Chapter 3 - A BILLIONAIRE PRETENDING TO BE ORDINARY
Ethan did not sleep.
At six the next morning he stood on the balcony of his private suite looking across the Atlantic while Marcus sat inside drinking coffee.
“You can’t give her a fake name,” Marcus said.
“I know.”
“You sounded like you were considering it.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You had the expression.”
“What expression?”
“The one you wear before doing something everyone else will eventually regret.”
Ethan turned.
“I own a hospitality company. That is what I told her.”
“You own Mercer International.”
“I own multiple companies.”
“Your face is on the company website.”
“I know.”
“You were on the cover of Forbes eighteen months ago.”
“I know.”
“And she hasn’t searched Ethan plus hospitality plus Florida?”
“Apparently not.”
Marcus shook his head.
“That woman may be the last person in America who uses the internet responsibly.”
Ethan ignored him.
At eight thirty, Claire arrived at breakfast wearing jeans, a white blouse, and an expression that suggested she had remembered his promise.
Ethan stood when she approached.
“Good morning.”
“Last name.”
“No breakfast first?”
“No.”
“Coffee?”
“No.”
“Negotiation?”
“You’re stalling.”
He looked at her.
Then said it.
“Mercer.”
Claire blinked.
“Ethan Mercer.”
“Yes.”
She waited.
Nothing happened.
Ethan frowned.
“That’s it?”
“What do you want, applause?”
“You don’t know the name?”
“Should I?”
For the first time that morning, Marcus almost smiled.
Ethan gestured toward a chair.
Claire sat.
Then pulled out her phone.
Ethan’s stomach dropped.
“What are you doing?”
“Fixing my ignorance.”
“Claire.”
“You wanted me to know.”
“I told you.”
“And now Google gets a turn.”
“Claire.”
She typed.
His phone rang almost simultaneously.
Marcus.
Ethan rejected the call.
Claire’s expression changed as search results appeared.
First confusion.
Then disbelief.
Then she slowly looked up.
“You own this resort.”
“Yes.”
“And Mercer Hospitality.”
“Yes.”
“Seven resorts?”
“Eight after next month.”
“Commercial buildings.”
“Yes.”
“A shipping company.”
“A controlling interest.”
Claire scrolled again.
“You’re worth—”
“Online estimates are inaccurate.”
“That number has ten digits.”
“Still inaccurate.”
She lowered the phone.
“You let me complain about rich people for three days.”
“I didn’t realize that required financial disclosure.”
“You told me you worked in hospitality.”
“I do.”
“You own the hospitality.”
“Also true.”
She stared at him.
Ethan saw the exact moment amusement began winning over irritation.
“You are unbelievable.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You could have told me.”
“You liked me before you knew.”
Claire paused.
There it was.
The reason.
Ethan continued more quietly.
“Most people meet Mercer before they meet Ethan.”
Her expression softened.
“And you wanted to know which one I would like.”
“Yes.”
It was more vulnerable than Ethan had intended.
Claire noticed.
She put the phone down.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I understand that part.”
Ethan relaxed.
Then her eyes narrowed.
“But if I discover you secretly own the island, I’m pushing you into the ocean.”
“I don’t own the island.”
“Good.”
“Only twelve acres.”
Claire stared at him.
Marcus walked away before either of them could see him laughing.
Their relationship changed after that morning.
Not dramatically.
But the possibility was no longer unspoken.
Ethan began showing Claire parts of the resort guests rarely saw.
The kitchens.
The maintenance wing.
A small dock where local fishermen delivered fresh catch to the restaurants.
Claire watched him speak to employees.
He knew names.
He asked one dishwasher about his daughter’s college applications.
He remembered that a maintenance supervisor’s wife had undergone surgery.
When an elderly guest became confused in the lobby, Ethan personally walked him back toward the correct elevator rather than calling staff.
Claire noticed everything.
“You’re trying to score points,” she said later.
“I wasn’t aware you were watching.”
“I’m always watching.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“Probably.”
One afternoon they walked into town.
