"Acceptable?" Michael suggests with a hint of amusement.
I laugh. "A bit more than acceptable, I'd say."
The interior is just as impressive. Open and airy, with natural materials and elegant furnishings. The main living area flows onto a spacious terrace, and hallways lead to what I assume are the bedrooms.
"Your rooms are this way," says the villa manager, a friendly local woman who introduces herself as Josephine. "Mr. Morrison, you have the master suite on the east wing. Miss Carter, yours is in the west wing."
Maximum distance between us. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed.
Josephine shows us around the property, explaining the amenities and services available. There's a private chef who can prepare meals upon request, a hot tub on a lower terrace, and direct access to a small, secluded beach.
"The refrigerator and bar are also fully stocked," she concludes. "Is there anything else you need?"
"I think we're fine, thank you," I say when Michael doesn't respond. He's been staring out at the ocean, seemingly lost in thought.
After Josephine leaves, an awkward silence falls between us. This is the moment when, at the office, one of us would bring up work—a meeting to discuss, a contract to review. But that safety net has now been removed.
"So," I say finally, "what would you like to do first? Swimming? Exploring the island? There's supposed to be a beautiful hiking trail nearby."
Michael turns to me, "What I'd like," he says slowly, "is a drink. Care to join me?"
I hesitate. Alcohol might not be the best idea when I'm already struggling to maintain professional distance. But then again, this isn't a normal business trip. The doctor ordered relaxation, and Michael needs to unwind.
"One drink," I agree. "But then we should probably unpack and settle in."
He moves to the bar and examines the selection. "What's your poison?"
"Surprise me," I say, immediately regretting my choice of words. Too flirtatious, too inviting.
He selects a bottle and pours two glasses of amber liquid. "Aged rum," he explains, handing me one. "When in Rome, or in this case, the Caribbean."
"To relaxation," he adds, raising his glass.
"To your health," I counter.
The rum warms my throat and loosens some of the tension in my shoulders. The view before us is spectacular. The late afternoon sun casting golden light across the water, the gentle sound of waves below.
"You know," Michael says after a while, "I haven't been on a real vacation since college."
I turn to him, surprised by the admission. "Really? Not even a weekend getaway?"
He shakes his head. "There was always something more important to do. A deal to close, a competitor to outmaneuver."
"That's..." I search for a diplomatic word, "dedicated."
"Obsessive," he corrects with a self-deprecating smile. "At least, that's what my brothers tell me."
Another rare personal detail. I can't help but push a little further. "Tell me about them, your brothers."
"There are four of us. I'm the second oldest. Ethan is the eldest. He's ex-military, lives like a hermit out in the mountains now. Works as a blacksmith, if you can believe it."
"A blacksmith? Really?"
Michael nods. "Traditional forging, modern welding, custom metalwork. He's incredibly talented. Then there's David, the athlete. Professional quarterback until his injury. And Jack's the baby of the family, rodeo rider, always on the move."
"You're all so different," I observe.
"We are," he agrees. "But we're still close, in our way." He pauses, swirling the rum in his glass. "Our father died when we were young. Our mother raised us on her own, working multiple jobs to keep us afloat. She taught us to look out for each other."
