Page 29 of Falling for Mr. Grump, the Big City Billionaire

The salty breeze whips around me, messing up my hair. I run a hand through it, grimacing. I bet I look like a disaster already, and we haven't even started.

"Mr. Troy?" A cheery voice calls out. I turn to see a sun-weathered man approaching, all smiles and relaxed posture. "I'm Captain Mike. Ready for your lesson?"

No, I want to say. I'm not ready. I want to be back in my room, making deals and running my empire. Not... whatever this is.

Instead, I force a smile. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Captain Mike laughs, clapping me on the back. I stiffen at the contact. "That's the spirit! Let's get you on board."

As I follow him to a small sailboat, I can't help but think of Skye. Would she laugh if she saw me now? Probably.

The thought of her smile makes my stomach do a weird flip. Which is ridiculous. She's infuriating, with her sass and her stubborn defense of this backwater town.

So why can't I get her out of my head?

I climb onto the boat, nearly losing my balance. Captain Mike steadies me, and I mutter a thanks, feeling my cheeks heat up.

This is humiliating.

"Alright, Troy," Captain Mike says, "let's start with the basics."

For the next hour, he walks me through knots, wind direction, and steering. It's... not terrible, I guess.

There's a certain logic to it that appeals to my business mind. But it's also physical and unpredictable in a way that sets my teeth on edge.

By the time we're sailing, I'm a mix of frazzled nerves and reluctant excitement. The wind fills the sail, and we cut through the water. It's... exhilarating, in a terrifying sort of way.

"You're doing great!" Captain Mike encourages.

I'm about to reply when I spot something on the shore. A food truck. Her food truck.

My heart races, and not just from the sailing. Is Skye there? I squint, trying to make out if that wild mane of curls is behind the counter.

"Everything okay?" Captain Mike asks.

I tear my eyes away, focusing back on the sail. "Fine," I grunt. "Just fine."

But as we turn back towards the dock, I can't help but glance at the shore again. And I can't quite explain the disappointment I feel when I realize the food truck is closed.

What is wrong with me?

***

I'm starving by the time I get back to shore. Who knew sailing could work up such an appetite? As much as I hate to admit it, I did enjoy myself out there.

Not that I'd ever tell Drew that.

My stomach growls, reminding me that room service at the inn isn't going to cut it tonight. I need a big meal.

Sighing, I head towards the main street, looking for somewhere that won't give me food poisoning. This town better have at least one decent restaurant.

I spot a place called "The Salty Dog" that looks marginally acceptable. It's busy, which I guess is a good sign.

Rolling my eyes at the nautical-themed decor - seriously, how cliché can you get? - I push open the door.

And that's when I see her.

She's sitting at the bar, laughing with the bartender. The sound of her laughter hits me like a punch to the gut. It's warm and genuine, nothing like the forced chuckles I'm used to hearing in boardrooms.

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