2. Bottom Out
CHAPTER 2
bottom out
BELLE
I , Dr. Isabelle Maria Volnay, had ninety-nine problems, and two of them were urgent.
One was the mother of all hangovers, and the other was Dr. Nicholas Augustus's mother, who had sent me on a wild goose chase in the fucking Caribbean.
Now, if you have to suffer, a Caribbean island isn't the worst place to be. But I didn't have time to hug a toilet bowl in a hotel bathroom—I needed to find Dr. Augustus, stat , and convince him to release a patent he held so I could conduct a clinical trial that could save lives and, as a side benefit, make my career.
"Jesus, what was in that drink RiRi gave me, and why did I drink three of them?" I moaned, my head spinning.
By the time I'd stumbled into my hotel room at three in the morning, I'd danced in the sand to truly terrible music with Nick, the toothless guy at the bar, some dude named Franco who told me he was the media God of Reef Harbor; and someone called Bubba, who proudly informed me my tits were the best he'd ever seen clothed. He had, apparently, seen some amazing ones bare and wanted me to confirm if mine were as good, which I declined. I'd even slow-danced with a sexy beach bum who called himself Captain Mick right before I threw up for the first time that night—thankfully, not on his flip-flops.
My phone rang, and I blindly groped for it on the bathroom floor, too afraid to open my eyes.
"Hello," I croaked, hoping I'd pressed the right button.
"Belle, where the fuck are you?" my sister Anna asked way too loudly.
"In hell. I'm in hell. Lower your voice, sistah woman."
"Did you find the esteemed Dr. Nicholas Augustus?"
"No," I groaned. "I found the mother of all hangovers."
"Belle? Honey, did you drink?" Anna's voice softened. My stunted alcohol tolerance was legendary.
There was the time I woke up with a tattoo of the oxytocin molecule—commonly known as the love hormone—etched as a tramp stamp. I kind of liked it now. Then, there was the time I ended up on antibiotics because the bartender I brought home gave me pink eye but no orgasm. And let's not forget the time a video of me tunelessly singing; My Heart Will Go On while standing in the bar at the Ritz in New York went viral. Thankfully, I hadn't done a strip tease that time—though I had, once, back in university at a dive bar. Luckily, no video of that disaster existed. Small mercies.
I nodded, then regretted it immediately as the swirling in my head worsened. "I drank something called a Reef Harbor Surprise. Surprise , I've got my head in the toilet."
"Did you do anything fun after you drank?"
I blanched. "I fucking hope not because a lot of the night is blank. I don't feel like I got any tattoos or piercings, so maybe no long-term damage." Fingers crossed!
"When will you be home?"
"I don't know. First, I need to make sure my head doesn't fall off. Then I'll figure out how to get off this blasted island and continue hunting for Doctor Elusive."
"Do you even know where this guy is? And is it worth it?" Anna, Dr. Annabelle Sophia Volnay, my sister, and a pediatric oncologist at Mass Gen, cut to the chase. She was, according to my family members, the right kind of doctor. I had a PhD; Anna saved lives. Our parents loved that joke. I didn't think it was funny.
It's not like I was some kind of slacker. I had a PhD from UC Berkeley in molecular genetics, twenty peer-reviewed publications, and two pharmaceutical patents to my name. I was a gold-star scientist. But in the Volnay family, if you weren't a surgeon, what the hell was the point? Our mother was an anesthesiologist, and our father was a cardiac surgeon. I was the black sheep of the family—another joke my parents loved. My entire family was a whole other kind of crazy. As much as I loved them all—they weren't remotely normal . The fact that I was the most sensible person in my family said it all .
"I'm working on it, Anna, but the guy's in hiding. These things take time," I groaned, dropping the phone on the floor when someone knocked on my hotel room door. I fumbled to pick the phone up and yelled into the receiver, "Someone's here! I'll call you back."
Groggily, I opened the door, and there stood…Captain Mick?
"We didn't have sex, did we?" I asked, cringing at the thought. That would really cap it off—sex with a beach bum in the Caribbean and no memory of it. Especially because, with pecs like that, I'd want to remember.
He held up a brown bag. "Babycakes, if you'd had sex with me, you'd still be sore between your legs." He pushed past me into the room.
