Page 12 of The Billionaire's Proposal

“I understand.”

The film crew steps onto the boat with the cameras pointing towards the marina as Cameron’s long legs confidently march to me. I decide not to step foot on the boat unless she invites me. It’s time to prove to her I’m a good guy. She already thinks I’m a rich asshole who can do what he wants, and I’m not giving her any more ammunition. I need to get this taped to satisfy the board members and public relations.

Cameron stops five feet short of reaching me and peers at the cameraman on the boat, then spins her gaze back to me. “Well, well, look who decided to trade in their designer loafers for a pair of practical athletic shoes. Is your company attempting to make you look blue collar, Mr. Billionaire?”

“I prefer to think of it as an adventure, Captain. Besides, I could use a break from the endless boardroom meetings and stuffy suits. And wouldn’t want to miss out on the pleasure of your company, of course.”

I can banter too.

“Oh, I’m sure spending time with an arrogant, know-it-all billionaire is just the excitement I’ve been waiting for in my life. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even learn a thing or two about responsibility while you’re here. But let’s not get our hopes up too high.” The lilt in her voice has me questioning whether she’s serious or just having a little fun at my expense. And if I’m honest, it’s part of the reason I’m attracted to her. I can’t figure her out.

“Listen, I want to learn the correct way to catch something big. Can we do the segment?”

The cameras have been rolling since they spotted her walking up, so at least I can say we tried if she kicks me off.

She folds her arms across her waist and taps her toe against the wooden board. “On one condition. You have to do what I say. It’s my way or the highway. Or I’m dropping you in the middle of the ocean to swim back.”

With a closed-lipped smile, I move to the side, allowing her a clear path to the boat as I follow. Her legs are something out of a fitness magazine. She’s sexy as fuck.

“Morning, fellas,” she chirps to Orlando and my crew.

“Morning. We have a group of women coming to fish.” Orlando continues to go through some boat lingo that I don’t understand. “Our afternoon charter is a memorial.”

“Okay, come with me,” she says, looking my way.

One sentence, and my mind and dick only hear one word… come.

Making her come would be the highlight of the last five years for me. Have I made women orgasm? Yes. Have I cared whether it was the best? No. There’s only been one woman who made me want to drop everything for, and she’s gone.

Cameron shows me the instrument and explains how each of them works, then she points to the digital map and the sonar fish finder.

“So, that’s how you knew we would find fish in that spot last time.”

I’m behind her, looking over her shoulder, and I take in the fruity scent of her shampoo. Her hair is twisted on top of her head like before, and she’s sporting sunglasses just like the day we met.

“I’ve been doing this a long time, Mr. Worthington. Yes, the sonar helps me. I want my clients to have a good experience, so they spread the word. Not go back to work and say, ‘Nope, didn’t catch a thing.’”

“I was an ass, and I want to apologize.”

Cameron steals a quick glimpse at me. “Saying you want to apologize is not the same as apologizing,” she challenges.

My skin heats at her defiance. No one else dares to challenge me in the way Cameron does. And I can’t believe I like it. She has a talent for getting under my skin, a skill only my brothers and closest friends possess. Ignoring the warning bells ringing in my head, I reach for her elbow and guide her to face me. I casually place my sunglasses on top of my hat before adjusting hers onto her head. As she inhales sharply, an unfamiliar sensation leaves me unsettled. There’s a storm brewing in her eyes, making it difficult for me to decipher what she’s truly feeling.

“I’m sorry,” I utter sincerely. My hand slides from her elbow to her hand. My fingers linger longer than necessary, although I don’t understand why. Cameron gently withdraws her hand, her actions speaking volumes louder than any words could convey—she doesn’t like me. But I feel something I don’t want to feel. Not with her. Not with anyone.

High-pitched screams come from over my shoulder, and Cameron brushes by me.

“Ladies, thank you for choosing Big O Excursions for a day of fishing and celebrating.”

More screams. Why did I listen to Margie?

When I turn around, the women look like they came from a photo shoot. One has a green floppy hat that matches her floral bathing suit. The other reminds me of my fiancée. She has a lightweight gauzy button-up shirt, and her hair is in a bun. I’m not sure how long I stare. My stomach sinks, rolls, and does somersaults but not in a good way.

I force myself to move in the opposite direction and ask, “Orlando, what can I do to help?”

He points to a full glass curved bottle. “Pour the mimosa into the plastic clear cups and hand them out.”

I bring the tray from underneath the cabin, and everyone onboard listens as Cameron gives her safety speech.

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