Free Mr. Corporate (Mister #3) by J.A. Huss

and when I get to ten-one thousand I start yelling his name.
    “Weston?” I scream, running back towards the water. I stand on the edge, wondering what to do. There’s no one here to help me. My heart starts racing the second that thought enters my head. “Weston?”
    I imagine his body floating up… or never appearing again. What if that pilot comes and West is gone? What will I tell his mom and dad? I will have to admit that I was here and I did nothing. And I can just see Mr. Conrad. I can almost hear his accusations. He was always there for you, Tori. Why weren’t you there for him ?
    “West!” I scream it louder as I run into the waves. I dive under and almost choke on the salty sea as it pushes its way into my mouth, but recover and surface, drawing in a long breath of air.
    West is looking at me, the biggest smile on his face. “Did you just… try to save me?” He laughs.
    I open my palm and splash water in his face. “Fuck you! Just fuck you! I was calling your name! You were under for like twenty seconds!”
    “Not twenty seconds.” He chuckles, wiping the water out of his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Tori. I told you I worked in the ocean as a teenager. I can hold my breath for a minute at least. You don’t need to freak out about a twenty-second dive.” His hand comes out of the water and he’s holding up a lobster. “They live in the cracks between the rocks. These warm-water lobsters aren’t as good as the ones up in New England, but they’ll do.”
    I let out a long breath and mutter, “I hate you.”
    “I know,” he says, good-naturedly. “But I’ll still take care of you if you’re alone, Tori. Don’t worry. I won’t check out until you’re safe.”
    He swims past me and covers the short distance back to the beach before I can even work out what those words might actually mean.
    He’s mad, I know that. Maybe because I thought he was lying about the lobsters. Or maybe because I pretty much accused him of being lazy. Or maybe because I don’t think I’m safe here on this island and he’s taking it personally.
    It doesn’t matter. Any and all of those reasons are good ones. And it just shows me that I was right to walk out on him three and a half years ago. I was right. I know what’s coming. An entire day filled with Weston Conrad’s caveman protection. Hours and hours of him insinuating that I’m helpless, or careless, or stupid. Or all of the above.
    West is already walking back towards the little house when I get back to the beach. I pick up my shirt and skirt and carry them as I follow the little footpath.
    My eyes are on West’s back, his rippled muscles and his broad shoulders.
    I have lots of reasons to hate him. I do. But only one matters. Weston Conrad is sexist.
    He believes women should stay home and raise children. Not have both a career and children, mind you. But literally stay the hell home and raise children. When he told me that a few weeks into our relationship I thought he was kidding. I actually laughed.
    But he was serious. And we fought over this all the time.
    If West and I had stayed together I’d be a stay-at-home mother. My life would consist of children, having dinner on the table when he got home from work, and running the household.
    This wasn’t a guess on my part. I’m not making this up. He said this to me. Face to face, one year into our relationship. We had been fighting more and more about where we were heading as a couple. West was becoming distant and I challenged him. Accused him of cheating.
    He denied it—I believed him—and said this was his major hang-up with me.
    He wants a wife who is comfortable in her role.
    Role .
    That word still burns me. The moment that came out of his mouth I seethed. I saw red. I threw plates at him. I threw my stilettos at him.
    I never actually hit him with the plates or shoes. But I did dump all his shit out on the lawn and make a scene in front of the neighbors.
    The cops came—Weston was pissed off over