Chapter 7

Ithought it would feel good to bring him down on camera. When recognition of who I was occurred to him, it left an awful taste in my mouth. His face reddened, but he didn't clench his fists. Instead, he looked hurt and offended. I wanted to make him mad and show him what an asshole he looks like to regular, hard-working people. Although I achieved my goal, it left a sour taste in my mouth.

For two days, I've taken people out on the boat. One client catches a big tuna. I suspect it's the same one from Mr. Worthington as it has multiple hook marks on his silvery blue skin. Another client, we take scuba diving along the reef. And one client books a champagne engagement party. For those types, I wear a dress—the same one I wore to meet Winslow Worthington.

As always, when I return home, I make dinner for one, pour a glass of wine, and watch the news. I had no idea they would still have a segment on trying to make the billionaire seem humble or normal.

He's working with a female construction worker who flips houses. But she doesn't do the designing and decorating; this woman takes down walls. Jackhammers floors. Tiles bathrooms.

Emory does all the things I wish I had time to do.

The video fades into them discussing how she ended up in construction.

She rubs her lips and hands together at the same time as they sit, eating sandwiches and drinking from a thermos. He seems normal when he's not with me.

"Construction was the only job I could get when I got out of state-sponsored rehab. This job saved my life. When I was sad or angry, I could demolish shit." They bleep over the word as the camera focuses in on her face; you can see her eyes watering. "In high school, I didn't make any of the school teams, and my friends did. I no longer had as much in common with them, so I naturally found new friends. Bad influences. It started out with occasional pot or alcohol use until I seized at a party one night. Luckily, someone had enough wits about them to call an ambulance."

The camera pans to Mr. Worthington with his eyes wide, seeming surprised by this revelation.

"And then what happened?" His voice is laced with sincerity and concern.

"The doctors drew blood, pumped my stomach, and told my parents all the drugs that were in my system. The cops came and charged me with selling and distributing drugs to minors."

Mr. Worthington is shocked. "Were you?"

She gazes at her feet hanging off the edge of the brick wall. "Yes," she says in a whisper.

Mr. Worthington puts his arm around the shoulders of the girl who looks to be in her very early twenties. "How long have you been clean?"

She smiles. "Four years."

"In your letter, you said you needed money to pay off your parents' loans. What are the loans for?"

"I was a juvenile when it happened. The justice system said if I went to rehab, then I wouldn't have to go to jail. So, my parents took out loans from the banks and used credit cards to send me to rehab. $250,000."

He sighs. "You know, not every parent would do that. They must love you very much."

She nods as she wipes a tear away. "They do. I can't repay the hurt I've caused them, but I work every day to repay their debts."

"I feel like demolishing a thing or two. You ready?" he asks.

He lifts her up by the hand, and the video shows them scraping up tile and hanging drywall, then it cuts to a commercial. When they come back, they're eating dinner at her favorite chain restaurant when he offers her a million dollars or if she wants to risk one million for a fifty percent chance at ten million.

Her lips twist, and she chews on her bottom lip before finally answering, "I owe it to my parents to pay them back. I've hurt their credit, and they haven't been able to take any vacations or buy new furniture… all because of me."

"So, you'll stick with one million?"

"Yes." She nods, a tear streaming down her face.

"Something tells me you're going to turn the rest of the money into millions. I'm incredibly inspired by you and your loyalty to your family." He hands her a check and pulls her into a hug.

It's becoming clear that he is kindhearted, so what do I have to do to get hugged by this gorgeous man? Maybe not embarrass him.

The anchorwoman says, "Don't go away. Winslow Worthington may have met his match."

Has he fallen in love with this young girl in a day? I pull a lightweight throw over me as I wait in anticipation. When the news fades back from a commercial, it's not her on the television. It's me, giving my best evil eye, as I yell at Mr. Worthington about how he signed a contract. At the time, I didn't realize how his chest was rising and how his eyes turned dark when he asks if it's shakedown.

"Stay tuned for this developing story."

Developing?