Ethan reluctantly agreed to leave most of his security behind.
Marcus followed at a distance.
Claire stopped at a small bookstore.
Ethan bought nothing.
Then she entered a bakery and spent seven minutes deciding between two kinds of pie.
“Buy both,” Ethan said.
“That is exactly what ridiculous money does to people.”
“What?”
“Removes the need to make decisions.”
“It’s pie.”
“It’s character development.”
He smiled.
She eventually chose key lime.
Outside, a teenager selling handmade bracelets approached them.
Ethan bought one.
Claire watched him pay.
When the boy left, she said, “That bracelet is worth ten dollars.”
“I know.”
“You gave him a hundred.”
“He needs it more than I do.”
“You didn’t make a speech.”
“Was I supposed to?”
“No.”
Claire looked away, hiding a smile.
Another condition quietly checked.
Kind to people who could do nothing for him.
Later they reached a local grocery market.
Claire’s phone rang.
“My mother.”
She answered immediately.
Ethan noticed the change in her voice.
Warm.
Protective.
Patient.
“Yes, Mom. I’m eating. No, lemonade does not count as lunch. Yes, I know.”
She rolled her eyes at Ethan.
A few minutes later she hung up.
“She worries.”
“Mothers do that.”
“Yours?”
“Professionally.”
Claire laughed.
“What’s she like?”
“Elegant. Stubborn. Terrifying.”
“Are you afraid of disappointing her?”
Ethan considered it.
“Yes.”
Claire stopped walking.
“What?”
“That was on your list.”
“You remembered?”
“I remember everything you said.”
Her expression softened again.
“That’s either romantic or creepy.”
“Can’t it be both?”
“No.”
“Then romantic.”
She shook her head.
They continued walking.
At the end of the market Claire bought several bags of snacks for her friends.
Without being asked, Ethan picked up every bag.
She looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
Claire walked ahead.
“Carry those properly, Billionaire Boy.”
Ethan followed.
Marcus, watching from across the street, took a picture.
Ethan’s phone buzzed seconds later.
The photo showed him carrying four grocery bags behind Claire.
Marcus had written:
CONGRATULATIONS. YOU PASSED THE TEST.
Ethan almost laughed.
That evening they sat on Claire’s balcony.
The ocean was dark beyond them.
Claire rested her bare feet against the railing.
“I was wrong about something,” she said.
“Only one thing?”
“Don’t ruin it.”
Ethan waited.
“I assumed men with your kind of money couldn’t be normal.”
“I’m not normal.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“You listen. You don’t constantly talk about yourself. You were nice to that kid today.”
Ethan looked toward the water.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because people disappoint you eventually.”
He turned back.
Claire’s humor was gone.
“Tyler?” he asked.
She nodded.
“He wasn’t terrible at first. That’s the problem. Nobody walks up and says, ‘Hello, I’m going to make you doubt your own judgment for two years.’”
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
“He hurt you?”
“Not physically.”
Something colder entered Ethan’s expression anyway.
Claire saw it.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“That look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you’re deciding what should happen to someone you’ve never met.”
Ethan forced the tension from his shoulders.
“You’re imagining things.”
“I hope so.”
She studied him.
Then smiled faintly.
“You’re doing surprisingly well, Ethan Mercer.”
“On the list?”
“Yes.”
“How many conditions have I passed?”
Claire pretended to calculate.
“Enough to be dangerous.”
He leaned closer.
“Is that good?”
“I haven’t decided.”
Their eyes held.
The distance between them became very small.
For one second Ethan thought she might kiss him.
Then Claire’s phone buzzed.
She looked down.
A news alert filled the screen.
Ethan saw his own photograph before she did.
MERCER FAMILY EMPIRE FACES NEW QUESTIONS OVER ORGANIZED-CRIME TIES.
Claire stopped breathing.
Slowly, she looked at Ethan.
The warmth vanished from her face.
“What,” she whispered, “is this?”
May you like
Ethan stared at the headline he had spent years trying to outrun.
And suddenly the richest man on Harbor Key had nothing left to hide behind.
