Chapter 9

Dressed in black swimsuits and coverups, the family sits peacefully on the boat. The middle-aged couple and three children in their late teens or early twenties rarely say a word until we reach the spot by a tiny island where we stop for the memorial service.

The dad stands up and recalls memories he had with his father who passed. Each child says a memory about a time they spent with their grandfather, and then they take turns sprinkling the ashes.

I watch from up top, as the father breaks down, and his wife tries to console him. Mr. Worthington puts his arm around his shoulder and walks him to the front of the boat. Although I can't hear what they're saying, I see that Winslow Worthington has a caring side.

Minutes pass, and Orlando stands at the bottom of the steps. "They're ready to return."

I nod and try to get out of my own head. Thoughts can bring me down in an instant.

When we're back to land, Orlando, Mr. Worthington, and I thank the family for allowing us to help in memorializing their loved one, and then we all take a deep breath. Orlando knows this was difficult for me and for an unknown reason, also Mr. Worthington.

"Let's clean up the boat, and we can call it a day."

I hand the spray solution and a towel to my shadow, and he cleans without a single word or retort. Orlando checks our stock of bait and tools while I check tomorrow's bookings.

"Finished. What else needs to be done?" he asks.

"Nothing. You can go."

"We're not finished. I need to take you to dinner." I roll my eyes. "It's part of the show, being with you at work, and then sharing a meal." He stares at me through his Oakleys.

I hesitate, but a little voice on my shoulder urges me to have dinner with the grumpy billionaire. "I have something I need to do. I'll meet you back here in two hours."

"I'll bring takeout. Do you like your wine as stiff as your coffee?" He chuckles. "Sorry, red or white?"

"Red. But you don't need to impress me."

"Just want to give you a little something so you can tolerate me."

"Better bring two bottles." I step off the boat and feel him smiling behind me.

My house isn't far, so I take a quick shower, scrub under my nails, and spread buttery lotion over my limbs. I dry my hair, leaving it long and straight. I have an appointment with my lawyer, so I put on a dress and throw a three-quarter-sleeve jacket over it.

The first thing my lawyer says is, "All you have to do is take it down, and this is over," referencing the WHAT NOT TO DO video starring Worthington.

"He shouldn't be able to get away with scaring people. Plus, his company needs to learn a lesson."

"Okay, give him this when you meet him tonight." My attorney hands me a folder with a piece of paper in it.

When I get back to the small yacht, Mr. Worthington is leaning against a light post on the walkway. He has a large craft-paper shopping bag in one hand and two bottles of wine in the other.

Why does this seem like a date, rather than the end of a filming session?

His hair is styled off his face, and his jaw unlocks as he sees me, and the beginning of a smile sits on his stubbled jaw. His slacks stretch across his groin, and a short-sleeve polo-style shirt does the same to his broad chest.

"You got dolled up for me?" he asks.

"Mr. Worthington, you must be dreaming. I had an appointment with my attorney." He doesn't need to know that I had him in mind when I picked this dress and left my jacket in the car. All the banter rackets up the tension. And I admit that seeing him so caring with the other two women, Margie, and Emory, has had an effect on me.

"Please call me Winslow. And what did he suggest was your next step? Other than public humiliation. You've already checked that box." His lips tug to a grin.

"Touché." I grab a bottle of wine out of his hand as we step onto the boat. "It's breezy. Do you want to eat underneath or on deck?"

He points to the camera crew. "On deck will be fine. Not much room under there."

"That's where you're wrong. There are two bedrooms, two baths, a small kitchen, and a living area. I'm sure it's not what you're used to, but it's mine."

He's speechless so I gesture for him to follow me below. We grab plates, glasses, utensils, and a couple of blankets, and it seems as if we're alone. The film crew keeps their distance as we head above deck to eat.

Winslow Worthington is delicious with a capital D. He carries himself with an air of confidence, and that wry smile is contagious, so I attempt not to look at him. But as he spreads out the blanket, the corded muscles in his arms have me wishing they were solidly wrapped around me.

He removes the takeout from the bag and opens each top; the spicy aroma sifts through the air. I see it's from Enzo's Ristorante—the hottest Italian restaurant in Miami.

We fill our plates in silence and when I take the first bite, I literally moan like I just had the orgasm of my life. Full and throaty.

He laughs. "Incredible, right?"

I slide the next bite of lobster ravioli off my fork, chewing it, and my eyes close. "It's so light, yet rich. Oh my God, it's so good."

"At least I made one good decision," he mutters. "So, Captain, how did you get into this business?"

"It's a boring story."

"Nothing about you is boring." His tone is deep and soft.

A blush rushes across my face and since the sun is just now setting, he notices. His eyes scan me from head to toe. I stick my fork into the caprese salad as I gather my thoughts.

When his eyes meet mine, I respond, "I grew up on the water. My granddad had a little fishing boat, and there wasn't a day we weren't together."

"Was your dad with you?"

"No, I was raised by my grandparents. My grandma passed away when I was young, so it was always just me and Paps."

He seems to chew on the little nugget of information before he asks, "Is your Paps still alive?"

I shake my head and sip my wine, which is a high-quality cabernet, not the type of wine you can guzzle. He waits for me to fill in the blanks.

"No." I'm not spilling the worst of myself with a man I don't know. "Tell me about you. How did you become a billionaire who feels the need to go after the little people?"

"My legal team won't be a problem for you if we can come to a compromise."

He tilts his glass, and the red wine looks like velvet as it skates up to his lips. Damn, these Miami sunsets make everyone look better.

I lift a brow. "I'm listening."

"What if we shoot a video with my crew, at my expense? It will be top quality instead of being from a cell phone. It can still be ‘What Not to Do' but will be professional."

