The Billionaire's Swipe

After a few taps on a touchscreen, Michael announces, “It’s on autopilot now, so how about we grab something to eat?”

“There’s food on board?” I ask and stand. After catching my reflection in the window, I wriggle my butt a little and smile at myself. God, I feel so alive right now.

Michael smiles at me, takes my hand, and pulls me along. A door opens to a cabin that makes me feel like some sort of magic has been pulled over my eyes. That would be the only way to explain how the inside of this boat feels so much larger that the outside could possibly permit. We’re in what can only be called the living room, but it

’s bigger than my whole apartment. There aren’t even the low ceilings I might expect to make me feel cramped. Instead, when my gaze shifts to the back of the room, I notice that there’s actually a raised level about two feet above the living area that holds a long dining table with room for eight to sit comfortably and eat a luxurious meal that people like me can only dream of.

Behind this area is a kitchen that shines with stainless workspaces. The refrigerator is stocked with juices, beers, and bottled water. A wooden bowl of fruit on the counter looks like it was placed here this morning.

I hold up a pineapple from the bowl and ask, “Were they expecting us?”

Michael, not pulling his head out from the fridge says, “They stock the kitchen fresh every other day. Just in case we want to take it out.”

“In case ‘we’ want to take it out?”

He freezes but doesn’t look over at me, instead playing it off like a slip-up. “In case my friend wants to take it out. Or me. Like I said, he’s happy to let me use it when I want.”

Whereas I was only curious before, now I’m suspicious. Michael still hasn’t referred to this mystery friend by name. And the fact that he feels so comfortable taking this multi-million-dollar yacht out whenever he feels like it is throwing up warning bells in my mind.

But I don’t bring it up. Not yet. Because just then he asks, “Are you in the mood for steak or fish or something else? Shit, I never asked if you were a vegetarian. Or maybe a vegan?”

“Neither. What kind of fish do you have?”

After half an hour of chatting while we cook, I’ve learned a great many details about Michael, but nothing substantive. For example, I know that he’s allergic to strawberries, that he’s never broken a bone, and that he stops watching TV shows if they’re really good because he doesn’t want them to end. That last bit is just about the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard, so I can’t help but hone in on that more as we carry the plates and a bottle of champagne up to the deck where we plan to eat.

“So you never finish shows you like?”

“I’ll be the first to admit how weird it is,” he replies. “But I feel like if I leave the last few episodes unwatched, it’s like it never has to end. If I ever want to come back to it, fresh, I can.”

“But think about what you’re missing out on,” I reason. I almost trip on the step, but correct myself. I just can’t take my eyes off his tight ass bouncing in front of me. “The best shows have the greatest endings. And you’re fine not seeing them?”

On the deck of the ship, the sun is shining in earnest now, though it’s creeping down towards the horizon so that if I look to the right, it’s absolutely blinding on this rare, clear afternoon. We place the dishes on a more intimate table at the back of the boat. Beside the table is a hot tub built into the deck. It’s plenty big enough for probably ten people. Or for two people to stretch out in.

“Like I said,” Michael says. “I don’t expect you to understand. It feels good not knowing the ending. As long as I don’t watch it, I can believe the series turns out however I like. I can dream about the possibilities instead of being stuck with one reality. Because sometimes reality sucks and the only thing you can do is put it off.”

This lighthearted conversation has taken an unexpected, serious turn, and I can’t help but steer into it. “Is that what you’re doing with me today? Putting off reality?” I bite my lips and consider my next words carefully. This could ruin everything, but I have to know. “Is that why you lied about this being your friend’s boat? Because it’s yours, right?”

Michael just stares at me for a few seconds, his mouth opening to respond and then closing again before any single word can fall out. Then he takes a deep breath and says, “No one’s ever the same when they find out who I am.”

We haven’t even sat down at the table yet. The food is on the table, calling for us to eat before it grows cold, but I take his hand and lead him to the edge of the ship, all the way at the back. The harbor is there on the horizon, but it’s far away. It’s like we’re leaving civilization behind. We sit down on the ledge, our feet dangling over the side.

“We only just met, so I can’t say I know much about you, but there’s one thing I figured out pretty quick. And that’s that you’re not a bad guy. So whoever you are, I’m not about to run away. Now like I could when we’re in the middle of the ocean.” I laugh lightly at this last part, trying to break a bit of the tension. “So tell me what could be so bad.”

“It’s not that it’s bad. It’s just that…have you ever heard of Adam Harding?”

“That’s the CEO of that tech company, right?”

“Yeah,” Michael says with a wan smile. “Except I don’t know him as the CEO. To me, he’s the absentee father who’s determined to make me follow in his footsteps.”

Now it’s my turn to be slack-jawed. “You're his son?”

“Yep. Michael Harding, at your service.”

This explains everything. Him owning a yacht. The job he doesn’t want to step into. But there’s one thing it absolutely doesn’t explain.

“But I don’t get it. Why me?”

Michael looks over at me. “You think you're not special and that I am, when the opposite is true. Being rich is great, but it doesn't make me better. It also doesn’t mean that I’m happy to throw my life into my father’s business.”