“That’s too broad. I’m not taking that bet.”
“You won’t take a five-dollar bet? Is that too rich for your blood, Mister CEO?”
He shrugged his shoulders, letting her jab roll off his back. He never seemed to take her billionaire insults personally. “I’m just saying, it has to be within a certain time frame. Maybe an hour.”
Just then, Sasha unzipped the bug screen and ducked through. She pushed the hood of her rain jacket off her damp hair. “I’m here to check up on our patient. How’s he doing?”
“He’s going to wake up between nine and ten o’clock tonight,” Mathilda said confidently.
“Oh, he’ll be conscious before that.” Lincoln shot her a grin that was pure challenge. “Sometime between seven and eight, I say. Just in time for dinner. He’s probably sick of IV fluids by now and ready for some meat. Rory Baker loves to eat.”
“Does he love to cook as much as you do?” Mathilda asked. It seemed like a reasonable question, but for some reason it made Lincoln snort, then cover up the snort.
“I wouldn’t know,” he finally answered.
“Right. That checks out.” Lincoln probably had hundreds of employees, if not thousands. Why should he know their habits?
“You’re both wrong,” said Sasha from Rory’s bedside, where she was checking his pulse. “He’ll be awake in less than two hours. I’ll put twenty on that.”
Mathilda felt a little less guilty betting on a coma victim when his doctor was doing the same thing. She wagged a finger at her silver-haired friend. “Sorry, Sasha, we can’t accept any bets from you. You have inside information.”
“That’s right, it wouldn’t be fair,” Lincoln chimed in. For once, she and Lincoln agreed. “Less than two hours? You really think so?”
She wondered why he sounded so nervous about that timeline. Didn’t he want his pilot to wake up?
“Yes, but since no medical professional could possibly say with any accuracy when a coma patient will wake up, I have zero inside information. That’s my bet as Sasha, the botanical researcher.”
“If it’s going to be that soon, I’ll stay in here with Rory until it happens.” Lincoln rubbed the back of his neck, then shot a longing glance at the world outside the tent.
“We can take shifts,” Mathilda offered. “You’ve been stuck here all day, ignoring the laundry. You must be exhausted.”
He shot her a secret finger, which delighted her to no end. She really enjoyed teasing Lincoln. He always seemed to roll with the punches, and got some good jabs in himself.
“No, he’s my employee, my responsibility,” Lincoln said firmly. “I’ll stay with him. But if anyone happens to wander past my tent with a plate of food, they can feel free to toss it inside.”
“I’ll bring you some food.” Mathilda wasn’t entirely heartless, or even that angry about her laundry. He probably had no way of knowing how fast those downpours could sweep through. “Robert is cooking today, so I hope you like kalua pork. It’s the only thing he ever makes. Sometimes it’s on rice, sometimes in a taco, sometimes a smoothie—don’t ask.” She held up a hand before he could pose the expected question. Robert’s pork smoothies were still a sore point; no one had ever fully recovered from that experience.
Sasha shuddered at the memory and made a quick exit. Mathilda followed after her; she still needed to get out of these wet clothes.
“Wait, before you go,” Lincoln called before she pushed open the flap. “Did you find Hector?”
“No.” Her mood darkened again at the reminder. “He’s either ghosting me or he couldn’t survive in the wild. It’s probably the latter, since that’s what has happened to the other crows we’ve tried to reintroduce. I’m going to head back to Hilo tomorrow and write up another sad report.”
“I’m sorry.” Lincoln’s absurdly good-looking face wore a look of genuine sympathy. “But if you ask me, there’s nothing sad about doing your best for a species that needs a little extra help.”
She felt the same way, of course, but her smile of gratitude dropped when she remembered the bombshell Diane had shared on their trip to the pittosporum patch. “You’re not fooling me, you know. Actions are what count, not empty words.”
“What are you talking about?” He had the nerve to look perplexed.
“Aina Building Supplies? Ring a bell?”
His blank expression made her even more irritated. “Have you ruined so many companies that you can’t remember their names? Aina Building Supplies donated most of the lumber used to build these tent platforms.” She waved her hand at the plywood beneath their feet. “It was a Hawaiian-owned company with special kama’ina rates for locals, very involved with the community, really chill management. Then you—or your umbrella corporation or whatever—bought it out and fired most of the staff! Now no one shops there. I don’t even know how it’s still in business.”
Lincoln was listening intently to her story, as if it was news to him, which was obviously ridiculous. “Where did you hear all that?”
“Diane filled me in just now. She knows someone who worked there. I knew that Aina stopped donating materials, but I never knew why. It was thanks to you. You’re lucky you don’t fall right through that floor.”
He showed a flash of amusement. “Is the plywood going to retract its woodiness when I’m around?”
