The CEO's Redemption

by Stella Marie Alden

Oh sure, like he’s shown such good judgment.

  What the hell is taking them so long?

  Far away, my husband’s shouts tell me he’s back in the boat and I wave again, careful not to kick my feet for fear of becoming shark bait. When the boat comes closer, my stomach retches as I rise and fall over the wake.

  Grayson dives in, Lucas drops a ladder over the side, and arm over arm, my husband reaches my side.

  His face is full of concern. “Are you hurt, babe?”

  “I’m fine but I think there’s sharks.”

  Quickly, he swims me to the ladder and places his hands over mine until my fingers wrap around the rung. Odd, how clumsy I am. With Lucas up top, Grayson below, I’m pushed and pulled out of the water. Then, I flop into the bottom of the boat.

  I’ve already decided to pretend the kiss never happened and Lucas will no-doubt do the same, “Miss, are you alright?”

  Grayson growls, “It’s Missus. Mrs. James Patten the third. Shut your mouth and take us to shore. Make sure there’s a car waiting to take her to the hospital.”

  “I really don’t nee—” I want to explain I’m fine but the glare from my husband shuts me up.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen him angrier. My guess is he saw the kiss and thinks somehow, I initiated it which makes no sense. Didn’t I fall to avoid it?

  When he touches the back of my head, I see stars, lean forward, and puke all over the inside of the boat. If my stomach wasn’t still queasy, I’d laugh, seeing as how this is all Lucas’ fault.

  Grayson squats in front of me, takes off his t-shirt, and wipes my mouth.

  “You may have a concussion.” His slate eyes bore into mine as if he could see what happened.

  I nod because I did lose a little time between banging my head and bobbing on top of the ocean.

  “Dammit. I’m bringing you home, right now, to the states.”

  My eyes sting and throat tightens. We were just getting our marriage back on track. In a few more days, we’d be solid. We can’t go back now, especially with him so angry.

  “Let’s wait and see what the doctor has to say. Okay?”

  “Here? Are you out of your mind?”

  I grin. “Hun, please? Please? I don’t want our vacation to end, not like this.”

  He puts me in his lap and wraps me in a soft warm towel. “When you went overboard and I was in the air, I lost it.”

  “I was fine. I had a life vest.”

  “What happened Izzy? You’re not one to be clumsy. How did you fall? I was too high to see clearly.”

  I don’t want to get Lucas fired or worse, have Grayson end up in jail, so I shrug. “I just fell.”

  His eyes go dark. “I saw he was flirting with you. He tried to kiss you, didn’t he?”

  I shrug again and close my eyes to avert his gaze. This is CEO Patten. The one that makes billion-dollar deals. The one that can tell a lie from the tiniest of facial expressions.

  “Isabella?”

  “It wasn’t his fault.” I flash my left hand. “I left my wedding ring at home, afraid I might lose it in the water.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “God, I hate it when you do this. My fingers changed when I had the baby and my rings don’t fit because I'm fat. Happy now?”

  We ride the rest of the way in stormy silence. When we get to the dock Grayson helps me out of the boat, unzips the life preserver, and tosses it at Lucas. “Find another job.”

  “Hey, mate. I didn’t do—”

  “In twenty-four hours I will own this company and you’ll be out of work. I suggest you find another island, far, far way. Know what I mean, mate?”

  The guy nods and swallows hard.

  Inside the car, on the way to the hospital, I try to explain. “Okay, Lucas was flirting with me but it was perfectly harmless.”

  His stony face gets me a little pissed. “Oh, come on now, like you never flirt.”

  “Not since meeting you.”

  “Damn it Grayson. He said I was pretty. He smiled at me, appreciatively. Not in a creepy way, just being nice. When he didn’t see the ring, he assumed I was your mistress and hit on me. I blushed, he took that as a yes, and kissed me. I was so shocked, I jumped back, and fell overboard. That’s it.”

  “I’m sorry, Izzy. This is all my fault. I should’ve gone without you.” Grayson’s jaw ticks away as palm trees fly by and the houses get closer together.

