The Billionaire's Island Bride (South Shore Billionaires 3)

He took a long drink of his coffee and Brooklyn looked at the clock. It was just shy of noon.

“I guess I’d better spoon up some of this soup then, shouldn’t I?”

She reached into the cupboard for two bowls and wondered if hearing him out was the right thing to do. Because right now it felt a bit dangerous.

* * *

Cole wasn’t sure why he was ready to confide in Brooklyn or why he felt this pressing need to have her understand or think well of him. They’d got off to a rocky start and she certainly wasn’t a friend or even someone he could really trust.

But he wanted to tell her, to disabuse the notion that he hadn’t just bought the island as a toy or new thing on an acquisitions list. Besides, he was looking forward to hosting his first retreat in a few weeks, just a small gathering of executives from his own companies. Nothing formal, just four days of unplugging, sea air, good food. A time to slow down.

Brooklyn put a bowl of the delicious-smelling soup in front of him, and then went to the kitchen island and grabbed a loaf of fresh bread, a cutting board and a knife. She sliced it right there at the table, handed him a slice and put a crock of butter beside him.

The bread was still slightly warm and smelled like heaven.

“So. You have plans for the property. Do tell.”

She got a second bowl and joined him at the table.

Cole went to work spreading butter on his bread. “A while ago I had a bit of a...well, I don’t want to say a breakdown. It was more burnout, I guess. I’d been working sixty hour weeks for as long as I could remember, and then my social life... Well, I don’t do anything half way. I’m not a partier or anything, but I’d do dinners and events and just... I never took any downtime.” He broke off a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth. Amazing. A quick glance told him that Brooklyn was watching him intently, her eyes focused on his and her brow slightly furrowed as if she were trying to puzzle him out.

“Burning the candle at both

ends,” she said.

“Exactly. Until the flame got snuffed out. I was exhausted. Then one morning I woke up and I had chest pains. It scared the hell out of me.”

She had picked up her spoon but now she put it down again. “Did you have a heart attack? But you’re only what, thirty-five? Forty?”

He grinned. “Thirty-five, if you must know, and no, thankfully it wasn’t a heart attack. It was a panic attack.”

“Thank goodness,” she said and picked up her spoon again.

He did the same and tasted the soup. It was velvety smooth and divine. He’d eaten in Michelin-starred restaurants and this simple soup could stand with the best of them. “This is amazing.”

“It’s the coconut milk. I stir a little in at the end, too, and it makes it pop.” She looked at him over her spoon. “So, you had a panic attack.”

“It wasn’t an isolated thing. My friend Branson said that it was my body’s way of telling me I needed to slow down and I needed to listen. I didn’t have any choice. I could hardly get out of bed in the morning. I was tired all the time. I didn’t believe him, you know? I thought I had some horrible disease. Turns out it was workaholism.”

“So you bought the house.”

“I’m getting there.” He spooned up more of the soup like it was a tonic, which maybe it was. Simple, wholesome nourishment. Perfection. “It took me a long time to recover. Thankfully, I had strong executives in place, but the whole thing could have been avoided if I’d done a better job at balancing my workload. I didn’t take time off until my own body forced me to. So I bought the house for a few reasons. One, it’s a getaway for me, and one that is close to my two best friends, who bought places on the south shore. The other reason is that I don’t want what happened to me to happen to other executives. I’m going to hold corporate retreats. First for my own people, and then for other companies.”

He didn’t mention how dark a place his burnout had been, though. How he’d felt so alone and questioned his existence. Wondering if anyone would miss him because other than Branson and Jeremy, he hadn’t nurtured any relationships in his life. Especially romantic ones. His parents had put on a brilliant public face but in private they were strangers. If that was marriage, he didn’t want any part of it.

Brooklyn frowned. “It’s a neat idea, for sure. I’m going to be honest, though. It makes me uncomfortable thinking about strangers roaming about the island all the time.” She stirred her soup as if deliberating something, then looked up again. “You’re creating an oasis for people, which is admirable. But in doing so, you’re threatening mine. It’s a hard pill to swallow.”

He hadn’t thought of it that way. But of course. Every time he held a retreat, there would be strangers on the beaches, walking the island, on the boat launch. He could understand how that made her uneasy. Maybe it would convince her to sell to him after all?

And yet, the thought of her not being here, in this house, in this kitchen, suddenly seemed wrong.

“I’m sorry about that. It’s definitely an unintended consequence. I guess it must seem as if I’m invading your home. That’s not my intention at all. I hope you believe that.”

She nodded but didn’t meet his eyes. Instead she sliced him more bread. He got the feeling that it was more to keep her hands busy than anything.

He reached over and put his hand over hers.

She stopped breathing.