Page 24 of The Billionaire's Secret Desire
She nods, a slow grin spreading across her face as her shoulders relax. "Okay," she says, then turns to the manager and concierge, her tone playful and just a little sparkly. "Alright, let’s go shake down this island. I’m all yours."
I watch her walk away, chatting with the staff like she’s been doing this her whole life. I should head to the site meeting, but instead, I just stand there for a minute, hands on my hips, staring after her.
What the hell am I doing?
I don’t need a consultant. I have an entire team of project managers, advisors, and marketing strategists. What the hell was I thinking hiring Charli for the Silver Willow rebuild? Sure, she’s passionate, talented as hell, but this wasn’t part of the plan. It was an impulse. A stupid, emotional, knee-jerk reaction to seeing her last night. One second I was furious that Carl backed her into a corner, and the next I was offering her a role I didn’t even know I needed filled.
I rake a hand through my hair and blow out a breath.
What is this woman doing to me?
Chapter 10
Charli
By the time I make it back to the hotel, my notebook is overflowing with ideas, my phone is at ten percent from all the pictures and voice memos I took, and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. I practically bounce through the front entrance, my sandals slapping against the cool tile as I look around for Sawyer.
I spot him in the open-air lounge off the lobby, seated on a low-slung couch with a drink in one hand, his laptop in his lap, and his phone in the other. He looks up, and the second he sees me, his entire face shifts—the stress lines ease, his mouth tips up in a slow smile, and he puts his phone down like whatever he was doing can wait.
Something flickers inside me at the sight—unexpected and a little disorienting. It’s a strange blend of comfort and vulnerability, knowing I’m the reason his face softens like that. I don’t know how to carry it, how to balance the weight of being seen in a way that feels... safe. It makes something in my chest ache in the sweetest, most terrifying way, and I’m not sure whether to run toward it or run away.
"There you are," he says. "How'd it go?"
I drop onto the couch beside him, practically vibrating. "Sawyer. It was incredible. I went to this little fish market where the owner, some guy named Linus, taught me how to tell when Mahi-Mahi is at its peak freshness. Then I met this woman who makes her own jerk spice blends and sells them out of her backyard. Her name is Aunt Vivi, and she gave me a hug that nearly cracked a rib."
Sawyer chuckles. "Aunt Vivi sounds dangerous."
"Oh, she is. She fed me so many samples I had to pretend I wasn't about to die from the heat just to save face. Then we found this spice stall tucked between two fruit stands and the guy there grows his own vanilla beans. Vanilla beans, Sawyer. Fresh. Not in a jar. I think I blacked out from all the wonderful aromas."
He leans back, watching me with that amused, slightly dazed expression he gets when he thinks I don't notice him looking. "So, you had fun then?"
"I had the best time. Like... the type of day that makes you remember why you love what you do. I have a hundred ideas already. I just need time to sort through them all. Ian and Mia's wedding reception is going to be amazing."
"I don't doubt it," he says easily, standing and offering me a hand. "Come on. You deserve a celebration."
"Celebration?"
"Dinner. There's a place I want to take you. Local spot. Great food. Amazing views."
"Better than Aunt Vivi's backyard fire pit and semi-legal rum punch?" I tease as I try really hard to ignore the sparks running through my hand and up my arm.
He grins, his voice low and warm. "Tough competition. But yeah. Better."
The restaurant doesn’t have a name—just a painted sign that says EAT in faded blue letters and a chalkboard menu propped against a palm tree. The tables are literally on the beach, dug into the sand, with mismatched chairs and paper lanterns strung overhead.
We kick off our shoes before we even sit down. The sand is cool beneath our feet as we settle at a table on the shoreline. The feel of the waves flowing over our feet and the scent of grilled fish and lime fill the air.
"This is amazing," I say, tucking a napkin into my lap and glancing out over at the ocean. There's a fullness in my chest I don't quite know what to do with—like something is blooming too big, too fast, and I have no idea how to contain it. I feel seen, celebrated, maybe even protected, and that terrifies me almost as much as it thrills me. I'm not used to being taken care of, not like this. And the part of me that’s still trying to unlearn survival techniques keeps waiting for the other shoe to fall. But here, now, with him, I let myself lean into the moment, even if I’m still learning how to hold it.
A waiter in a floral shirt and khaki shorts strolls up to our table barefoot, a tiny pencil tucked behind one ear and a notepad in hand. "What can I get you two to drink tonight? And any starters to kick things off?" he asks, grinning like he already knows we’re about to order half the menu.
I glance at the chalkboard menu again, practically vibrating with excitement. As a chef, I live for this kind of thing—local, fresh, simple ingredients done right. "I’ll have the mango mojito, and we’ll start with the grilled pineapple skewers and theplantain chips with chimichurri," I say, trying not to sound too giddy.
Sawyer orders a dark and stormy with extra lime and surprises me by adding the grilled swordfish with roasted plantains, grilled conch with citrus glaze, and coconut rice to his order. "Gotta try something new, right?" he says with a wink. Once the waiter heads off, I turn back to him with a huge grin.
"Glad you like this place," Sawyer says, his eyes tracking the way I take in everything around me—my bare toes in the sand, the paper lanterns overhead, the way I sigh like I could stay here forever. He takes a sip of his drink. "This place is kind of magical, huh?"
"It's amazing, Sawyer." I tell him as our waiter rushes back with our appetizers and drinks.
