Adrift

by Isabel Jolie

  When I got home, I stared at my presentation, unsure how to fix it. Gabe had no recommendations for improvement. I needed to change something before meeting with the next loan application office, but what? The temptation to toss my laptop into the Cape Fear grew, but I talked myself off the crazy.

  I tapped away on the little black keys. Deleted all OnlyFans mentions. Altered the business description but left my business name, Star Enterprises. Something told me I had to keep the name on there, as that was filed in some database somewhere with my LLC information. I stared at the education line and closed the laptop before succumbing to the temptation to pick a college.

  Later that night, as I topped off a bottle of wine alone on my porch, the phone rang. Gabriel Chesterton flashed on the screen. I almost tipped my glass in the rush for the phone.

  “Hey!” All my girly parts squealed. He called!

  “There’s my sexy girl. What are you wearing right now?” All my glee crashed.

  “Seriously?”

  “Too much?”

  I rolled my eyes. Annoyance poked up, but I bashed it down and stayed friendly. After all, the man was a friend of a friend.

  “Are we not there yet?” He sounded like he might have been smiling, but I had no smile in me.

  “No. We aren’t.”

  “Hmmm. Or is this the thing where you have phone sex all day with clients and when you’re off duty you don’t want to play around?”

  “What exactly do you think I do?”

  “Don’t you—”

  “No. You know, Gabe, I really wanted to like you. But you’ve picked the wrong day to be a complete and total prick. Yes, you can find everything you want on OnlyFans. That doesn’t mean I do all of it. And if you only want an OnlyFans girl, then you need to be communicating to me via the account, not calling my personal.” My thumb hovered over the red button to end the call.

  “Whoa—”

  Press. End of call. I wished my phone made a clicking sound, and that thought had me wondering if an app existed that created sounds to accompany the buttons. I’d like to hear Siri in the sophisticated British tone I chose say, “Goodbye, asshat.”

  The phone lit up once again. I debated answering for a few seconds but then caved. Friend of a friend and all that.

  “Yes?”

  “Did you hang up on me?” Shock enveloped his words.

  “Yeah.” Get over it.

  “Don’t do that. If I say something that offends you, tell me. But don’t end the call. I had a shitty day. I called you because I was reaching out as a friend.”

  “Yeah, do you ask all your friends what they’re wearing when you call them? Does Tate give you a good rundown?”

  “Fine. I might…I don’t know. That was bad flirting. I got it. I won’t do it again.”

  I sipped my wine, waiting for an actual apology.

  “How’d your meeting with the bank go?”

  My emotions shimmied around uncontrollably. “Not well. I’ve decided that on my next loan application I need to take a different approach to describe my current business.”

  “What did they say about it?”

  “It wasn’t a they. It was a he. And…” I trailed off, unsure about what to admit.

  “Did he come on to you?” he asked. I thought I picked up on a mixture of anger and disbelief. The desire to hang up on him evaporated.

  “In a totally professional way. Maybe I was reading into it.” It was probably all in my head. He really didn’t do anything wrong. Some might say he was being nice.

  “Tell me what he said.”

  “He said I wasn’t likely to get a loan without experience running a restaurant, but he was willing to help me work on my business plan—if I met him at a hotel bar.” I held my breath for Gabe’s reaction, curious. He could say that was normal and how things were done in the business world. In Wilmington, I’d seen business executives hovering around the bar. I’d been in the exact Holiday Inn bar he mentioned once.

  Gabe muttered something I couldn’t quite pick up. “Look, the restaurant sector isn’t an area I know. But let me make some phone calls. I’ll have an industry expert consult with you.”

  “That’s—”

  “Poppy, this is how it’s done. You learn from those with more experience and knowledge. I could tell you something off the top of my head that needs improvement in your presentation, but my feedback won’t be as useful as an industry expert. And what the banker said, about the lack of experience, that could be a legitimate obstacle. Does the chef you are partnering with have any ownership or management experience?”

  “No.” I’d fluffed his experience up. Clay was currently the line cook at Jules. But he liked healthy food. And my plan was for more of a wine bar, a place for vacationing adults to come and hang out in a relaxing atmosphere, even after dinner.

  “Let me make some calls.”

  “How much would a consultant cost?”

  “Consider it a favor for hanging out with me and letting me crash on your sofa.”

  “Gabe, I don’t want to be indebted to you. How much?”

  “Won’t cost a thing. I’ll call in some favors. It’ll be an initial consultation, and you can decide how you want to take it from there.”

  “Thank you.”

  He sighed. “No problem.”

  “Why’d you have a shit day?”

  “Ah, just another day in the business world.” Shrill beeps and a robotic voice sounded through the phone. “Premise is secure.”

  “Are you just getting home now?”

  “Yeah. I had dinner with brokers.”

  I checked the time. After ten. “You sound tired.”

  “I am. I wake at four a.m. This is a late-night for me. Especially given it’s only Monday.”

  “Four a.m.? That’s inhuman.”

