Chapter 27
chapter twenty-seven
Dyson
Aweek ago, I anonymously donated two million dollars to an emergency relief fund for Coconut Beach’s small businesses.
No strings attached. The grant money is available for any local business owner.
They just have to apply through the island’s chamber of commerce and have been in business for one year.
Yesterday, a crew started on rebuilding the boardwalk. Wendy mentioned it with a look on her face I couldn’t read. She set a pocket full of shells on the desk, poured herself coffee, and opened her laptop like nothing had happened.
Things have been awkward between us.
We haven’t kissed or touched one another.
She’s busy putting the pieces together after the storm, and I follow her around, asking how I can help.
We go back and forth, and it’s honestly the best foreplay I’ve had in a long time.
She can be upset with me. I deserve that.
And she’s told me as much. But it hasn’t stopped us from having conversations, eating dinner together, and just hanging out.
During my run this morning, I offered to pay for everything. She told me to fuck off. Watching her agonize over a five-thousand-dollar roof repair quote while I have more money than she could spend in ten lifetimes is torture.
The photos and rumors of us circulating—it’s my purgatory. Articles are being posted daily. I can’t walk to the coffee shop without someone pulling out their phone. Not to mention how unhinged the gossip sites are.
I sit at the table, alone, scrolling through articles on my phone as I eat a fat stack of pancakes Rose made.
BILLIONAIRE CEO DYSON BANKS HIDING IN COCONUT BEACH WITH SUMMER FLING
DYSON BANKS AND SURFER BEAUTY: INSIDE
THE BILLIONAIRE’S SECRET SUMMER
COCONUT BEACH’S BEST-KEPT SECRET: A CEO, A B&B, AND A LOVE STORY
It has a photo of me and Wendy on the Fourth of July, talking close with Coconut Crushes in our hand.
One of my fingers is locked with hers. The event was open to the public, and I should’ve been more aware of people around me.
The countless photos are continuing to fuel the fire.
Our secret romance is on full display for the world to read about and rip apart.
The comments are split between people who think it’s romantic and those who believe I’m dating her to help make me seem more relatable, like I’ve ever given a flying fuck about that.
WHO IS WENDY WINSLOW?
EVERYTHING WE KNOW ABOUT DYSON BANKS’S ISLAND GIRLFRIEND.
They use her full name, and it makes my nostrils flare.
I’m tempted to reach out to my contact to have every single one of these fucking sites shut down, but it would do no good.
It took one week for the sleuths to learn everything they could about her and the B&B.
The entire world knows I’m staying here, which isn’t ideal.
All of it is completely out of control, but it’s only temporary.
The press cycle has a shelf life. People get bored.
A senator does something stupid, or a pop star gets divorced, and the attention shifts away from me.
Patience and silence are the only tools that work.
React, and I feed the beast. Ignore, and I starve it.
The freedom of no one knowing who I was lasted forty-two days. I’m grateful for every single one of them.
My phone rings while I’m eating. It’s Jameson, so I answer.
“How’s being in the spotlight again? Are you making it?” he asks.
“Thriving,” I say dryly.
Wendy shifts behind the counter but continues typing.
“The articles are relentless. But you know what they say? All press is good press.”
“Whoever they is has never lived my life.”
“Seriously though, you okay?” He switches from sarcasm to seriousness.
Jameson spent ten years getting chased by hockey fans and paparazzi. He knows what this life costs.
“Define okay.”
“Your girlfriend is pissed, isn’t she?”
I like how everyone is calling her my girlfriend. I honestly fucking enjoy it. The silver lining is, the world knows she’s mine.
“Oh, yeah. Very,” I tell him.
“Fuck, man. I’m sorry. If it matters, I could tell you were happy in those pics. Haven’t seen you smile like that in … never.”
“I’m still happy,” I say.
He laughs. “Good. Don’t let the press take it from you. That sensation is few and far between for assholes like us.”
“Zero lies detected. I’m doing my best. It will work out.”
“Are you planning to extend your stay, like the rumors say?”
“I’m still scheduled to return to the city on August 3.”
Wendy doesn’t miss a single key as she types.
“Great. Let’s get a drink when you’re in town. Got a lot of catching up to do. Thinking about taking a vacation and getting away.”
I chuckle. “It’s been incredible. I highly recommend it.”
The call ends.
I finish eating and move out to the balcony to stare out at the ocean. It’s a beautiful day.
My phone vibrates, and I see a few emails from Gideon that I haven’t responded to in days. My vacation runs through August 3, and I’m running out of time. I have less than two weeks left, and I’m going to enjoy every fucking one of them.
The company knows I’m away, but the photos of me and Wendy have made my absence a liability.
A CEO on a beach with a woman makes investors and partners nervous.
They want me to look and act like a CEO, like my father, but I am not him.
I can’t handle a managed narrative about my life. I have to start living it.
I take a deep breath and go upstairs to the Captain’s Room.
The spot in the ceiling is dark around the edges, but the repair doesn’t look like it will be too difficult.
I want to help. I don’t want her to be stressed or worried or upset.
Money doesn’t make problems magically disappear, but it can make some things in life easier.