  Soon, we arrive at a cement brick building with a red plus sign painted on the side. I’m still trying to reason with him as I get out of the car. “Please don’t be mad. When was the last time you told me I was pretty? It just felt good to hear, okay?”

  I put my palm to his cheek but he shoves it away which is so unfair. I almost got killed from an uninvited pass and he’s the one that’s pissed? I don’t know how he does it but immediately we’re ushered into a plain, neat doctor’s office.

  A dark woman with high cheekbones greets me with a smile. “How are you, young lady?”

  “I bumped my head.”

  “I heard. Do you have any other symptoms?”

  “Just a bit of an upset stomach.”

  “I’ll want to keep you overnight.”

  “No listen, I’m still nursing my baby.” My breasts, heavy, I hope Slate did as I asked and brought Skye here.

  “And you went parasailing?”

  “Not me. I was on the boat and fell overboard.”

  When she gives me a look that says I’m a complete moron I add, “The captain hit on me, I backed away, and went over.”

  From now on, I’m definitely wearing my ring because she pointedly glances down at my left hand and scowls. For heaven’s sake. What is wrong with these people?

  “My wedding ring grew too small when I gained weight with the baby and I haven’t had it fixed because I want to be thin again.”

  She shakes her head like she can’t understand and mutters under her breath about insane Americans. “Here’s my number. You call me if you get a headache, throw up, or symptoms worsen. Understand?”

  I nod.

  She smiles. “Good den. Get dressed while I talk to your husband. He’s very worried about you. And I suggest you find a ring so the local men know you are taken.”

  When I start to object, she raises a palm to quiet me. “This is a place many wealthy men bring their mistresses. You are so pretty, the boat driver assumed you were just that.”

  “Thank you doctor. That’s the nicest thing you could have said.” Despite falling off a boat, I jump up and hug her, suddenly very happy she thinks I’m beautiful.

  Just when did I become so vain? An important fact dawns on me. Maybe it took getting hit on the head but I need to start to work again. I need to define myself more than a mom, more than a wife of a billionaire, and definitely more than my outward appearance.

  Slate waits for us with Skye who seems perfectly content. The time is an hour past feeding time and I don’t get it.

  Gray comes up behind me and says dryly, “He gave her a bottle.”

  “You did? She didn’t spit it out?”

  Slate shrugs. “She’s a smart kid. When she realized you weren’t around, we had a short conversation, and she took formula like a champ.”

  I’m both elated and sad at the same time as we make our way to the car. My baby doesn’t need me as much anymore.

  On the boat ride home, I’ve never seen Gray so stone cold silent.

  “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I have some work to do. I’ll wake you every couple of hours. Get some sleep.”

  No kiss, no I love you babe. We had made such progress and now I feel we have slipped back even further than before.

  Before I go to bed, I try to talk again. “I can’t believe you’re mad.”

  He looks up from his computer and frowns. “I’m not mad. Go to bed.”

  Oh, but he is, and now, so am I. Unfortunately, when I get really mad, I cry, which ruins the whole effect, especially when I sla
m the bedroom door, more like a petulant child than an angry wife.

  Chapter 9

  Grayson

  From eight hundred feet in the air, I had no idea that jerk was hitting on her. I should never have left Isabella alone with a stranger but I just don’t get it. What is it about her that makes men go nuts around her?

  Sure, she’s beautiful and deliciously curved but so are a hundred other women on this island. I swear it’s her damn innocent blush that makes men go stupid. Maybe it’s because her eyes are bluer than the sea or the cute wrinkle of her pert nose when she smiles; the way it’s kissed with girl-next-door freckles.

  I know she doesn’t mean to flirt. She’s too damn nice, that’s what it is. I need to protect her. That’s my job, for fuck’s sake and once again, I didn’t.

  Dammit.

  While she sleeps in the other room, like a complete bastard, I ignore her and take a swallow of Patrón. When I learned Slate gave Skye her first bottle and not me, I lost it. I’m a fucking billionaire, jealous of an Aussie who drives a boat and my own bodyguard.

  What in all of God’s creation is wrong with me?

  The bedroom door isn’t locked which is good because I’m supposed to check on Isabella every hour.

