Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

MIRA

A lone in my tiny bunk, I listened to the sounds of the ocean below and heard the wind pick up outside. All around me, the chatter of men's voices filtered in from the hallways on either side of the cabin and I wondered if they knew I was in here.

For the first time, I felt truly nervous on the rig. To a certain extent, what I'd told Logan before had been true. It was always bad at first, when word started spreading that there was a woman onboard. Inevitably, there were come-ons and chances being taken, but generally, I'd never really felt threatened before.

This was different.

I didn't know what it was about this rig, but there was a hostility here that thickened the air and brought something ominous with it. Maybe it was because I didn't have any authority here yet or maybe it was simply the fact they knew their big boss didn't support women being in the industry, but it just felt different.

I shifted on my wafer of a mattress, feeling sharp springs pressing into my back, and then I sighed, scrubbing my hands over my face and letting out a low groan. At this rate, it was going to be a damn long night .

I was still wide awake, and honestly, I was starting to get a bit hungry. The protein bar hadn't helped at all, only reminding my stomach of all the empty space left inside, and yet, I still wasn't tempted to leave my cabin.

I'd never felt this way on a rig before—and that was the part I hadn't told Logan. I'd practically grown up on these things, learning from my father, who had also taught Slate. All my life, I'd lived and breathed for the salty sea air and the rush of the impressive machines. I'd always loved the lingering sense of danger and the unknown of what lurked below in the dark waters.

It had never bothered me that I'd had to fight for my right to work in a man's world. In fact, it had brought with it a sense of satisfaction unlike any other when I finally won their respect. When the wolves lifted their chins to me and exposed their throats.

I couldn't get enough of it.

This rig was unlike any I'd ever experienced, though. When I'd been here before with Slate, it hadn't been like this.

Over the last few years, these guys seemed to have lost control completely. Whether it was because of a lack of management or having free run of the place, I didn't know, but something had clearly gone wrong.

This rig had always been one of the edgier ones, the very atmosphere here more volatile. Personally, I'd always thought it was because the owner encouraged the worst of the men's natures, the aggression and the dogged competitiveness.

Stanislopoulos seemed to think it was good for business—that it somehow encouraged the men to work harder than ever and to push themselves to the brink on a daily basis. As far as I was concerned, that was stupid.

To me, this whole thing felt like a tinderbox that was about to go up, and I desperately didn't want to be here when it did. Discomfort tightened my gut as I listened to laughter coming closer and closer to my door.

I braced myself for someone to try to open it—and perhaps succeeding given that the chain that the lock was on was dangling by a rusted wire—but the laughter continued as it faded into the distance when they passed.

I relaxed again, but only so much. I wouldn't relax completely until we were on the chopper, putting this thing in the rearview mirror.

Slate had picked up on my nerves when I'd spoken to him earlier, but I'd managed to convince him I was fine and that it was nothing. That I was simply tired after our early morning and long day.

Anya always had told me that I was crazy for wanting to spend my life on these rigs. Contrary to popular belief, Spiers Consulting had offices in New York City and everything. It was entirely possible for me to work at our head office, holding down the fort while Slate did the dirty work on the rigs.

I'd always known I was wired differently to other girls, though. While I went to the office occasionally and worked from there when our presence wasn't physically required on a rig, I couldn't stay away for very long.

As soon as I could get out on the water, that was what I did. My career was absolutely my passion, and I was determined to dedicate my life's work to making the rigs more sustainable and environmentally friendly. I wasn't very vocal about the latter. As far as most people knew, I acted as support to my brother and did what had to be done, which was also true.

But ever since I'd gained more of an understanding of the industry once I'd started working in it, I'd wanted to do something about the destruction it brought with it. I just didn't know what yet, but knowing that Logan had loose plans based on information Ariane had given him was why I hadn't flat out refused to work with the man.

What I wanted to do was an ever-evolving task that I hadn't quite wrapped my head around, but the inspiration had never faltered within me.

Until today.

How I'd been treated on this rig so far made me want to crawl into my shell and hide, which was exactly what I was doing in my cabin and I hated myself for it. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hide.

I should've been out there, facing down the assholes and making my position crystal clear. With Logan, the potential new owner, at my back, I'd have been in a much stronger position to do just that, and clearly, he wasn't opposed to threatening their jobs on my behalf.

But I didn't really want that either.

These men, as rough and rude as they were, were breadwinners. Fathers. Husbands to some poor, unfortunate women out there who'd be shocked to learn how they treated me today. They needed this job—all of them.

