Page 39 of On The Beach

Back then, I was practically living at my lab in Cambridge, crunching data by day and scribbling notes late into the night on a whiteboard plastered with formulas and diagrams. The company had been growing fast, moving up in the biotech world, and every day felt like a race to the finish line. I loved it; I thought it was what I wanted.

I'd met Mia after the company was doing well. She saw me as the son of Lady Arabella Augustus and not Dr. Nicholas Augustus. It was no wonder that I didn't want to advertise my lineage. I was born in England, the son of Lord Augustus and raised in New York when my mother married my stepfather, her second husband, who had been American and had raised me for all practical purposes. Once he passed away when I was in university, she moved back to London, and I stayed in the United States. My mother always kept in touch, always visited, and never made me feel like I lost both my stepfather and her.

I'd been close with my stepfather, who I called Dad. He'd been a scientist, a professor of biochemistry at NYU. We'd invented the name Helaxion together, combining helix, the structure of DNA, with ion, which implied action and transformation at the molecular level.

I wondered what Dad would think about me abandoningscience to live in Reef Harbor. He'd be disappointed. Well, hell, join the club.ButI couldn't go back to that life. I just couldn't. Watching Belle gave me PTSD.

I took a swig of my beer as the memories pushed their way in—unwelcomeandunavoidable.

"Is Belle a lot like your ex?" Franco asked.

I cocked an eyebrow. "Fuck no. Mia was a…she was a socialite; came from a wealthy family and worked in PR for Louis Vuitton."

"Belle has nice shoes," Cato remarked.

"And she looks good," Franco added.

"Yeah, she does."

But Belle was no Mia, thank the fuck, God. She was almost naïve in her openness. She had no walls, no barriers. There was a simplicity about how she opened up easily and shared herself the way she did.

"And she doesn't look the type who'd cheat on you with her trainer." Cato patted my shoulder.

"'Cause I don't think she's the type to have a personal trainer," Franco mused.

"Whoa! We're not together. There's nothing to cheat on," I protested.

"Oh please, you sabotaged the ferry so she'd stay," RiRi laughed.

"Shh, let's not announce it to the world, yeah?" I warned.

"The world knows; hell, you bribed Big Al so he wouldn't tell Belle how to charter a chopper," Cato reminded me dryly. "You just don't wantherto know." He tilted his head toward Belle, who was speaking animatedly aboutvector load limits and off-target effects in the clinical trials.

She gestured wildly with her hands, her eyes alight as she explained, "So, if the vector's efficiency is too low, the therapy barely impacts the cells. But if it's too high, you risk triggeringan immune response, which could jeopardize the whole trial—if not the patient."

I couldn't help but smile, catching myself nodding along. "Exactly," I murmured, unable to resist adding, "It's the delicate balance between dosage and delivery. Too little, you lose effectiveness. Too much, and you lose safety."

Franco, Cato, and RiRi looked at me like I'd grown a second head.

"What? You guys know I did that kind of work."

"It's sort of hot to hear you say that," Franco leered. "Say it again,doctor."

"Shut up," I snapped, amused.

My friends laughed.

"Ooohh, say that again, Mick; tell us all about balance," RiRi teased, sticking her tits out and fanning herself.

I gave them all a finger.

"Yeah, he's real good at balancing," Franco laughed, "never seen someone do shots and sail as well as Mick does."

"How long is she goin' to be workin'?" Cato grumbled. "I thought we were gonna go fishin'."

I watched Belle, wanting to get her away from her call and take her away somewhere so we could be alone. I didn't want to think about how empty Reef Harbor would feel when she inevitably left. I hadn'tmissedanyone in years, but I had a feeling I'd miss Belle.

I barely know her. I won't miss her. I don't miss people.

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