  He chuckled. I sensed he spoke while walking and talking, maybe even preparing for bed.

  “I suppose I should let you go so you can get a good night’s sleep.”

  “I’ll have my assistant email over a consultant’s name. And, Poppy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That banker was an ass. And I didn’t mean to be.”

  Chapter 7

  Gabe

  * * *

  Tuesday morning, I woke to discover Asian stocks tanked thanks to mere whispers of a new virus. London shares were following suit, which meant at 9 a.m. it would be a freefall. I scrapped the gym and prepared for a steady stream of evaluations. Electrified, I watched the board, listened to calls, and searched for opportunities. A scintillating thrill seeped through my pores, a natural high from the rush of sophisticated gambling.

  The world sat by, on edge, the memory of COVID-19 still fresh. Before that virus, the word “quarantine” seemed relegated to sci-fi films, but now it hung over an antsy business world. For some industries, another pandemic would mean disaster. But in my world, it didn’t matter which horse won, only that I could hedge my bets and be sure I picked the winning horses. Even if another pandemic struck, there would be winning horses.

  Valerie tapped my door after markets closed and delivered some reports from an inside source at the WHO. “Do you need anything else?” she asked, notepad in hand.

  While I worked insane hours, Valerie picked a career as an administrative assistant because she wanted a home life. We had an agreement. I never kept her late. She had little ones waiting for her, and her daycare fined her if she was late for pickup.

  “You don’t need to do this today, but tomorrow, could you do some research and find a restaurant consultant?”

  “Industry expert? U.S.?” she asked, confusion etched across her brow since there was no connection between my sector, the tech industry, and restaurants.

  “Yes. It’s for a friend. She wants to open a restaurant. I need someone who consults and guides people interested in doing something like that. Someone who can coach her through developing her business plan and gaining funding.” I picked up my phone and shared Poppy’s
contact information while Valerie tapped out notes to herself. “Invoices should come to me.”

  “Is there a budget?”

  “Nah. I mean, keep me apprised of the cost, but she’s not to know there are any expenses.”

  “She?” I ignored her blatant innuendo.

  “Family friend. Have a good night.” I waved her away, eager to see what the virologists had to say about this latest virus.

  The next couple of weeks, stocks swung back and forth in a blur as confirmed cases spread through Europe. Stocks set about on wild swings. My days became manic. Some nights I’d lean back on my sofa, tanked from yet another feverish, nonsensical day. I’d pull out my iPhone and visit OnlyFans. I’d read through her posts. I watched her give a make-up tutorial on drawing on eyebrows. I actually replayed a short video of her playing with a tiny kitten she found somewhere in the woods. And every now and then, I’d locate my favorite photograph, the one where her short cut-off tank revealed a sliver of nip, and administer some self-love while I fantasized.

  One night, as the news played on my television set and I popped out a quick push-up routine, the buzz of an incoming text caught my attention. I smiled and settled back against the sofa, my butt on the floor.

  * * *

  Thad Nguyen contacted me. Are you sure this is free to you?

  * * *

  Yes.

  * * *

  He’s not so hot on Haven Island as a market.

  * * *

  Listen to him. He’s the expert.

  * * *

  Thad believes I should look at franchises. Or approach an existing successful restaurant in the area about a franchise. Any thoughts?

  * * *

  He’s the expert.

  * * *

  Thad suggested I could capitalize on my OnlyFans base. Maybe create something like Hooters. Are you familiar with that chain? But I don’t like that idea.

  * * *

  Then don’t do it.

  * * *

  Meeting with a loan investment officer in one week. Thad set it up. He’s been amazing. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.

  * * *

  To that text, oh, I think we can find a way, is what I thought. Instead, I responded with a lame and dishonest,

  Don’t mention it.

  Our texts were all business. Straightforward. But later at night, I fully leveraged my anonymous subscription to her OnlyFans account. On one hand, she was this hot chick on a site. No different from, say, the chicks in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition. Or maybe one of the C-list celebrities Cyr invited to his parties. An entity. Entertainment. But on the other hand, unlike those other models, I was learning more about her than the shape of her breasts.

  As the stock market continued to bounce around with emotion, not logic, my world flipped into an erratic rollercoaster. I counseled myself to focus on rational decisions and trust the market would catch up. When markets bounced, stress levels skyrocketed. My long days became marathons.

  As if life wasn’t enough of a shit show, the FBI contacted my office and requested I come in to talk. A meeting was on the calendar. Rumors flew about the investigation and which investment firms would be swept up in the probe. I debated hiring a lawyer.

  My days slipped into a routine. Up at four, treadmill, office, lunch, office, dinner, home, and weights or treadmills, always to loud, pulsing music. After a shower, perusing her account became my second decompression step. Like an addiction, I’d close my eyes and see those gorgeous curves and round blue eyes. I’d remember the feel of her soft lips. And those shocked wide-eyed crystal blue irises.

  I kept our texts casual. They were in writing, after all. I monitored my flirt level when we spoke. I didn’t want a repeat of my asshole performance. But I definitely wanted to see her again. As of late, we’d both been so focused on business, it seemed to me we could both use a little release.

