Page 6 of Voyage with the Reclusive Billionaire

I swallow thickly, nodding. “Yeah, well. That was before we talked.”

“I impressed you that much?” He’s still stiff, but there’s a teasing undertone. I don’t bother laughing. I’m still too pissed—and unreasonably feeling too rejected—to bother acknowledging my mild amusement.

“No.” Quiet settles around us before I add, “But I realized after you left that I liked having someone to talk to. I’m not used to being alone like I am here.” And I thought that I’d appreciate the silence. And it is okay, sometimes. But I’d also liked pretending that I had a friend, too.

Corey swallows and finally turns to look at me. He says slowly, “I am used to it.” I take in the words. He’s here alone, then, too. But… he likes it that way, apparently.

“Oh.” Already I’m fighting the urge to retreat, to run away from the rejection.

“But,” he says, irises softening, “I liked having someone to talk to, too.”

“Then why’d you walk away? Why were you avoiding me?”

He shrugs, but it doesn’t do much to hide how his shoulders stiffen. “Look, Eliza. I don’t have a good reputation, okay? People don’t trust me. And you’re a doctor, right? Someone trying to be something? Trying to make a difference?”

I nod slowly. How he’d guessed, I didn’t know, and I didn’t particularly care. “So?”

“So I don’t want my name to tarnish your reputation, okay? It’s better if we aren’t involved with each other.”

Now I can’t help but laugh. “I don’t have a reputation.”

“But you want one. I don’t want to precede it.”

I stare at him for a long moment, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “And what do you mean, involved?”

His lips press into a flat line. “I mean anything that happens between us. Us just interacting. Even in passing.”

“You think that me having you as a friend for a short, week-long cruise is going to tarnish my reputation in a few years, if my research works out? Is what you did that bad?”

Corey says, “It’s not what I did. It’s who I am.” But then his jaw tightens, as if he hadn’t meant to let that slip.

“Listen,” I say slowly. “Who you are and who I am have nothing to do with what my career could bring to the table. People will not care if I used to be friends with a murderer if it means I have done something worthy.” I pause, then add, “But you aren’t a murderer, are you?”

Despite himself, Corey laughs. “No,” he says. “Not a murderer.”

“Okay. Then maybe let me decide if I’m willing to possibly, maybe tarnish my reputation with you before you treat me like shit on the bottom of your shoe.”

“Tasteful,” he says, a wry smile curling his lips. Then, Corey nods. “Okay. Friends? For a week?”

I nod. “Friends.”

The hike is beautiful, and peaceful, and infinitely more enjoyable with someone to talk to at my side.

We follow a steep path that ends high above where we began, and overlooks the water. A lot of the older people gave up over an hour ago as the incline continued to steepen and headed back for the ship. The captain of the ship remains with us, though, despite his salt and pepper hair. He’s fit—he probably makes this climb a few times a year too.

Corey, I’ve come to realize, seems far more comfortable among nature than he did on the ship. Not that he’d seemed particularly uncomfortable, but there was something so relaxed about him as we climbed. And now that we’re at the top, silently standing beside each other as we take in the view, I can’t imagine it’s possible for someone to look any more at ease.

It’s the most breathtaking view I’ve ever seen. Easily one of the best days of my life, even despite the rough start. That thought sinks in slowly, but it’s heavy as a boulder.

This is the best day of my life, and I’ve just had it with a near stranger. Not a single day of the two years I was with my fiance even comes close to comparing to this. Does it make me an awful person that I hardly feel any guilt at the revelation? Sure, maybe I didn’t try planning beautiful weekend getaways or week-long trips with Adam—but he never tried to plan them with me, either. We were both too focused on our degrees, and then on the paid internships we managed to land in the same building. Our relationship was always a secondary priority to our careers. I think maybe our relationship only survived so long because of our work.

I’m barely paying attention, too lost in my thoughts, when it’s time to turn back and head down the path. Paying such a small amount of attention, actually, that I don’t notice that the step I take is full of nothing but air for a good five hundred feet down.

One minute I feel my stomach begin to plummet at the realization of what I just did and where I’m about to end up.

And then Corey, who was steps behind me just a few moments ago, is suddenly there, pulling me up before gravity can push me down.

Impossible. He’d been too far away to keep me from falling—especially that quickly.

---