Adrift

by Isabel Jolie

  “But it was still fantastic?”

  “Oh, yeah. Fanfuckingtastic. I’ll be back to visit you again.” I grinned.

  “She’s young, you know that, right?”

  “She’s what? Twenty-five. Out of college. When did you become such a prude?” I didn’t see his issue at all.

  “I’m not a prude. I’m just saying, we’re older now.”

  “She’s the same age as a lot of the girls I date in New York.” My most recent ex accused me of breaking up with her because she’d gotten too old when she turned twenty-nine.

  “Seriously?” His judgmental frown bordered offensive.

  “I don’t target younger women, but I suppose the places I go often—”

  “You mean strip clubs?”

  I choked out a laugh and nodded. Busted. He frowned. He seriously needed to lighten up.

  “So, does Luna do that, too? That app thing?”

  “It’s not an app.” I took it from his scowl he didn’t care about specifics. “I don’t think so. Pretty positive no. I thought about asking Poppy, but I didn’t want to sound like I was into her friend.”

  “Considerate of you.”

  “Yep. But here, we can look for her.” I slipped out my phone from my back pocket. “Wait. She wouldn’t use her real name. We’d need her screen name to find her. Or look through a shitload of—”

  “That’s okay.”

  “I doubt she does it.” I breathed in the ocean air as I recalled my brief conversation with Poppy about the site. She seemed a tad defensive. Not embarrassed, necessarily, but I got the sense I’d get farther with her if I showed an interest in her and not in her pseudo celebrity. “Poppy stumbled into it when she lost her bartending job. She might have sold Luna on it. But Luna’s got a job, and she’s in grad school. I doubt she’s doing it on the side. Poppy’s dream is to own a cafe or a bar. I offered to be an investor, but she turned me down. Probably a good thing. I’m not sold investing in a restaurant on this island would be smart. I’d need to see the numbers. I’d imagine there’s a pretty stiff drop-off in the winter.”

  Tate stared straight ahead, and I waited, curious if he had any thoughts about business out here. It had to be a tourist economy.

  “Don’t look to me. I’m about to spend my first winter here. Right now is shoulder, you know, off-peak, and from what I’ve heard, weekends stay pretty full through Thanksgiving with weddings. Then it’s dead. Only locals around until the spring wedding season kicks in, maybe around March.”

  Restaurants could succeed, I guessed, but any business was tough with an entire season of low income. The resort island didn’t allow automobiles, and without car exhaust and traffic noises, combined with palm trees and the lulling sound of waves, it did feel a world away from reality. I’d traveled all over, but I’d never forgotten this place. It wasn’t hard to see why families came back year after year.

  “You wanna catch some waves?” He stretched, reaching skyward, clearly ready to end the conversation. Glad he let go of the sharp chip on his shoulder, I relaxed against the chair.

  “Sure. For a bit. You and I still need to catch up. Then I’ve got to head back.” There’d be a ton of industry news to catch up on. Texts came through in bursts around here, all thanks to weak signal. Drove me fucking nuts. And my nature loving friend here moved to this isolation full-time. Vacation? Sure, I got it. Year-round? Insanity.

  “Did you drive my golf cart back here?”

  “What?”

  “You left the cart at Jules, didn’t you?” Oh, shit. He did say he left it for me. I’d been so hot to ride home with Poppy I’d totally forgotten. “Don’t worry. I’ll ride one of your bikes down to get it.”

  He rolled his eyes, all attitude and annoyance. A gorgeous woman caught my attention—sue me.

  Monday morning, the alarm sounded at the early hour of four. A new day, a new week. My morning surfing felt distant. As if it happened a week ago, not just yesterday.

  All looked good in early morning London trading, so I hit the gym by four thirty, and flipped the light switch in the office by six. I was knee deep in a review of my fund’s current positions when Reed tapped the door and plopped into my visitor chair. If it wasn’t for the fresh cup of coffee he slid my way, I might’ve chewed him out, as it annoyed me to no end he always assumed I had time for him.