  I should console her but what can I say? Sorry, you married an unfeeling jerk of an asshole?

  I try to remember the last time I told her how beautiful she is and dammit, cannot. We’ve had so little alone-time, when we do, we jump into the sack, desperate for sex, not chit-chat.

  Isabella always looks beautiful, even in her favorite yoga pants and my old sweatshirt. Why do I have to say it? She should know how I feel. She’s my wife.

  My fingers fly over the keyboard and I search on Google until I find ‘Phrases Every Wife Needs to Hear Daily.’ Yet again, I’m clueless. There’s too many damn rules. Women should come with an operator’s guide. How the hell is a guy supposed to know all this shit?

  Again, I wonder if my lack of skills comes from my father. He was a cold sonofabitch. Maybe this is genetic. My mother always said when he left, it was a relief; that’d she’d never been happier. The day of the divorce she threw a huge champagne party bigger than her wedding day, or so she claimed.

  Does Isabella feel the same about me?

  I Google why-women-flirt and sigh. The articles sound too much like my wife. She was starving for attention but in her case, too naïve. She had no idea of the consequences of running into a shark like that fucking Aussie.

  Dammit. I thought once we were married she’d just know how I feel. Certainly, once we had Skye. Why are women so damn insecure?

  I think about the nannies and the woman who straddled me in my office and moan. I’m sure I made it far worse by not validating her emotions, at least that’s what I read online. But where does that leave us, now? Can I be the man she wants? The father my daughter deserves?

  I stop my research at the sounds of splashing water down at the dock and glance out the window.

  Dammit. What now?

  I check on Skye and Izzy, walk to the guest house, and meet Slate. He rushes out with his jeans unfastened, gun in hand.

  Together, we approach the dock and he slides off the pistol’s safety. Nothing good comes from an uninvited guest at midnight.

  Suddenly, the dock’s motion detectors click and floodlights snap on. After my eyes adjust, I spy a small wooden rowboat with a tiny outboard motor at the end of my pier. The owner, a boy of maybe twelve grins, dressed in nothing but over-sized shorts held up by a man-sized leather belt with a long tail.

  “Hello? Anyone out d’ere?” He shields his eyes with one hand and with the other, waves up the hill.

  From his perspective, Slate and I are no-doubt cloaked in darkness.

  My bodyguard motions me to stay put and strides down the stairs, across the sand to the dock. “What can I do for you?”

  “My boat, she runs out of gas and I saw dee lights.” His eyes grow wide at the gun in Slate’s hand.

  “Get out of the boat, slowly son, no sudden moves.”

  Slate had warned me about drug running, piracy and the like. Still, the kid is so skinny I have a hard time imagining him as anything but harmless. Shirtless, his pants hang low with no place to hide a weapon.

  Slate must think the same because he motions me forward. “Hold onto the kid and I’ll check out the boat, see if what he says is true.”

  Carefully, I make my way down the hill to the lighted area where the dark boy shivers, eyes wide, arms raised. “Don’t shoot me. Why would I lie? What good dere be in dat, huh?”

  There’s nothing in the rowboat but a fishing pole and tackle. Slate unscrews the plastic gas container, holds it upside down, and says, “Seems the young gentleman is telling the truth.”

  He hops out of the rocking boat and ruffles the kid’s dreadlocks. “You can put your hands down, now, son. Sorry. Can’t be too careful.”

  “Is okay. So, you have some gas? Den I clear out.”

  I don’t feel right letting him go off into the night alone. “Where are your parents. I’ll call them.”

  “We got no phone. My grandma gonna give me grief for worryin’ her so. Please, just give me some gas, den I go.” He starts to jump back into the small craft but I grab him by the forearm.

  “Not so fast.” I don’t like how his eyes dart around and the smell of his nervous energy.

  Slate leans over, grabs the rope tied to the bow, and tugs the little craft high onto the sand.

  After he tucks in the oars, he turns to the kid and says, “Tell you what. I’ll radio the mainland and have someone get in touch with your family. You’ll stay the night with me.”

  Back up the hill, Isabella stands on the deck, wrapped in a blanket. “What’s going on? Who’s that?”

