My brows lift. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
“No, I did that already.” He isn’t acting any different now that I know. “I’m going to donate money to help fix the island.”
And there it is. The checkbook. The thing every wealthy man reaches for when the conversation gets uncomfortable.
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I care and because I can.”
The arrogance of that sentence aggravates me. But he’s not performing generosity for an audience. He’s stating a fact the way he’d state the weather. He has money. People need help. It’s the most obvious thing to him.
“I’m not impressed by your money.”
“I know.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “It’s one of your best qualities. Most people treat it like a commodity. You treat it like the curse it is.” He pushes off the doorframe. “I’m not asking your permission, Wendy. Those people don’t care what my last name is. They care about getting their businesses back.”
He’s right, and I hate it. Many small business owners would take a check from the Devil himself if it meant reopening during the busy month of the season.
I stare at him. He stares back. The breeze moves through the open windows, and the curtains flap.
“Let me do what I’m good at.”
“Which is?”
“Problem-solving.”
He walks toward the back door.
Halfway there, he turns. “For the record, the curse isn’t the money. It’s what people become when they find out I have it.”
He walks out before I can respond.
I close my eyes.
“Fuck,” I whisper for the second time today.
chapter twenty-seven
Dyson
Aweek ago, I anonymously donated two million dollars to an emergency relief fund for Coconut Beach’s small businesses. No strings attached. The grant money is available for any local business owner. They just have to apply through the island’s chamber of commerce and have been in business for one year.
Yesterday, a crew started on rebuilding the boardwalk. Wendy mentioned it with a look on her face I couldn’t read. She set a pocket full of shells on the desk, poured herself coffee, and opened her laptop like nothing had happened.
Things have been awkward between us.
We haven’t kissed or touched one another. She’s busy putting the pieces together after the storm, and I follow her around, asking how I can help. We go back and forth, and it’s honestly the best foreplay I’ve had in a long time. She can be upset with me. I deserve that. And she’s told me as much. But it hasn’t stopped us from having conversations, eating dinner together, and just hanging out.
During my run this morning, I offered to pay for everything. She told me to fuck off. Watching her agonize over a five-thousand-dollar roof repair quote while I have more money than she could spend in ten lifetimes is torture.
The photos and rumors of us circulating—it’s my purgatory. Articles are being posted daily. I can’t walk to the coffee shop without someone pulling out their phone. Not to mention how unhinged the gossip sites are.
I sit at the table, alone, scrolling through articles on my phone as I eat a fat stack of pancakes Rose made.
BILLIONAIRE CEO DYSON BANKS HIDING IN COCONUT BEACH WITH SUMMER FLING
DYSON BANKS AND SURFER BEAUTY: INSIDE
THE BILLIONAIRE’S SECRET SUMMER