If they didn't, they wouldn't have been out here, isolated and working in the hot sun or pouring rain, day in and day out. I didn't want anyone to get fired because of me.

So get your fucking act together and get out there , a voice deep inside my head screamed. Mira Spiers doesn't hide in her bunk. She faces the demons head on, slays them, and then keeps them on a leash as her pets.

Okay, so maybe that thought was a little bit of an exaggeration, but since I was psyching myself up, it was necessary. I should've had the guts to go to the cafeteria and grab dinner just like everyone else. As if on cue, my stomach rumbled and I groaned, sitting up on my bed but not managing to force myself across the minuscule cabin to the locked door just yet.

As I sat there, a knock came from the door and I jumped, my heart twisting in my chest before lurching to my throat. I was hesitant to answer, my muscles aching with the sudden tension as I looked around for something to defend myself with.

"Mira? It's me!" Logan's voice called from the other side of the door. "Are you in there? Mira!"

Relief thundered through me, leaving me dizzy in its wake. I slid off the bunk, taking the two steps to the door and unlocking it. Thankfully, Logan was alone when I opened the door, carrying two trays full of food.

"Where did you get that?" I breathed as I let him in.

"The cafeteria," he said easily. "It's not a short walk though, so it might be a bit cold."

I grinned. "Right now, it's about the best thing I've ever smelled."

Logan jokingly laid out a table setting for me on my bed, even dipping into a bow with his one arm tucked behind his back. "Your dinner is served, milady."

"Thank you," I said more sincerely than anything I'd ever said to him. "How did you know?"

"You've had exactly one sandwich since sunrise, Mira. We didn't snack or eat on the chopper or this afternoon. I know you said you had a protein bar, but I figured it wouldn't even take the edge off."

As he said it, he placed his own tray on the floor and sat down with it, leaning his back against the wall opposite my bed before he took a look around. "You should've taken me up on my offer to swap. My cabin is nothing fancy, but it must be their idea of a suite. It's small, but it's still double the size of this thing."

I waved him off, digging a fork into the mystery meat on my plate. "That's okay. It's not like we're staying for long. I can survive anywhere for just one night."

"Sure, but so can I," he said as he grimaced at his food like it was the first time he was really looking at it. Poking at the meat with his blunt knife, he glanced up at me. "What is this supposed to be?"

"Rice, meat, potatoes, and veg. It's actually a pretty decent meal for most rigs."

His eyebrows swept up, surprise staring back at me from those blues. "It's just about all the same color."

"Yeah, but it's usually tasty. Just try it."

"Think they've got a pizza delivery service out here?" he joked, letting out a deep sigh as he speared a mouthful of food onto his fork. "Wait, they do have a medic on this thing if we get sick, right?"

"We won't get sick," I assured him, glancing down at my own array of grayish foods. "If they serve anything bad to the entire crew, they'd lose a day or more of work until everyone has recovered. Working on a rig with a stomach issue is too dangerous for even Stanislopoulos to risk. It'd increase their risks of an incident happening far too much. It might not look good, and I'm sure it's the cheapest he could get away with, but it shouldn't make us sick."

Logan gave me a tight nod, holding up his fork to mine as if making a quiet toast before he finally took his first bite. I watched him for a moment, seeing his jaw work to chew and a wrinkle of disgust on his nose as he swallowed.

"That's not great," he declared, taking a sip of the bottle of water that'd been on his tray. "I thought the food on the other rig was pretty standard, but it was gourmet in comparison to this."

"Slate and I have spent years digging into suppliers, cooks, and recipes, and working with dietitians to create the menus to introduce on the rigs," I explained, happy to be talking about something I was both passionate and knowledgeable about. "I've always thought it was a sin to expect people to work as hard as anyone on a rig and then not to feed them well. It makes a world of difference when the men, and women, feel valued if they're being nourished more properly than a prisoner."

"Exactly," Logan agreed after swallowing another bite of his food. "Calories shouldn't be the only thing that matters."

"Exactly. It seems we've finally found something we can agree on."

He looked up again slowly, a grin spreading on his lips as his eyes locked on mine. "Would you look at that? We finally did, huh? You didn't happen to sneak in a bottle of champagne, did you? It feels like this is something to celebrate."

Seeing the spark of humor in his eyes, I cracked open my water bottle and held it out to him. "If you close your eyes and pretend, this could be champagne that's gone slightly flat. Bottoms up, Logan Jones. To finally finding something we can agree on."