and taking care of their three kids. Holly was responsible for getting things set up for the large events—usually corporate or family reunion type—that took place in the fifteen-acre park adjacent to the marina, while the rest of them handled the watercraft.

“On her way. She just called before you came down,” Roan said.

“Good. Where’s Teague?” Cam asked.

Teague Carter was the recently added fourth and final partner in the marina. They’d brought him on board to help out with light mechanic work and some of the chores when Teague had still been in high school, and through the years, thanks to his hard work and dedication, they’d opted to give him stock in the place.

“Haven’t seen him yet,” Dare said. “He had a late night. Some party carried on until the early hours, and he didn’t get outta here until around one.”

That wasn’t surprising.

Several years younger than the rest of them, Teague was the life of the party on a good day, always volunteering to go out on the party barges when a client requested. Sometimes Cam admired the kid’s energy level, but Cam chalked it up to Teague still being young. Not that Cam was all that old at thirty-two, but he did have about seven years on Teague.

“What else’s goin’ on today?” Cam glanced back at Dare and Roan over his shoulder.

“You mean besides the heavyweight match between Roan and the printer?” Dare smirked, looking back and forth between Cam and Roan.

Roan shot Dare the finger. “Not a helluva lot,” Roan griped, clearly still in a foul mood.

“So why so pissy?” Dare asked Roan directly.

Roan glowered at Dare but didn’t respond.

Thank God for small miracles. These two … stubborn as mules.

Taking a sip of coffee and letting it burn all the way down, Cam turned around and leaned against the counter, watching the two of them carefully. Roan was frowning, Dare grinning like a fool.

Cam shook his head.

Sometimes, especially during the summer months when they spent so much time entertaining people for extensive periods of time, things started to heat up inside the office. Sometimes hot enough to rival the blistering three-digit temps. However, it was only the first week of June, the season was just now kicking off, so he hoped this wasn’t indicative of what they had to look forward to for the next three months.

But it was that tension that had Cam seeking solitude—or trying to, anyway—in his own office whenever possible. It didn’t help that he lived in one of the two private apartments above the marina office, either. Hiding out was nearly impossible in his line of work. And with Roan now occupying the other apartment, Cam never seemed to find a moment’s peace.

Unfortunately, this morning he’d hit the snooze button on his alarm a few too many times and hadn’t made it in before the others as he normally did, which meant he hadn’t been able to sneak away.

Yet.

But he fully intended to rectify that now.

Sparing them both one more look, Cam pushed off the counter and glanced out at the parking lot.

Yep. Time to jet.

“You’ve got incoming,” Cam noted as he took his coffee cup and headed down the narrow hallway toward his office, smiling as Roan greeted the customer with a chipper note in his deep voice that hadn’t been there a minute ago.

Two

Gannon Burgess had woken up that morning expecting a drama-free day. It was Friday, after all. A day most people traipsed into work still half-asleep—possibly still drunk—from the Thursday happy hour slash kickoff to the weekend party they’d indulged in the night before. Once they’d downed the requisite amount of coffee, they took care of the absolute necessities, then headed out as early as they could to pick up where they’d left off in kicking off the weekend.

Drama-free. Just the way Gannon preferred it.

Not today, apparently.

Granted, being that he worked seven days a week, no matter what, Gannon woke up with high hopes for smooth sailing every morning, and generally he didn’t meet too many surprises along the way.

Did it always go the way he wanted? No, actually.

Since he owned and managed a multimillion-dollar entertainment software development company, there were some standard road bumps along with the occasional hiccup that arose—software glitches, viruses, employee issues, technical problems. Yadda, yadda, blah, blah, blah.