The sun danced on the surface of the sea, scattering golden coins of light across the windows of the yacht docked at a grand pier on the Hamptons coast. Sam arrived early, impeccable in a light blazer, his shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest, dark sunglasses masking his eyes and that quiet, telltale anxiety of someone who, even if he's grown used to this world of appearances, still gets nervous as if it's his first time.
On the drive there, he replayed Victor DeLuca's briefing in his head: "The client is Alex Grant. Don't forget: posture, discretion, charm as always. Don't let me down!"
By now, in his brief career as a "companion," Sam had already escorted a handful of wealthy women to every kind of event, from opera nights to hot afternoons at the country club. Surely, Alex would be just another one of those Hamptons socialites wanting to show off her "arm-candy guy" at a gathering packed with the ultra-wealthy.
The yacht's deck was a parade of sparkling glasses and guests gilded by sun and money, all layered over a background of smooth jazz.
Sam spotted Alex Grant before he was even announced: a tall man in his early forties, tanned, with dark eyes and black hair, his floral shirt open to reveal a sculpted chest and the kind of body that never skips the gym. Alex didn't look like a worn-out CEO — he radiated a presence almost predatory, the sort that could make any woman — or man — feel a little intimidated.
Wait, Sam thought, a little stunned. Alex Grant is a man? DeLuca is so dead.
When their eyes met, it was like someone had ripped a page out of the script. Sam held his breath, swallowing his nerves. This was nothing like he'd expected. Across from him, Alex silently cursed DeLuca. He'd expected a glamorous female companion to make his wife jealous.
Instead, he got a twenty-something guy, handsome, fit, with a shy-but-bold vibe. Alex almost laughed at the situation, but something about Sam stopped him… a strange, immediate, uncomfortable sort of sympathy.
"You're... Sam?" Alex asked, trying to sound casual while sizing up the young man in front of him. "I was expecting someone... different."
"That's right, Mr. Grant," Sam replied, offering an awkward smile, doing his best to sound confident. "Victor sent me by mistake instead of... the person you had in mind. But I can leave, if you prefer."
Alex paused for a moment, absorbing the surprise. Then he sighed, resigned, and shook his head.
"No... you can stay. You're here now, there's no sense wasting your trip. I think I can survive one more unexpected twist. And to be honest, I actually need someone to talk."
After that unexpectedly awkward introduction, the two made their way through the guests, clinking glasses, moving through waves of rehearsed smiles and curious glances. Alex, despite his poise, was unraveling inside. Between sips of champagne, he opened up to Sam, admitting just how much his life had fallen apart.
"You know, no one's ever asked how I really feel," he said suddenly, gazing out at the horizon, the wind ruffling his dark hair. "None of these people fawning over me, not a single one actually cares what's going on in my head. I'm supposed to be happy. I had everything: successful business, family, the kind of life they tell you to want, all that self-made man stuff."
He let out a laugh, but it died in the air. Then he continued:
"Until I found out it was all a lie. The son I raised for twenty-two years isn't mine... I'm infertile. My wife lied to me the whole time."
Sam took a deep breath, searching for something between professional distance and genuine comfort.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Grant."
"Please. Just Alex. I don't feel like 'Mr.' anything… not after all that." He knocked back the rest of his champagne in one go. "I only hired you to make my wife jealous, well, not you, but I was expecting a woman named Sam, not a guy... Pretty pathetic, right? I really loved her, before all this."
A heavy silence fell between them, the yacht swaying gently with the jazz and the sea breeze.
The waves fanned out beneath the prow, and for a split second, Sam saw how much money could buy, and how little it meant. He hesitated, glancing at Alex's devastated face, at his obvious struggle to hold it together.
"Sometimes we do these things when we just can't see a way out," Sam offered, voice calm, hoping to comfort. "I've done things I never thought I would... things you'd never expect."
Alex gave a sideways smile, but it was just exhaustion. His glass slipped from his hand and clattered onto the deck.
"I just can't find a reason to keep going anymore, man."
Sam started to say something, but before he could, Alex turned and strode away, long, uncertain steps taking him toward the rail. For a second, everything paused: laughter fading, the sound of the sea, a few distracted guests glancing over.
Then, all at once, Alex turned, climbed up onto the rail and without hesitation, threw himself into the water.