Despite the pounding in my skull, I raised an eyebrow. "And you're humble, too? "
"I come with supplies." He pulled out the best things a hungover woman had ever seen: a can of Diet Coke, four Tylenol capsules, and a paper basket of the greasiest fries known to humankind, complete with spicy ketchup.
"Thank you. You're a God among men. If I didn't bang you last night, I'll do it now…as soon as my head stops spinning." I grabbed two fries and shoved them into my mouth; grace be damned.
"When a chick throws up on me, I feel I should perform aftercare," he grinned. It looked damn good on him. Fuck, but this guy was sex on tanned and muscular legs.
"Is that a reference to BDSM aftercare?"
Captain Mick laughed. "And here I thought you were just a boring suit."
"I am a boring lab rat," I corrected, picking up the can of Coke and savoring the fizz and tangy taste. Heaven .
He looked me over, those speculative blue eyes narrowing. "What are your plans, Babycakes?"
Babycakes? Should I let a man—any man—call me that? It was kind of misogynistic but also…weirdly charming. Christ, Belle, stop overthinking this.
"I was thinking of getting off this island…as soon as my head stops feeling like it's going to roll off."
"When do you want to get off ?" he asked salaciously.
"I don't know." I sighed. "I'm looking for someone and…well…I need to keep on looking for him ." In the whole Caribbean?
"Who are you looking for?"
"It's a work thing," I said, and then, because my brain was still fuzzy from last night, I decided to be an idiot. "Actually, I'm engaged to Dr. Nick Augustus, and…he's gone missing. I have to find him. Do you know him?"
Captain Mick's eyebrows shot up, nearly dislodging his straw hat. "Engaged?" His voice sounded a little rough .
"Yeah," I nodded, words coming out of my mouth that had no business doing so. "We're about to get married, and…well, he disappeared. His mother said he might be here. I'm heartbroken." Not .
Captain Mick nodded slowly, then smiled. "Well, Babycakes, I've got good news and bad news. The good news is, you'll have a great time in Reef Harbor."
"What's the bad news?"
"The next boat to the mainland leaves in three days. Reef Harbor isn't exactly super popular."
"No," I groaned in disbelief.
"No?" He raised an eyebrow, amused. "You don't wanna have fun in Reef Harbor?"
"Is there a boat I can charter or something?" I asked, desperate. I needed to find this damn scientist and get back to work. Vacation was not my thing. My last holiday was in Antarctica, collecting microbe samples for fun .
"That'll take you to the mainland?" Captain Mick shook his head. "Afraid not, Babycakes. Your hunt for your fiancé will have to wait."
Fiancé . The way he said it, he sounded almost… irritated . Was he into me? Was that why he was annoyed? I smiled and nodded, then winced as my head throbbed.
"The Reef Harbor Surprise was a bad one for me," I stated.
"It's bad for everyone. But nothing a little fresh ocean air can't fix."
"Fresh air does sound good." I ran a hand through my hair, which was now a wild, untamable mess. I was wearing a pink tank top with no bra and gray shorts. "But I think I need a shower, a shave, and some fresh clothes first."
"I agree."
I blinked. "What do you agree with?"
"Babycakes, you smell like puke and whatever else you rolled in on the beach. A shower would be a public service. "
I frowned. "Do you ever get laid?"
"All the time," he said with a cocky grin.
"Not with that attitude, you don't. Give me fifteen— no , thirty minutes. I'll meet you in the lobby."
Why, Belle, why are you agreeing to meet this man anywhere?
Because he's built like Chris Hemsworth and probably hung like a horse, that's why. After all the bad dicks I've had, I deserve a good one.
While I showered, I thought about my usual hookups—scientists, geeks, nerds, my kind of people. Captain Mick, with his tall, tanned, sun-kissed look…was he into nude sunbathing? Hot flash!
Focus, Belle.
Let's face it: Captain Mick was totally out of my league. But he was showing interest, what with the hangover supplies and all. And hey, I was stuck here for three more days. Why not have a taste of that?
As I stepped out of the shower, I wondered if pretending to be engaged was a mistake.
Spoiler alert, Belle: it definitely was . Now, sexy beach bum might not want to touch you.
But as I headed down to the lobby, I convinced myself that a guy like Captain Mick, who looked and talked the way he did, didn't give a shit if the woman he was balling was single or taken.
With that happy thought, I went to meet my most recent definite future mistake in the hotel lobby.
When in the Caribbean, you just had to do the horizontal mambo, didn't you?