  “Tell me about this chick you met.” His eyebrows raised and wiggled, only he couldn’t control his right one, so whenever he pulled that move, he looked like a total buffoon. “Hot, right?”

  Yeah, I texted Reed from the ferry. But only after his Saturday night text from a strip club came through, telling me how much I missed out on.

  “I’ve already subscribed. She doesn’t do action. Or nudes. Kind of lame, if you ask me. There are way better porn stars to follow.”

  “I didn’t send you her photo so you’d subscribe, you fuck.” I sat up straighter in my chair and stifled an urge to throttle the fuckwad. I wasn’t quite sure why I sent it. It was just the way Reed and I had been for years, but the idea of him scrolling through her photos, it didn’t sit well with me.

  “Hey? You realize she has over twenty-five thousand subscribers, right? Which, again, I don’t get. In general, to me, if you want to get off, PornHub’s a better option. But she’s got some grade-A boobs, I’ll give you that. How was she to fuck? Are those breasts real?”

  Reed might qualify as an old friend, but on some days, he truly grated my nerves. “Out.” I pointed at the door.

  “What’s up with you?”

  “Markets open soon, and I’ve still got updates to get through.”

  “They open in over an hour.”

  “Out,” I repeated through gritted teeth.

  He didn’t get my annoyance. Probably seemed like any other day to Reed. I didn’t like being interrupted pre-market opening, and he liked to jerk my chain. He rarely succeeded in getting me flustered. I loosened my tie and paced the room. Located my stress ball behind the monitor and bounced it against the wall. I hated I shared her account with him. That truth annoyed me because regret wasn’t an emotion I liked to harbor.

  Last night, lying back on my sofa, I’d scrolled through her feed. Held the phone up in the air one-handed while I coaxed myself, jerking off to the hint of nipple in the photo. I’d been surprised she didn’t have nudes in her premium feed. But she was still hot as fuck. And I had to go and share her with Reed.

  I threw my stretch ball back and forth against the wall. Thud. Thud. Thud.

  A slight rap on the door broke the repetition, and my assistant entered.

  “All okay?”

  “Yep.”

  “Here’s the analyst report you asked for.” She placed a thick folder on my desk. “Have a good weekend?”

  I nodded, and she backed out to answer a ringing phone. I lost myself in market analysis. Once the bells rang, I didn’t give Reed another thought. Nothing out there could top the rush of a morning playing the trades.

  I wrapped up with significant gains thanks to some shorts I made that worked out just right. I checked the calendar and smiled. No business lunch today. As if sensing my day had turned around, Reed tapped my doorframe again. Only this time my ex trailed him.

  “Caroline? Did we have an appointment?”

  “Oh, my god, Gabe. Why are you so formal? No, we didn’t have anything scheduled. But I have lunch with my dad and thought I’d swing by and say hello. See if maybe you wanted to join us.”

  Caroline’s dad worked for Silverman Katz. I’d spent most of business school gunning for Silverman, but then Belman came in with an offer I couldn’t refuse. Just as well. I broke up with Caroline after a year or two at Belman, and had that happened if I worked for her dad, well, it would have been awkward.

  “No, thanks.” The thought of a stuffy lunch with Caroline and her dad, a lunch that would no doubt be the equivalent of an informal interview, because that was how the man framed everything, deserved a hell-to-the-no.

  C
aroline’s coy smile as she approached my desk unsettled me. She trailed her long, manicured nails along the back of my visitor chair, and I waited.

  “Reed tells me you had an interesting weekend.” And there it is.

  I shot him an icy glare. He thrust his hands in the air and chuckled. “What? You met a celeb.”

  “She sounds lovely. In a southern kind of way.”

  They both heehawed at their little joke. With a shake of my head, I lifted my phone off the charging dock and squeezed past them. Let the little shits have their fun.

  In front of the elevator bank, I repeatedly pressed the down arrow as Caroline’s voice trailed through the hall. “I hope you got your money’s worth.”