I tap my finger on my lips. "Add in a sixty-second commercial that your company will produce and run all summer on your local station."

Darkness falls, and the only evidence of the sun being here are purple and orange streaks far on the horizon.

"Agreed if you answer this question. Are you in debt? This is an expensive boat."

The commercial is a drop in the bucket to someone like him, and now, he thinks he should know my personal problems.

When I don't answer, he says, "That's why I'm here… to help."

I stand up and walk to the helm. I turn the engine over and run back down. "Help me untie the boat. We're going for a ride."

His eyebrows climb high on his forehead at my announcement, but he follows me to dislodge the boat. After we've been cruising in the harbor for ten minutes, I let it idle.

"Have you been on the ocean at night?"

"No," he replies.

"You don't have your own yacht?"

"I don't."

"Why?" It seems absurd. All rich people have yachts.

He retrieves the second bottle of wine, uses a simple corkscrew to uncork it, and pours himself a new glass.

"My fiancée hated the water."

Hated? As in past tense? He's not wearing a wedding ring and in my little research, he seemed single. No mention of a girlfriend in the recent social posts.

He rubs his temple and then flashes a smile, though there's a hint of sorrow hidden behind the facade. It's the kind of smile that's covering pain. I know that smile. "She didn't like to swim either, but she would venture in a pool if she could hold onto me."

His words carry a sense of intimacy that catches me off guard, making me feel a connection beyond what's appropriate for our situation. Yet, I can't deny the intrigue and attraction I feel towards him when he seems vulnerable. The conversation seems too personal for us, yet I need to know more.

Winslow stares at the dark-blue sea before turning his gaze on me. The look in his eyes is a mixture of sadness and either desire or guilt.

"So, you never bought a yacht because of her fear?" I ask.

He takes another sip of his drink before responding with a wistful tone, "I never wanted to be anywhere else but by her side, so no water sports or nighttime cruises like this. Anyway, back to you, Ms. Darling."

His hand inches towards mine, and there's an underlying tension between us. Maybe he needs a rebound sex after breaking up with his fiancée.

He faces my profile and waits for me to look him in the eye. And when our eyes collide, there's more than a man doing a segment for a television station. Winslow Worthington looks like he could eat me alive. My mind wanders to all the places on this boat I could lie back, spread eagle, and let him have dessert.

"Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are the color of butterscotch?"

I swallow. "You're the first."

His face inches towards mine, and I swear he's going to kiss me. My heart pounds, wanting his lips on mine. His mouth is so close to mine, and then a thud sounds from behind us, and we jerk away, bringing us out of the moment.

I've been listening so intently, then wanting for our lips to collide, I forgot all about the film crew until one drops the camera.

Mr. Worthington coughs, creating space between us. "Umm, how much do you owe on the boat?"

"A half million." I'm still wrapped up in the almost kiss and nearly swooning and answer despite my earlier vow to not give him an eye to my finances.

"Are your payments on time?"

"I'm a month behind, but summer will get me through."

He seems to take that as an acceptable answer when his phone rings, and another gorgeous man's face pops up. "Hey, brother. Just got into town. How did the day with the boat captain go?"

"Actually, I'm still here. Just finishing up."

"Meet me an Enzo's."

"We had Enzo's for dinner."

"Well, I'm hungry, and you have to entertain your little brother."

Winslow looks at me. "Cameron, say hi to my brother."

I peer into the phone. Brother? Holy cow, there are two of them with looks that belong on book covers… scorching hot.

"Hi, don't believe anything he said about me. Everyone likes me but the fish, and most of them like me because I let them live," I ramble, not knowing what to say.

"She's hot…"

Winslow ends the FaceTime call.

"Do you want to come to Enzo's with me? Keep the night alive. My brother likes to party, but I'm getting too old." His hand grazes my arm and there's no doubt we're attracted to each other.

"Thirty-three is too old to go out?"

I can see the gears turning inside his head, but he just shrugs. "Been researching my age, Captain?" He lets me off the hook, rewording his offer. "I'd love it if you would keep me company tonight. What do you say?"

"Sure, if it means no cameras."

He seems shocked. "Really?"

"Were you just asking me because I overheard?"

He grabs my hand gently, and now I know he can feel my pulse throbbing. Or maybe it's his. Our eyes collide, and everything in me wants him to kiss me. His lips move, but nothing happens.

Winslow clears his throat. "Of course not. I've enjoyed today, and I need a buffer between Wells and me, to keep me out of trouble."

The cameramen walk closer. It's the first time I've thought about them since we first got on the boat except when the camera hit the floor.

"Yeah. I've seen those other videos. You definitely need some good press."

"That's why I'm here. I have a proposal for you. I want to give you one million dollars to pay off your boat and live the life you want."

"I don't want or need your money. I've been doing this awhile and know how to navigate my finances."

He's still holding my hand. "What about ten million? You can flip a coin. If it lands on tails, you get nothing. If it lands on heads, you win ten million."

"Okay, a fifty percent chance for ten million dollars…I'll flip the coin."

The film crew gasps, and their excitement is confirmed when one of them says, "Now, that's a woman."

My grandfather taught me to take risks; it's the only way to grow. When will I have another fifty-percent chance at winning ten million? Will I be sad if I lose it all? Yes, for a week or so, but then I'll get back to my life. Winslow probably thinks I'm trying to stick it to him because no matter how much money you have, having ten million less has to hurt. If I'm going to take his money, I want it to be enough to change my life. One million is nothing in today's economy, especially since half of it will pay off the boat, and another thirty percent will go to Uncle Sam, so it's worth the risk.

A smile tugs at his lips. "Are you serious?"