  “I’m Thomas, missus. Sorry to wake you. I ran out of fuel.” At the boy’s charming smile, her eyes go soft but me and Slate, not so much.

  Before she offers him bed and breakfast I set things straight. “We’re going back to the cabin to radio the local law.”

  “Wait just a second.” She disappears through the double doors, then comes back with our leftover dinner in a plastic bucket.

  I meet her halfway down the stairs where she kisses me on the lips, as if we never fought. “Make sure he eats.”

  That’s my Izzy.

  I kiss her back and shoot her a big smile. “How’s your head?”

  “Small headache. Big bump. Other than that, okay.” Her hand rises to the back on her head, she winces, and I feel like a complete ass for being such a jerk.

  “Listen, about earlier? I’m really sorry. It’s not your fault the Aussie hit on you. You’re so damn beautiful, any man couldn’t help himself.”

  Nicely done, Grayson, my man. Who says you can’t teach an old dog…

  With a shake of her head, and a big smile, I’m forgiven. “It’s okay. Go take care of Thomas. I’ll make coffee.”

  Xavier

  Grayson’s luck has finally run out, or I should say, the cream has risen to the top. The pure poetry of how I found him makes me laugh.

  My stupid girlfriend’s attempt of seduction in New York failed to break up his marriage so I’d almost given up hope but what it did is make me see things more clearly. I’m going at this all wrong. Like the first time I went after Patten, I need to go high tech.

  I reach out to one of the best programmers-for-hire who builds me this kick-ass software. If the Pattens are out there, it will find them.

  My computer pings, I hit enter, and an online article pops up on my screen.

  Billionaire’s Wife Overboard.

  It shows that cunt, Isabella, wrapped in a towel with her husband nearby, looking ready to kill. Well, well, well. The article says the couple is having some marital discord.

  With a chuckle, I sit down with my coffee on the deck and read. While her husband was parasailing, Isabella fucked the boat attendant. I knew it. I had her pegged the moment I hired her. The woman is a money-grub
bing whore. Why else would she marry Patten and have his child?

  Fuck it. She was supposed to have married me. That was the plan. Because of the government deal, I would’ve had plenty of dough and she would’ve been happy to throw in with me. Dammit. I found her. I hired her. She’s mine.

  Reading on, amusement snorts out my nose. Apparently, the incensed Patten threw her overboard, bought the parasailing company, and fired everyone.

  That sounds so like him.

  The couple gave no comment and is staying at an undisclosed location in the Bahamas.

  My God. This is so fucking perfect. When I stand too quickly, my ladderback chair topples back with a clunk on the marble floor. This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. It’s like fate has handed them to me on a silver platter.

  I pick up my satellite phone and call my personal assistant, Jeanette. “Listen up. I just found out Grayson and Isabella Patten are vacationing in the Bahamas. I’m sending you the link.”

  There’s a long silence followed by her terse, “Got it.”

  I may need to remind her what happens to people who don’t show the right respect. I tempted her out of Patten Securities with a very generous salary. She can always go back to being a paper-pushing loser.

  “Listen to me very carefully, Jeannette. Find out who wrote the article and who took the picture. Hire whatever local talent you need. Tell them I’m willing to pay five-thousand-dollars to the first one who brings me their location. I want Twitter, Facebook ads, hell, I don’t know… posters on buildings. Do whatever it takes but I want this by end of day. Understood?”

  “Sure.” Her tone is way too calm so I annunciate more clearly so she gets the seriousness. “I said, DO…YOU… UNDERSTAND?”

  She clears her throat and in my mind’s eye, I see her swallow hard, eyes filled with fear. “I got it. You can count on me, sir. Just, ah, don’t hurt Isabella.”

  Hurt her? Hell no, I’m going to fuck her.

  “Keep me apprised. I want an update, hourly.”

  “Yes sir.”

  That’s more like it. I hang up quite pleased with my excellent management skills. By day’s end I will personally shoot Grayson Patten III and take his wife for my own. She will get me access to the fucking source code and I can get those Uzbeks off my back. Then, if she’s nice, I might let her live.