I’d chosen a fucking goddess over my empire.
I’d sent Calvin to deal with Drake when it ought to have been me.
My palms had crescent-moon cuts from my nails digging deep. I’d clenched my fists the entire journey, unable to figure out what the fuck I was doing.
Why had I abandoned everything I’d built? Why had there been no question about which catastrophe to chase?
Even Cal had known. The minute Arbi called, he’d collected my thrown phone, called to book the next available flight back to Indo—a wait-time of eight fucking hours—and then continued to the chartered plane to San Diego.
I trusted him to kick Drake from my building.
I knew he’d set the board straight.
But it should have been fucking me.
Christ!
I raked a hand through my hair, pacing down the air bridge with the two other first-class passengers. I had a good mind to turn around, jump back on the Boeing, and order the pilots to take me back to America. To stop being a goddamn idiot and put my company before a goddess.
I’ll book a return journey.
Right now.
Turning on my phone, I gritted my teeth with determination. I’d made a mistake flying back here. Arbi could find Eleanor. He could discipline her. She couldn’t have gotten far. I’d arrange yet another plane to get me to San Diego, and I’d deal with my fucktard of a brother myself.
And then I’d deal with my runaway possession.
Notifications and emails pinged as I connected to the internet. Ignoring it all, I scrolled through my phonebook to the travel associate on file.
My phone vibrated in my hand before I could connect the call, the ringtone following a second later.
Arbi.
Pressing accept, I picked up my pace to customs and immigration. “You find her?”
If they’d found Eleanor, they knew what to do until I returned. She’d be held with means fitting for an ungrateful runaway. No more luxury. No more kindness. She ran from my gifts? Well, she’d fucking return to my fury.
“Eh, we found the kayak,” Arbi muttered.
“Where was she? How far did she get?”
Silence thickened before he admitted, “We found the kayak, sir. But…not the goddess.”
I slammed to a halt. “What?”
“She, eh, wasn’t on the boat. It capsized in the storm. It didn’t last long, but the wind and rain—”
“Storm? What fucking storm?”
“It came through early this morning.”
Placing him on speaker, I brought up the local weather forecast. Sure enough, a tropical pattern had swooped through just before dawn, drenching the area, causing localized flooding and a few ruined infrastructures.
My island would’ve withstood its ferocity, thanks to the quality craftsmanship of my villas, but a tiny kayak at sea? She would’ve been a cork bobbing at its mercy. No, worse than a cork. She would’ve been a rock, plunging to the depths the moment the boat capsized.
She wasn’t just missing.
She’s probably dead.
The lance to my heart overrode every scrap of common-sense I had left. Hanging up on Arbi, I called my helicopter crew.
The pilot answered on my second ring. “Mr. Sinclair. We’re at the private hangar. Do you still wish to return to—”
“I’m on my way. Make sure you have plenty of fuel on board. Today isn’t a taxi service. It’s a recovery mission.”
Chapter Fourteen
EVERYTHING WAS A BLUR. A drowning, gasping blur.
The rain fell like a heavy curtain, obscuring the island I rowed toward, blocking out light and sight. The thunder split apart my eardrums. The lightning bolts sizzled in the sky.
My parrot passenger squeaked and shot into the swirling, howling air, buffeted left and right as it flew drunkenly toward the land ahead.
The bottom of the kayak rapidly filled with rain, lapping around my toes, then ankles, then shins. Water all around me, water all over me.
Yet I kept rowing.
I had no choice.
The wind grew angrier, throwing my tiny craft against snarling waves. The calm serenity of this paradise had swiftly become a churning hell.
I didn’t remember much after that. All my energy and focus went to my arms.
Row.
Row.
Row.
Quickly.
Quickly.
Quickly.
The island appeared and disappeared in sheets of rain—sometimes closer, sometimes farther, but never close enough to touch.
When the storm reached its pinnacle, I’d already burned through every dreg of energy I had left. I shook from cold and exhaustion. I was totally at Mother Nature’s mercy.
So when the wave finally arrived, heavy and rolling, merciless with gravestones and eulogies, I sucked in a breath and let it happen.
The shock from cold rain to warm ocean wasn’t what I expected. The kayak vanished, my supplies scattered, and the sea cradled me in apology, doing its best to keep me buoyant while air and wind became my enemy.
Strangely, being in the embrace of water rather than being lashed by it gave me another surge of strength.
I traded rowing for swimming.
I ducked under the rolling waves and kept my mouth closed so I didn’t drink rain or sea. I kicked and stroked until the island inched closer still.