On The Beach (Modern Vintage)

1. Bottoms Up

CHAPTER 1

bottom's up

MICK

" B abe, you gotta go," I told the naked woman sprawled out on my sofa, the one I'd just fucked fifteen minutes ago. Great body and no tan lines, but enough was enough. She should've put her bikini back on by now and gotten the hell out.

"Let's go to bed." She stretched like she hadn't heard a word I'd said.

"I don't have one."

She frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

I glanced around my two-room beach hut. One room was a bathroom. "Does it look like there's a bedroom here?"

"Where do you sleep?"

I pointed outside to the hammock hanging between two coconut trees right in front of my hut, swaying in the breeze.

"You sleep there?" She sounded horrified.

"Yep. Time to move, babe."

She sat up and glared at me. "So it's just fuck and forget?"

"Yeah, pretty much." I ran a hand over my chest, already knowing she was the clingy type. I should've picked up on that earlier, but I'd been a little preoccupied with other things at the time—mainly my dick down her throat.

"Do you know who I am?" she demanded.

There was a reason I called them all babe . It kept everything simple. No awkward moments when they realized I hadn't bothered to remember their name.

"Doesn't matter. You should head out."

"I walked for Victoria's Secret, asshole." She stood up angrily, jerking her white string bikini back on. It looked good on her, but I was uninterested in seconds. Too much emotional baggage usually followed.

"Then you know how to walk outta here," I grinned.

"Fuck you, Mick Bottom."

She remembered my name? Yep, she was a stage five clinger. "You already did," I reminded her.

She stormed out of the hut, and I didn't bother to watch her leave. Instead, I found a beer and settled into my hammock.

What could I say? Life was a beach.

I moved to Reef Harbor three years ago when I turned thirty-three and had no intention of ever leaving.

Life was good here.

I spent my days on the water, taking tourists on day trips on an almost functional boat so they could see the live corals and incredible sights while I made sure none of those assholes dropped a plastic candy wrapper, plastic straw, glass, plastic bottle, or any other fucking debris into the beatific waters. My philosophy was simple: If you wanna pollute, go back to your fucking big city .

At Reef Harbor, the waters were clean, the fishing incredible, the drinks cheap, the women gorgeous, and life… blissful .

It wasn't much , but it was a way to pass the time, allowing me to do what I loved best with my evenings—hang out with my good buddy Franco, who ran the Reef Harbor radio network (it wasn't a network, just one easy-FM band) at The Coral Cove, the tiki bar everyone went to. It was owned by the very sexy RiRi, who let me into her bed when she wanted to be bad because I was very good with my hands. She also owned Reef Escape, the charter boat business that I worked for.

According to the tourist brochure RiRi put together and distributed around the island's hotels and B no, she talked to me like I still lived in Boston and she was just calling from London to say hello and check-in .

"And then Missy, you know Countess Melissa, don't you? Well, Missy says that my fascinator is the same one that Kate wore to the Derby. Isn't that something?"

" Something ," I muttered.

Arabella was vapid but loving. If I ever needed anything, she'd drop her fascinator like a hot potato and be there for me. But I was thirty-six, and it had been a long time since I needed a mother for anything. So, I listened as she went on about the London, New York, and Paris society scenes, letting her talk for twenty minutes. That's about how long it took before the inevitable headache—one that always flared up during our conversations—became blindingly painful, signaling it was time to hang up.

"Oh, and an Isabelle phoned, asking for you. Do you know an Isabelle, darling?"

I shrugged. It was remotely possible, but not probable that any Isabelle I'd met in my recent past would know my mother and have the temerity or interest to call her.

"Hmm," I replied noncommittally.

"She works for your old company and really needs to speak with you."

My old company was a cell and gene therapy startup that I'd founded and then sold for a nice chunk of change to a big pharmaceutical behemoth. I had no intention of ever talking to anyone who worked there, wanted to work there, had worked there in the past, or even had remote knowledge of its existence.

"Good for her." I glanced at my wrist before remembering I wasn't wearing a watch. I'd put it away—the one my grandfather had given me, the only artifact from my past I still kept and cherished. Instead, I pulled the phone off my ear to check the time. Three more minutes to go before Lady Arabella Augustus's time was up .

"Now, darling, don't be like that. She asked me where you were?—"

" Arabella Maria Lucia Augustus ," I thundered, interrupting her. "You didn't tell this woman where I was, did you?"

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fucking fuck.

"Of course not," my mother said, and I knew she was lying.

" Mother ?"

"Apparently, this is about one of your patents and…Nicholas, it can save people's lives."

This meant that this Isabelle person had emotionally bamboozled my mother with a sob story about lives at risk. It was tried before, but I had always managed to keep my location a secret. Well, if this Isabelle person showed up, Reef Harbor knew how to take care of its own.

"So, she knows about my island?"

"I didn't tell her where you were. Just that you were somewhere in the Caribbean, and that's a rather large area, isn't it, darling?"

I sighed. Maybe, if I was lucky, I'd live another day without being found by, big-city, money-hungry pharma executive.

But that evening, when I was doing shots with Franco and Cato, I saw a woman walk into the Cove, and I knew Isabelle, the Emotional Bamboozler, had found her way to me.

"How do you know it's her ?" Franco demanded when I told him about my conversation with my mother.

Franco knew about my previous life, as did RiRi. Cato seemed to know all on his own. I didn't know how and felt it was too risky to ask. Sometimes you didn't need to have all the answers.

Cato looked up from his drink. "Armani suit, about a year old. Gucci shoes that were sold as being comfortable for the female executive, but they're not. They're also last season. Her tote is Christian Dior, from this season, and…yes, it has a computer in it. She has a brand new iPhone in her hand…she's probably looking for Wi-Fi. Good luck. She's tied her hair up business style, trying to hide her femininity—the humidity here is gonna fuck it up. Yep. I'd say she's Isabelle, the Emotional Bamboozler and money-hungry pharma executive."

I grinned. "I told you."

The woman walked to the bar, pushed past some bums, and asked RiRi, who was manning the bar, "I'm looking for Dr. Nicholas Augustus?"

RiRi grinned as she polished a cocktail glass. "Honey, does this look like a place where a Doctor Nicholas Augustus would be?"

"I was told he was in Reef Harbor and…the guy at the boat dock said that the Cove was the place to find someone who lives on the island. Are you sure you don't know anyone named Nicholas or maybe Nick?" she asked glumly.

Send her away, RiRi, and do it quickly and efficiently.

RiRi's expression didn't change. Atta girl!

"The only Nick I know is that guy there." She pointed to ancient Nick, who had more than one tooth missing and was attached to his barstool from opening at 7 a.m. to closing at 2 a.m., where he drank rum and smoked cheap cigars. He definitely wasn't Dr. Nicholas Augustus.

Nick smiled at the woman in the suit. "You need Nick to make your evening, darlin'?"

The woman shook her head in defeat.

"You wanna a drink?" Riri posed the most popular question in Reef Harbor.

"Sure. What do you recommend?" Isabelle, the Emotional Bamboozler, asked as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"The Reef Harbor Surprise. "

"What's that?"

"A surprise ," Riri stated unhelpfully.

" Shit ." Franco lit a cigarette. "Isabelle, the Emotional Bamboozler, is gonna get piss drunk."

The Reef Harbor Surprise was a Long Island Iced Tea on speed , the one drink on RiRi's menu that was not watered down.

Yep, Isabelle, the Emotional Bamboozler, was gonna get fucked up and regret the day she came looking for Dr. Nicholas Michael Patrick Augustus, the Third, former scientist and pharma wunderkind.