"Worth the trip?" Michael asks.
"Absolutely."
The captain helps us unload our gear—snorkels, masks, fins, plus a picnic lunch the villa prepared for us—then explains he'll return in four hours.
"Enjoy paradise," he says with a wink that makes me blush, as if he's made certain assumptions about why we want to be alone on a secluded beach.
As the boat pulls away, I'm suddenly very aware that we are completely alone. No staff, no other tourists, just us and the natural beauty surrounding us.
"Shall we get right to snorkeling?" Michael asks, seemingly unaffected by our isolation. "The turtles are supposed to be most active in the morning."
"Lead the way," I tell him.
We prepare our gear and wade into the crystal-clear water. It's even more beautiful than the reef near our villa. Untouched coral formations teeming with colorful fish, sea fans waving gently in the current, and yes, sea turtles. We spot one almost immediately, a large specimen gliding effortlessly through the water with ancient grace.
Time loses meaning as we explore the underwater world together. Michael occasionally touches my arm to direct my attention to something particularly interesting, a cleverly camouflaged octopus, a school of silvery fish moving in perfect unison, another turtle surfacing for air before diving back to the reef.
Each touch, even through the water, sends a jolt of adrenaline through me. It's becoming harder to pretend these reactions don't exist, that we're just boss and employee enjoying a recreational activity together.
Eventually, we return to shore, exhilarated and slightly exhausted from the extended swim. Michael spreads out a blanket from our gear and unpacks the picnic lunch—gourmet sandwiches, fresh fruit, chilled wine in an insulated container.
"The villa staff thinks of everything," I say, accepting a glass of wine. "This is perfect."
"They should, considering what this place costs," Michael replies dryly. Then he looks immediately chagrined. "Sorry. That sounded obnoxiously wealthy, didn't it?"
I laugh. "A little. But it's fine. I'm well aware of the financial disparity between us."
He frowns slightly. "Does that bother you?"
"What? That you're a billionaire and I'm decidedly not?" I consider the question seriously. "Not really. Money is just money. It's what people do with it that matters."
"And what do I do with it?" he asks, seeming genuinely curious about my perception.
I take a bite of my sandwich to buy time, organizing my thoughts. "You use it as a tool," I say finally. "To build things, to solve problems, to create security. For yourself, your family, your employees. You're not flashy about it. You don't seem to care about the status symbols or the lifestyle so much as what the money allows you to accomplish."
He looks surprised by my assessment. "That's... remarkably accurate."
"I pay attention," I say simply.
"What would you do?" he asks. "If you had that kind of wealth?"
It's not a question I've ever considered. "I'd make sure my parents were taken care of, of course. Maybe endow some academic chairs in their names. They'd love that." I think further. "I'd travel more. Not luxury hotels necessarily, but really experiencing places, cultures. And I'd probably set up some kind of foundation for education. Scholarships for students who have potential but lack resources."
Michael nods approvingly. "Thoughtful. Not hedonistic."
"Did you expect me to say shopping sprees and private jets?" I tease.
"No," he says seriously. "I know you better than that."
He does know me. Not just as his efficient assistant who anticipates his professional needs, but as a person with values, dreams, a life outside the office.
We finish our lunch and stretch out on the blanket, the warm sun and gentle sound of waves lulling us into silence. I close my eyes, content to simply exist in this perfect moment.
"I called David while you were getting ready this morning," Michael says after a while. "He's doing better. Apologized for the drunk dial."
I open my eyes and turn my head to look at him. "That's good. Did you talk about what comes next for him?"
"A bit. He's going to meet with a new surgical team next week. Get more details about the procedure and recovery timeline." Michael sighs. "The hardest part for him is the uncertainty. Athletes are used to clear metrics—how fast, how strong, how many yards. Now he's in this gray area where success isn't clearly defined."