  “Shut it,” I snapped. The last thing I needed was unsavory interpretations floating around the office.

  “Oh, come on, now. Don’t get testy.” She sidled up to me, full of glee. The elevator door dinged. Rather than end up trapped with Caroline and Reed and relentless innuendos, I spun around, passed the elevator bank, and slung the stairwell door open. Sixty-two floors. With each step down, I cursed Reed. Which didn’t make any sense at all, because we’d shared photos before via text. It was just a guy thing. But his leering, making her a joke—it felt wrong. She wasn’t just a chick from a party. By the time I reached the ground floor, I’d resolved to never speak of her again to Reed. The guy was basically ADHD. By tomorrow, he’d be on to a different shiny object.

  Chapter 4

  Poppy

  * * *

  How much for an orgy?

  I stared at the message, debating how to respond. It wasn’t that odd requests were foreign, but I’d just reviewed my financials, and month after month I had suffered a decline in subscribers. Actually, for the last twelve months I’d been on a steady decline. I needed to up my Insta game and make more efforts at cross promotion. Competition intensified every single month. Or maybe I’d simply lost my schizle. Too many people caught on that I’d never show it all.

  I’d never in a million years take money for a sex act. It wasn’t my bag, not to mention it wasn’t even legal, but how to respond so I didn’t lose another subscriber? I opened a file of my sexiest shots and scrolled through, seeking something special. A tempting, flirty treat…maybe the hint of an areola. I also had a few shots with a dildo in my cleavage. Leave it to an orgy request to make a girl truly appreciate the odd foot fetish. So much easier to snap a shot of one’s foot, earn a tip, and maintain a sub.

  I chose a more innocent shot so he wouldn’t be insulted I declined his invitation. The shots of the purple dildo in my cleavage turned my stomach. That happened to me a lot, actually. What I’d thought was creative inspiration and super sexy would flip the very next day and strike me as mortifying and in super poor taste.

  I jammed through several flirty emails, many from men and a few ladies who were more or less loving having a non-judgmental friend. Or maybe they really did like my make-up tip videos.

  I laughed out loud at a message from JARED1598.

  Blue—had the worst day. Found out the woman who gave the best head of my life is a transvestite.

  I typed back a quick…

  She knows her way around the equipment. Are you really that surprised?

  Some days I swore I missed my calling as a therapist. Then, because I’m a caring person, I reminded him of sexual diseases and things like that. A solid reminder for anyone picking up their hook-up curbside.

  Jared and I had been exchanging emails for quite some time. His profile pic showed a twenty-something fit male, but I never ever trusted a profile pic. Hell, I’d carefully curated my profile pics and edited them to the point I sometimes didn’t recognize myself.

  The last message in my queue and—jahwoski. One erect, well-manscaped penis filled my message box. It’s not a Monday without a dick pic.

  I replied with the obligatory That looks delicious. Oh, how I’d love to wrap my lips around that bad boy. Or maybe you’d prefer to place it here… and attached my standard cleavage shot and hit send. Boom. Five bucks richer.

  With my morning correspondence completed, I clicked over to prepare for my afternoon meeting in Wilmington with the bankers. Even though I’d been socking away my profit for the last two years, I needed a loan to get my restaurant going. According to my research, the median cost to open a restaurant fell in the $275,000 to $300,000 range, and given I wanted to open on an island, my cost would be higher. I currently had $30,000 saved. Math had never been my strength, but even Forrest Gump could determine I needed a loan.

  This afternoon’s appointment would be my first bank meeting. I fully expected to be escorted out with a polite no. But I planned to cajole this bank officer into telling me where I fell short, not money-wise, but application-wise. I’d Googled it all, of course, but expected the real life loan application experience might differ from the outline on Wikipedia.

  After I opened my restaurant, I’d say goodbye to OnlyFans. The account required daily work and constantly putting oneself out there. A restaurant would be the same in so many ways, but I could hold my head high and tell the world I owned a restaurant. No one looked down on a restaurant owner. And even though I had a PG account, I knew damn well every single person would assume I sold nudes. Or worse. And, truth be known, I’d come close to selling nudes. When it was eat or flash your boobs, you flashed away. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

  A text came through, snapping me back to my afternoon.

