“For...” she gestured vaguely with her coffee cup. “You know. Taking care of me. Making sure I didn’t...”
“Fall into the ocean? Declare war on neighboring islands? Attempt to communicate with sea turtles using interpretive dance? Release all my exotic pets into the wild to start a new civilization?”
“Something like that.” She attempted a smile that turned into a grimace. “God, my head feels like it’s hosting a death metal concert. With a mosh pit. And possibly some kind of ritual sacrifice.”
“The aspirin should help,” I said, pushing the pills toward her. “And food. Even if you don’t think you want it, trust me. It’s like putting a sponge in a puddle of toxic waste. Necessary clean-up procedure.”
She dutifully swallowed the pills and took a tentative bite of toast. “I’m surprised you’re so chipper. You drank as much as I did.”
“Superior genetics,” I replied with a wink. “That, and years of practice neutralizing alcohol with late-night board meetings. Nothing sobers you up like trying to explain quarterly projections to investors in Tokyo at 3 AM while secretly being so hungover that even your eyebrows hurt.”
“Sounds thrilling,” she muttered.
“About as thrilling as watching paint dry on a tax form. During an audit. Conducted by the world’s most monotone accountant.” I agreed. “Speaking of thrilling activities, how would you feel about a boat trip today?”
She lowered her glasses enough to peer at me over the rims, her expression suggesting I’d just proposed we wrestle alligators while covered in barbecue sauce. “A boat. On water. Moving water. With my current hangover. You’re joking, right?”
“The fresh air will help. And there’s a neighboring island with a famous local market. Best conch fritters in the Bahamas. Plus, the boat ride is smooth. Like gliding on glass. Or sliding across a freshly waxed floor in socks, but with fewer bruises.”
“Unless there are waves. Which there are. Because it’s the ocean. Where waves live. Professionally. It’s literally their job to be wavy and make people like me feel like their stomach is trying to escape through their esophagus.”
“Minor detail. Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I left it in the bottom of whatever blue monstrosity you kept refilling last night. What time would we leave?”
“After you’ve finished breakfast and feel human again,” I promised. “No rush.”
She sighed, taking another bite of toast. “Fine. But if I throw up, that’s on you. Literally and figuratively.”
“I accept full responsibility for any and all vomiting scenarios,” I said solemnly, placing a hand over my heart. “My rum, my rules, my cleanup duty. I’ll even hold your hair back. I’m very good at it. I once helped Morgan through an unfortunate tequila incident that resulted in him proposing marriage to a potted plant.”
That earned me a genuine smile, small but real. “You’re very strange for a billionaire, you know that?”
“I prefer ‘uniquely eccentric,’” I corrected. “It sounds more expensive. Like I’m not weird, I’m a limited-edition collectible human.”
“Of course it does,” she replied, shaking her head but still smiling. “Give me an hour to pull myself together?”
“Take all the time you need,” I said, backing toward the door. “I’ll be at the main house whenever you’re ready. No rush. I have several very important business calls to ignore while I stare at the ocean.”
I paused at the doorway, holding up my shirt that she’d set aside. “By the way, according to ancient shirt law, I believe you now own my soul. Just wanted to confirm that’s still in effect in the cold light of day. There’s usually a 24-hour return policy, but you didn’t keep the receipt.”
Her cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she lied.
“Of course not,” I agreed. “Must be thinking of someone else who claimed ownership of my soul last night. Easy mistake. I lose track of all the people who own pieces of my soul. You, my grandmother, the barista who makes my coffee exactly right. It’s getting crowded in there.”
I ducked out before she could throw something at me, grinning like an idiot all the way back to the main house.
True to my word, I didn’t rush her. When Anica finally appeared at the main house, she looked significantly more like herself. She’d switched out the glasses for sunglasses, and her hair was neatly styled. She’d changed into shorts and a light blouse that managed to be both modest and distractingly flattering.
“Ready for adventure?” I asked, setting aside the book I’d been pretending to read while actually watching the path from her bungalow. I hadn’t actually turned a page in twenty minutes.
“Ready to prove that a human can survive on aspirin and spite,” she corrected, but her tone was lighter. “Let’s go before I change my mind or my stomach stages a full rebellion.”
The small marina was a short walk from the main house, with several boats of varying sizes bobbing gently in the crystal-clear water. I only owned three of them, but I’d already decided we’d take the ferry.
“The ferry should be here in a minute.” I slipped my hands into my pockets and stared out at the water.
“What, you can’t drive one of these?” She gestured to the other boats.
