"Nah, keep it."
He eyed me like I was nuts. "Why?"
"Because healthcare's not my thing."
"But itcouldbe."
"Except itwon'tbe."
"But—"
I cut him off. "Too risky." Now,Iwas the one slinging bullshit. I was fine with risk, but not with Evan Carver, and not with the kind of rumors I'd been hearing about his company – or should I say Daddy's company?
The rumors ran the full gamut – overbilling, underreporting, and even a needle left in someone's ass-cheek.
The dumpster wasn't only on fire. It was soaked in nitrate and ready to blow.
Evan's shoulders sagged, but then he quickly recovered. "Ah, well. I figured I'd give you the chance."
"Hey, don't look so glum," I said. "You had to know I was a longshot."
"I'm not glum. I just feel bad for you, that's all. Trust me, you're gonna regret it."
I reached out and gave him a biz-bro slap on the shoulder. "You know what you need?"
"What?"
"A nice glass of Aristotle."
He blinked. "What?"
"The wine," I said. "Rare vintage. More purple than red."
He hesitated. "Purple?"
I chuckled like I knew something he didn't. "Yeah, you've never had it?"
"Oh,that?"He paused. "Yeah. I've had it." He made a so-so gesture. "It's alright. But honestly, I've had better."
I toasted him with my now-empty glass.What a douche.
Thirty seconds later, he was gone, strolling back to his throne after handing me business-card-number-four. He'd even scribbled something on the back while shoveling more bullshit about me missing out.
I wasn't missing anything.
But Iwascurious, now more than ever. And later that night, when I should've been sleeping easy in my own bed, I was wide awake, making plans to return to the island I'd just left.
It wasn't personal.
It was smart.
I was doing double-duty, checking on my investmentandmy friend. But let's be honest here. It was a third thing that had me returning sooner than I'd planned.
No. Not athing.
A person.
A certain barista whose story I wanted to hear.