  Chapter 8

  Poppy

  * * *

  “Tate has a visitor?”

  My flying arms, pumping out left and right, slowed. I’d been scouting the sand for sharp shells as we walked, but my walking buddy captured my attention.

  “Yep. So, I’m all yours tonight. Any interest in going into Wilmington? The Floaters are playing at The Whiskey.” Luna didn’t notice I’d lagged behind, and I lengthened my stride to catch up.

  We passed the stacked surfboards near Access 42, and she waved to the surf instructors lounging between lessons in their blue fold out chairs.

  “Who is his visitor?”

  “Tate’s brother, Gregg.”

  “Gabe didn’t come down?”

  Her quick steps finally slowed. “Are you still talking to him?”

  “No.” Our text exchanges didn’t really qualify as talking.

  “I can ask Tate about him if you want me to.”

  “No.” If I asked her to ask him, she’d take it as me having a crush, and that whole notion was ridiculous. “It’s just…he flies. It would make sense if he flew Tate’s brother down here. It’s a hobby for him.”

  “I assume he flew commercial.”

  It struck me as completely possible Gabe did fly him down. Maybe he didn’t stay because he didn’t want to, or maybe he was here and didn’t feel like meeting up. It wasn’t like he’d given any sign he had a real interest in me. I’d thought when he had his friend helping me out, maybe, but his texts were devoid of even the most subtle flirtation. Not that I should’ve been surprised. A good looking, successful guy like Gabe could have anyone he wanted, and he lived in Manhattan where he had a world of single women to choose from. Parties, fancy dinners, he lived the Sex and the City life. Hell, the man was a living version of Mr. Big.

  “Jillian is taking her dad’s boat over and docking. We could go with them or head over on our own. Whatever you want to do.” Luna’s continued conversation broke into my thoughts.

  “I’m cool with staying in. Watch a movie or something.”

  “Since when do you not want to go out?” I felt, rather than saw, her side eye.

  “I’m not up for spending the money.” Truth. My daily new signups had been on a steady decline for months. I’d been reaching out to any new Insta follower, but my conversion percentage had also declined.

  “Is everything okay with your…business?” Her hesitant question didn’t go unnoticed. But it wasn’t like I could blame her. People had ideas. Companies spent hundreds of millions of dollars to change perception, and my measly little barely-paying-the-bills self wasn’t going to do squat to influence the judgers. I studied my friend. Concern colored her expression, and I reminded myself she didn’t judge me. Not really.

  “It’s fine. But there’s a training class in Vegas I’m considering.” Thad, Gabe’s friend, recommended it. I wasn’t exactly jonesing to spend the holidays in Vegas, but because of the holiday timeframe, the school offered a discounted fee, and there were a few potential franchise owners in Nevada he thought I should meet with.

  “What kind of training?”

  “Restaurant management.”

  “That’s awesome.” She jumped so high her feet left the beach a good foot.

  “How do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “This is sand. Not a trampoline.” She ignored me.

  “This is so great. Tell me all about it.”

  After giving her the low down, I left a beaming Luna on the beach and returned home with plans for her to come over later. I opened my laptop and scanned my incoming messages. One request threw me for a loop.

  * * *

  I have this thing for Raggedy Ann. Any chance you’d be willing to wear a Raggedy Ann costume? The sexy kind. Think you could find that?

  * * *

  I opened a browser to search Google. Gunner always sent strange requests. But if the costume wasn’t too outlandish, his requests qualified as easy money. One time he mailed me—to my PO Box in Southport Port, because hey, I’m no dummy—a Super Girl costume. He did not guess my
size correctly, which led to a nearly catastrophic photo shoot session. Nothing screamed, ‘needs to lose a few pounds’ quite like ripped seams.

  My phone rang, flashing Gabriel Chesterton. An annoyingly wide smile broke out on my face. I snapped up the phone.

  “Hey. Do you know who Raggedy Ann is?” I asked as I pounded down the stairs into my den.

  “No. Should I?”

  “Probably not. Where are you?” I glanced out on my deck, hoping.

  “In my apartment. Finally, have a moment to breathe. It’s been manic.”

  “Oh, really?” The flurry of excitement crashed.

  “Yes, but things should calm down. Researchers discovered the most recent virus responds to a drug that’s readily available, and they’ve lowered the health risk. Markets are rebounding. What’s up with Raggedy Ann?”

  “Oh, nothing. It’s something I’ve got to research. Hey, I really can’t thank you enough for Thad. He’s been a godsend. So much help.”

  “No problem.”

  “Has he been keeping you up to date?” I hesitated asking, but I couldn’t help but wonder.

  “No. I haven’t spoken to him.”

  I plopped down on my sofa with a thud. “Oh. Well, yeah, you said you’ve been busy.” Thad had been spending a ton of time with me as a favor to his friend, but I guessed it was rather conceited to think they’d chat about me when they spoke.