  * * *

  Happy Monday.

  * * *

  Who is this?

  * * *

  Gabriel Chesterton.

  * * *

  A smile so wide my muscles stretched broke out across my face.

  * * *

  Hey! How’s it going? Any news on the probe?

  * * *

  He’d mentioned an investigation on a business he had invested in. I expected those kinds of things happened all the time. It sounded standard, and probably not worth talking about, but it wasn’t like I had a wealth of Gabe conversation starters at the ready. My phone lit up with a FaceTime call. Well, shit.

  I flicked on my soft light and snapped my phone into the selfie holder, then settled myself down on the settee. Double-checked my hair, licked my lips for a gloss effect, and answered.

  “Hey, stranger. Lunch break time?”

  “Never ever mention business in writing. Ever. Got it?” Office buildings loomed in the background over his head, shifting up and down. He wore a well-fitted dark suit and tie.

  “Why?”

  “It’s a creed I live by.” I raised the stand slightly for a better angle of my face, fully aware that at the wrong angle I appeared almost cow-like. “You’ve got gorgeous eyes, you know that?”

  “Lots of blue eyes in the sea,” I muttered. If in doubt, peruse OnlyFans. Or Instagram. Or one of my family reunions.

  “Not like yours.” A loud horn blared in the distance. I looked away from the bouncy background to avoid motion sickness. “What you got on tap this afternoon?”

  “I’m meeting with bankers.” It felt damn good to have a legitimate business meeting to talk about.

  “Bankers?”

  “I told you. I’m looking to open a restaurant.”

  “Send me over your business pitch. I might know some investors. Maybe with better terms than you can get from a bank.”

  “Okay. Will do.” I popped off the settee and returned to my laptop, carrying my phone, arm extended as far as it could stretch. Then I set the phone down, camera aimed at the ceiling, while I pulled up the deck I’d created. Might as well get his thoughts on it. Another guinea pig investor. Twenty-five rejections—after I got that many hard no’s, I’d reevaluate. Until then, I planned to keep on keeping on. “What’s your email?”

  “Send it to my personal. My name at gmail dot com. Do you remember my last name?”

  “Chesterton?”

  “Yep. And who is it coming from?”

  Shit. I was about t
o message him from my OnlyFans account, but Gabe wasn’t a subscriber. I mean, I suspected one of my four new weekend subscribers might be Gabe, but this would be real correspondence. An email between friends and potentially business colleagues. And it opened up more of my life to Gabe than I opened up to others. I had comfort in people knowing one side of my life, not both. But I shook off that worry. The guy lived in New York. “Penelope Smith. I mean, the email is Pop4Joiz.”

  “Is Smith your real last name?”

  “Would you expect anything less than a common last name?” This girl here was about as common as they came. Well, other than my middle name. My parents had aspirations for me, after all.

  “All right, Penelope Smith. What time is your meeting with the bankers?”

  “Three.”

  “I’ll head back to the office and look it over. I have to get on a call with an analyst at one thirty, but I’ll email back any suggestions before then.”

  “Thank you.” Gratitude filled me. I hadn’t asked for any help. But he offered. And god knew I needed it. I found my business plan template on Pinterest.

  “Hey, Poppy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Will you be around tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll call to see how it went.”

  I caught a quick glimpse of a playboy smirk right before he ended the call. And a little gratitude slipped away.

  Chapter 5

  Gabe

  * * *

  Eager to see what kind of business plan this mini-celeb would put together, my stride hit New York speed through the sidewalks. I checked her stats last night, and objectively speaking, reviewing her like I would a stock pick, she’d done well with her social business. I’d dare say she could be hovering near six figures on subscription revenue alone. Impressive in a fiercely competitive category. Right there on her home page she made it clear she was photos only, no action videos, yet she grew her base to a decent size.