Page 26 of The Runaway Billionaire's Inconvenient Baby
Her passion sparkles. She’s not doing it to look like she’s doing the right thing. She’s doing it because itisthe right thing.
All morning, I debate between telling James to call the whole thing off or telling him to expedite the process so I can have the island sooner. But expediting the process means Billie will want to stop hanging out with me, and calling it off means I have no reason to stay.
Not that Billie is the reason I want to stay.
Not exactly. She’s not what I would call a friend, but somehow that’s made hanging out with her even better. There are no stars in her eyes when she speaks to me. To her, I’m as normal as any other person, and that’s something my heart has been crying out to be seen as.
This afternoon is the height of summer, and the islanders are having their annual cookout. They’ve closed off South Beach for it, specifically invited everyone who wants to come, and Billie’s told me I have to be there. She’s told me it’s the event of the year, that if I don’t come, I’ll be missing out.
The idea of spending time with several hundred people is not one that appeals to me, but there will be free food, and Billie seems excited to go.
Billie. Everything comes back to her.
Some small part of me is going to miss her when I go. When I send her away. If I send her away.
I decide to have a long shower to try and take my mind off things, but the hot water runs out fifteen minutes in, and I feel guilty for wanting to use up the resources. Billie really has been getting to me if I’m thinking about environmental waste.
It’s funny — despite being told over the years that I should make my business more environmentally friendly, I never paid it any attention until today. Until Billie.
When I get out of the bathroom, I rummage through my suitcase to see if I have anything more casual than a suit. I didn’t bring enough clothes to stay for more than a day, and I didn’t bring anything that anyone here would call casual.
Billie told me all the stores would be closing early today, so I throw on a random shirt and some pants and hope I haven’t gotten up too late to buy something. Several of the stores have already turned the lights off, but to my relief, one place that looks to be selling beachwear is still open.
I rush inside and ask the person at the counter to help me find something to wear for the beach barbecue. She cocks her head to one side, her hair flopping over to reveal her undercut, then leads me over to the shorts and Hawaiian shirts. “I don’t think I do bold patterns,” I tell her, and she gives me a sardonic grin, as if to say I can tell.
But she’s nice enough to me even as a problem-customer, and eventually I’ve managed to pick out a whole new wardrobe of linen shorts and shirts with subtle ocean-themed prints. She rings me up and almost cringes at the total, but the number doesn’t faze me.
I’ve spent more money on less before.
“Can I leave a tip?” I ask.
“I guess.” She shrugs. “No one usually does.”
“Ring me up for another hundred dollars.”
“What?” She blinks, her mouth dropping open.
“For a tip,” I say, taken aback at her surprise. “It’s a fair one, isn’t it?”
She blinks a few more times like her brain is restarting, then chokes out, “Yeah, for sure. Thank you.”
I pay the tip, and as I walk away, something warm blooms inside my chest, like the satisfaction that I’ve just made this woman’s day. I wonder how much they struggle here for business, how much they rely on this time of year to try and make a profit. Is my purchase going to be one of the things that keeps that store afloat for another year?
Not that they have a year. I’ll be shutting it down well before then, won’t I?
As the time for the barbecue approaches, I throw on one of the shirts with a comical lobster print, and a new pair of shorts. Stepping out into the bright sun in my new outfit feels like a relief. My suits are high-end, but they’re not designed for this kind of weather.
When I hit the beach, the first thing I do is find Billie. Nobody looks at me twice. Maybe it’s my face obscured under my new hat — the one Billie gave me yesterday — or maybe it’s that no one’s expecting to see me looking like I belong.
And when I find Billie, her mouth drops open. “Did you buy all that today?” she asks.
I shrug. “I can’t show up to a cookout looking sloppy.”
“You look good,” she says, and I freeze in surprise. Not only is that the first compliment she’s ever paid me, but I feel certain she means it completely.
We make our way over to one of the picnic benches that some of the townsfolk have set up and take a seat. “Did you do all this this morning?” I ask.
“There was a whole team of us,” she says. “This is the fourteenth year we’ve done this event, so we’re in a pretty good rhythm with it now. The first year we tried it, we just had a few grills, but now we have stuff for the kids. We have a charity raffle. It’s a great time.”
