Page 4 of Voyage with the Reclusive Billionaire

She laughs and shrugs. I can see the flush of alcohol in her cheeks. She’s already buzzed—probably more because of the large swallow she had of my drink than the few sips of hers. “I don’t know. Something that doesn’t sound like it belongs to a frat boy.”

I’m smiling before I can stop myself, watching as amusement at her own words lights her face. “I was a frat boy, you know.”

She laughs and mixes her drink with the red straw stuck in the glass. “Of course you were. Your parents gave you no other choice when they signed your birth certificate. It’s not like you could have been a poet or a tech genius with a name like—”

“ —I’m that, too, you know.”

“A poet?”

Another smile slips out before I can smother it. God, when was the last time I smiled this much? When was the last time I smiled even once? “No. The other one.”

“Tech genius?” She affirms, and I nod. Eliza eyes me up and down again. “Nope, I don’t see that for you either.”

“What do you see for me, then?” I ask. “Clearly, who I am is not good enough for you.”

She manages to make her smile look almost ashamed. “It’s not that you’re not good enough,” she says slowly. “It’s just that you don’t look at all like who you are.”

I shrug my shoulders. “I can’t say I imagined you had a doctorate when I first saw you, either.”

Eliza gives me a dubious look. “That probably had something to do with me being sprawled across the deck.”

I shrug. “Humor me anyway. Who did you think I was? What would you guess?”

She studies me like I’m an unsolvable equation for a long moment, still aimlessly stirring her drink.

“Well,” she says, “I’d probably guess that your name was something like Kade or Atlas or something else that’s mildly uncommon. And after seeing your suitcase, I’d probably assume you were… a lawyer, maybe? Something pretentious where you have your own office on the top floor with at least one wall that is just floor-to-ceiling windows. You probably spend most of your time at work, but still live in one of the most breathtaking penthouses that exist in the universe. It’s probably sparsely decorated and you call it minimalistic, but it’s just because you don’t know how to shop for decor and you’re afraid of clutter. Your bed is probably a California King and your bedding is probably various shades of black, white, or beige, and you stay as far away from blue as possible because you know it’s a man’s basic choice and you want to stand out when women remember their nights in bed with you.”

Eliza winks, laughs, and leans back in her seat. “How’d I do?”

Besides the job and the name, everything else sounds like me. Or, at least, who I was. It’s almost terrifying how fucking accurate she was. I’m no longer him, though. I don’t live in the penthouse anymore—instead, I live in an old gothic-Victorian style home in the woods, away from everyone and everything. I’ve stopped going into the office, and instead rely on wifi and the capability of my employees to keep my company running smoothly. My house is still bare, but it’s because I don’t give a shit and not because I don’t know how to buy decor—though that’s probably true, too.

I could tell her all of this. I almost do, even though I know I shouldn’t. But I just smile and take a long drink before nodding. “Sounds a lot like who I used to be.”

“Oh?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “You’re an entirely different person now, are you?”

Yes. No. I’m exactly who I was, but a hell of a lot less trusting.

And I’ve already let Eliza see far too much of me. The scandal that shook my life has only just started to become old news—I can’t risk bringing it to the surface again.

So I down the rest of my drink and dig around in my wallet for some cash. I leave enough for a hefty tip and stand. “I think it’s fair to say your brain is fully functioning and not at all concussed.”

She frowns. “Where are you going?”

I just shake my head. If I answer the question, I’m indulging this. I’m allowing myself to become more comfortable than I already am, than I should be, with this woman. This woman who is smart and has a promising life ahead of her and doesn’t need to be dragged into my bullshit. And beyond what being involved with me would do to her, I’m not willing to risk what she could do to me if things ever became… more between us. I risked it once before and it only served to fuck me over.

Still, I give myself a moment to memorize her features. Gentle waves of sandy brown hair that fall to her collarbone, deep green eyes that could almost be mistaken for hazel, and full lips I’ll forever wonder what it would be like to kiss.

Then I blink and step away. “Goodnight, Eliza,” I murmur.

It’s the only answer I give before I walk away from her for the second time today.

Somehow it’s even harder to not look back than before.

Chapter three

Eliza

Ididn’t see Corey the following morning at breakfast, even if, as much as it pains me to admit, that was the only reason I’d even bothered to drag myself out of bed early enough to be showered and ready for it.

---