Page 15 of Lost At Sea With A Billionaire

The makeshift calendar I’d created using stones on a flat piece of driftwood marked our time on this island.It was a useless exercise, but it gave me some semblance of control in a situation where I had none.

“You’re doing it again,” Janet said, approaching from the tree line.She carried a makeshift basket woven from palm fronds, filled with tropical fruit we’d discovered growing inland.

“Doing what?”I stacked another stone in the row.

“That thing where you stare at the yacht like you can will it back to working condition.”She set the basket down.“Breakfast is ready, by the way.”

I straightened up, feeling the pull of my sore muscles.My hands, once manicured and soft, now bore calluses and minor cuts from our daily work.“I’m not used to feeling this...ineffective.”

“Ineffective?We have shelter, food, water, and fire.I’d say we’re doing pretty damn well.”She handed me a piece of fruit—some tropical variety I couldn’t name.“Try this one.It’s sweet.”

I took a bite.The juice ran down my chin, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand—a small action that would have been unthinkable in my previous life.

“We’re surviving, not thriving.”

“Spoken like a true CEO.”She sat beside me on the log we’d positioned as our dining area.“Most people would consider not dying on a deserted island a major win.”

Her practicality constantly surprised me.Where I saw problems, she saw solutions.When I focused on what we lacked, she inventoried what we had.

“Where did you learn to weave baskets?”I asked, nodding toward her creation.

“YouTube.Dad and I used to watch survival videos together.I thought it was cool.”She took a bite of her own fruit.“Never imagined I’d actually need the skills.”

“Bravo.”

Her smile warmed me, and we ate in silence, watching the waves crash against the shore.The morning air carried a salty freshness that reminded me this wasn’t all bad.At least the air here was cleaner than in any city.

“I need to check the signal fire,” I said, finishing my fruit.“Make sure it’s visible from the water.”

Janet nodded.“I’ll come with you.I need to get more of these rocks for the water collection system anyway.”

We walked along the beach toward the highest point on our side of the island.Janet had worn one of my salvaged shirts, tied at the waist to accommodate her frame.Her jeans had been cut off at mid-thigh, exposing brown skin that I dreamed of gripping, to make shorts in the tropical heat.Even disheveled, with her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, she carried herself with a confidence I was increasingly drawn to.

The signal fire sat atop a rocky outcropping, positioned to be visible from multiple angles at sea.We’d built a large pyramid of driftwood, ready to be lit if we spotted a ship or plane.

“The wood’s still dry,” Janet observed, checking underneath the tarp we’d positioned as protection from rain.“We should add more, though.That last pile is getting low.”

I nodded.“I’ll gather some this afternoon.”I scanned the horizon out of habit, knowing the chances of seeing a passing ship were slim.According to the navigation charts we’d salvaged, we were well off the usual shipping lanes.

“You’re starting to bake,” Janet said, glancing at my arms as I adjusted the signal tarp.“Your skin is darker, more chocolaty,” she giggled.“It looks good on you.Yummy, even.”

I raised an eyebrow.“Yummy?You sound as if you want a taste, Chef Banks.”

Her giggle deepened.“It’s just an observation.”She tossed a rock from hand to hand, deciding to steer the conversation to safer grounds.“Though I suppose even billionaires need occasional ego boosts.”

“My ego is the least of my concerns right now.”

“Is it, though?”She fixed me with that direct gaze that seemed to see through me.“Your biggest struggle this week hasn’t been the physical challenges.It’s been letting go of control.”

I wanted to deny it, but she wasn’t wrong.“Having money means having options.Always.”I ran a hand over my fade, the edges now growing out.“Out here, my bank account means nothing.”

“Welcome to how the rest of us live.”She gestured around us.“We have limited options, and we make the best of what we have.”

“Is that what you did with your restaurant?”I asked.

Her expression tightened.“That’s different.”

“Is it?You had a dream, limited resources, and did your best.”

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