I grab my book off the table beside the bed to read downstairs so I can be close to Wendy even if we’re not on the greatest terms.
When I pass the Sandcastle Room, I hear her downstairs. She’s not speaking in her normal sweet but professional voice at the front desk. There’s annoyance in her direct tone. Then she gets louder.
I stop halfway down the stairs, skipping the ones that creak to figure out what the fuck is going on.
In the lobby, a man stands across the desk from her. He’s in his mid-forties, wearing khaki pants and a button-down shirt that’s too pressed for Coconut Beach. Under his arm is a leather portfolio.
Wendy’s tense with her jaw locked. Her eyes pierce through him.
I stay back and watch until I need to act.
“Our drones have already flown the property, and it’s very clear that this establishment needs the roof changes. There are also things that aren’t up to code. The timeline on this is—”
“No,” Wendy says. “You can take your offer and shove it up your ass.”
“Mrs. Winslow—”
“Ms. My grandmother is Mrs. And she’s not available. She’s also not selling this property.” Wendy doesn’t blink.
The man adjusts his grip on the portfolio. “We will triple the offer. That’s three-point-six million dollars, Ms. Winslow.”
“I don’t care if it was a billion dollars. The B&B has been in my family since the ’70s. A Winslow will always own it, as long as I’m alive.” She leans forward. “So, take your offer and your predatory behaviors and get off my property.”
The guy doesn’t move. “I’d like to speak to Gale Winslow. My business is with her.”
I walk down the stairs, holding the book tight in my grip. He glances over his shoulder, and his eyes slightly widen when he sees me. Recognition flashes, and the color drains from his face.
“Mr. Banks,” he says.
I move into the lobby, not addressing him, and meet Wendy’s eyes. “Everything okay?”
He swallows beside me, and his fingers grip the portfolio. This is what my presence does to people.
She gives me a smile, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. “Great. This is Darren Calder from Coastal Heritage Holdings, and he was just leaving.”
Darren looks at Wendy, and I turn and glare at him.
Whatever stance he was trying to take ends.
He pulls out a business card. “If you change your mind—”
“Leave! Stop calling. Stop sending letters. Disrespectfully, fuck off. And if you don’t, I will come after you for harassment,” she warns.
He swallows hard and shoves the card into his pocket.
“Goodbye, Darren. Time to take the walk of shame.”
He glances between us, then leaves without another word. The door closes.
Wendy’s pulse is racing, and she’s breathing hard.
“That,” I say, “was hot.”
She looks at me. Her eyes are wild, and she’s shaking from the adrenaline.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she tells me.
“You scared the shit out of him.” I walk toward her. “I am so proud of you for standing your ground. Most people would’ve taken the money.”
“Most people are desperate. I’m not.”
“Come here,” I say, tired of this space between us. Fucking sick of this wedge.
But she doesn’t move.
I take the rejection on the chin, knowing the next week and a half could be like this. I’m prepared for it, and I’m not giving up. I’ve been known to be a stubborn bastard at times.
“Okay,” I tell her, knocking my knuckles against the wood. “You know where I am if you need me.”
I move toward the stairs.
“Dyson,” she whispers.
I stop. I’m not used to her saying my name.
After a week of circling each other’s orbit, she walks around the counter toward me.
I meet her halfway. My hands find her cheeks, and my thumbs graze against them.
I meet her eyes, and then I kiss her like tomorrow may never come.
It’s not gentle. The kiss is hungry. But I’ve been starving for her for several days.
I’m done pretending I can handle it. She grabs the front of my shirt with both fists and pulls me closer, making a sound that snaps the last thread of restraint I have left.
Her breath catches when I pull back just enough to look at her.
“I missed you,” I say against her mouth.
“You saw me every day.”
“That’s not the same, and you know it.”
Her fists loosen on my shirt, but she doesn’t let go. “I’ve missed you too.”
She tilts her head up and kisses me again, softer this time. My mouth widens, and her tongue sliding against mine breaks me open. She’s choosing me with full knowledge of who I am and what I’ve done, and that’s worth more than anything in the world.
I take a step forward until her back is pressed against the counter. I cage her in with both arms, desperately wanting more of her. Control has vanished, and she reaches for my belt loop. I almost lose track of what we’re doing in the lobby, in broad daylight. I groan against her mouth.
“We should stop,” I say.
She kisses me breathlessly. “You’re right.”
“I have no control with you.”
Her laugh vibrates against my lips. My hand slides down her side to her hip, and she arches into me as the front door swings open.
“Fuck,” she whispers, looking past me.
I turn and see Josie.
As she pushes her sunglasses up on her head, she freezes. Her mouth drops open, and she takes in the full scene with my belt unbuckled and her sister pinned against the front desk.
“That answers my question,” Josie says. “Have a great day.”
She turns around and walks right back out, closing the door behind her.
Wendy drops her forehead against my chest and laughs so hard that her whole body shakes. It’s contagious.
“She’s going to text me seventeen paragraphs,” Wendy says into my shirt.
“Probably already started.”
She reaches forward and grabs my hand. “What does this mean for us?”
“No decisions until August 3.”