Page 68 of Pucking Billionaire

I ask for two reasons: I genuinely have no idea how long of a delay Ivan granted him, but more importantly, I’d like to see if he’ll try to cash in on what he did for me.

“Oh, you didn’t get the text?” he asks.

I pat my empty-of-phone pockets. “I’m on a digital detox.”

He waves his phone at me. “For some reason, our departure was delayed by three hours.”

Some reason? So he isn’t taking credit, which is to his credit. Unless… does he know that I overheard and is thus being Machiavellian?

“How do you feel?” he asks.

I scan myself for any remnants of Pazuzu, finding none. “Better. Why?”

“It might do you good to take a stroll,” he says. “There’s a botanical garden nearby—no ocean in sight.”

“Yeah. That might be nice.” The farther away I am from boats, the better.

We head out and chat about our likes and dislikes as we stroll. Turns out, we’re both into video games, his favorite being a hockey game—of course—while mine is The Talos Principle, a philosophical puzzle game. Furthermore, we are playing the same video game franchise at the moment: Assassin’s Creed, except my game deals with the Vikings, whereas his is set in Ancient Greece.

“Are you feeling well enough now to get back on the cruise?” he asks when we return to the garden entrance.

“Yes, I think so.” As in, I completely forgot about Pazuzu.

“Which restaurant should we have dinner at?” he asks while we make our way back.

I know I should object to spending so much time together, but I don’t. “How about the VIP one?”

And I’m not choosing it because it’s more romantic. It’s just closer to my suite, that is all.

“Good choice,” Mason says. “It’s Captain’s Night at the other restaurant.”

Hmm. This was another chance to brag about what he did for me, but he kept mum. Also?—

“Does ‘Captain’s Night’ mean everyone has to dress formally?” As in, I could see Mason wearing a suit or a tux?

“Yes.” He winces. “With all those fucking buttons.”

Ah. “Yeah. No. Let’s stick to the VIP restaurant.”

He looks relieved, which warms me for some unfathomable reason.

“So…” he says. “Is it safe to say our excursion was a bust?”

I chuckle humorlessly. “A bust would be watching some muddy water. What we had was a clusterfuck.”

“In that case, I say it doesn’t count, and we do something else tomorrow.”

Wow.

Another date… I mean, excursion.

I want it so badly that it’s scary, which might be why I say, “No. But nice try.”

He turns to me, gray eyes gleaming. “Why not?”

I shrug. “We never agreed to a do-over if the glass boat ride sucked.”

He nods knowingly. “What if I told you another interesting bit of information?”

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