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“The prime minister knows about the cruise. I’ll call him to invite his most talented cultural musicians. We’ll say we’re spotlighting theirculture and thanking them for their wonderful Greek hospitality. Ninety percent of the world’s wealth is on this cruise and a lot of money can funnel into the government here. He’ll bend over backward to accommodate.”
Gregory nods, his fingers flying over his phone, clearly taking copious notes.
“You got the details, right? I don’t need to do that for you, do I?”
“No, sir. We’ll have everything prepared for tonight.” The man has his phone to his ear as he scurries away to do Rex’s bidding.
A satisfied sigh escapes Rex’s lips as he faces the ocean again. I can’t help but smile at what I just saw—quick thinking, creative and meaningful, like all the Fleur marketing campaigns I’ve seen before.
I used to think these campaigns, like last year’s Project Echo, a silent red carpet premiere for a biopic about a non-verbal neurodivergent artist, resulted from his stellar marketing team. After all, before today, I’ve only seen him joking with his family, taking nothing seriously, or flirting shamelessly with women.
A prickle of guilt pinches me. This is why I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Back on the jet, I thought he was one of those guys who had everything handed to him. But now, I’m not so sure. Maybe all those successful campaigns came from him, because he’s good at what he does.
Then what are you trying to prove, Rex?
The earlier tension in his shoulders isn’t visible anymore, but instead of looking happy or relieved from a crisis averted, he takes out something from his pocket—a small red ball? After staring at it for a few seconds, he puts it away and grips the railing again, eyes closed, obviously deep in thought.
And because my impulse control is low today, I steal a few more photos of him.
“I’d think doctors are well educated enough to know eavesdropping and secretly taking photos of people are rude,” he murmurs, his back still facing me.
I startle, my camera slipping out of my hands. Thank God it’s strapped around my neck.
“I didn’t want to intrude.”
He scoffs. “So, where’s that magical little notepad of yours? What did you glean from learning about my cruise getting off to a rocky start? Waiting for me to fail spectacularly? For trying to be anything but the fun Anderson?”
My brows pinch, my feet carrying me toward him before I realize what I’m doing. “Why do you do this?”
“What?” He finally turns to face me.
“Hate yourself. Talk down to yourself. Think you have nothing to offer other than the Rex-a-Million the public knows.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”Bullshit.
“I’m not in a hurry. I’ll wait.” A wisp of hair slips out of my bun and I tuck it behind my ear. “We have an entire month for me to get the truth out of you.”
Jaw clenching, he narrows his stormy eyes. “You know what? I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re here. It can’t only be a favor for Lana.”
He steps toward me. “Is it money? I heard we’re making a donation to your research society. You know, I can just wire you the funds from my personal account.”
“No. I don’t take handouts.”
His piercing eyes rove over my face, then my body, and, damn it, my skin heats from his perusal.
Rex’s nostrils flare. “No. Of course you won’t.” He leans in, and I smell his intoxicating scent of bergamot and amber.
“I’m good at reading people, Olivia.” His voice ghosts over my skin and I shiver. “You’re hiding something.”
“And you’re deflecting.”
“I’m right though, aren’t I? You accuse me of hiding because you’re the one with secrets you don’t want to see the light of day. So now who’s deflecting?”
My traitorous heart kicks into a turbulent rhythm, much like the wind suddenly gusting around us. My training should kick in now—defensive patient equals backing away, softening my tactics, and redirecting the conversation.
But it doesn’t.
Instead, panic rattles me.
