“But you were the one doing all the writing? Were you still in college?”
“Yeah…He died my junior year and left a note for HR. He told them what had been going on and they made me the youngest critic they’d ever had.”
“That’s really impressive. So when did you realize you hated Matt Sterling?”
“When he started referring to himself in the third person,” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t hate you, per se. I’m just not a huge fan of your work.”
“I think that’s just the liquor talking.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I hate all your films,” I closed my eyes. I couldn’t stay awake anymore.
I opened my eyes and rolled onto my back.
“Welcome back,” Matt grinned. “Do you want to get something to eat?”
Did he sit there and watch me sleep the whole time?
“I think I need to lay down some more.”
Note to self: You are officially a lightweight.
“Okay. What’s your favorite romantic comedy? Maybe I can better understand your hatred of my work.”
“When Harry Met Sally. I watch it every month.”
“Not The Notebook?”
“I really hate that movie.”
“Figures,” he smiled. “You don’t seem like the mushy type.”
I used to be…
“What’s your favorite rom com?”
“Dirty Dancing. I idolized Patrick Swayze. That movie’s the reason I pursued dancing as a kid.”
“Really? I like that movie too. I know all the moves to—” I stopped myself. I didn’t need to be open with him. I didn’t need to talk about my past.
“Who’d you learn it with?”
“Let’s not talk about anything personal. Okay? Let’s just relax. That’s the whole reason we’re here, right?”
He raised his eyebrow. “Sure. Do you have any plans for early tomorrow morning?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Would you be interested in going polar bearing with me?”
“Is that a fancy way of saying skinny dipping? I don’t think so.”
“What?” he laughed. “No, it’s not skinny dipping. It’s waking up really early in the morning and jumping into the ocean when it’s the coldest.”
“Why the hell would anyone want to do that?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Want to find out?”
The next morning, I woke up at five, thirty minutes later than I’d planned. I jumped out of bed and put on a white and red bikini.
“Make sure you kiss him,” Jen giggled.
“I wouldn’t dare. He’s engaged,” I pulled on a brown hoodie. “Besides, I’m still not over Sean.”
“The best way to get over someone is to date someone else. And why not start with a high profile movie star? For the record, I’m very jealous.”
“What are you doing up anyway?”
“Making sure you look acceptable for your date with Matt Sterling,” she crinkled her nose. “You’re going to take off that fugly hoodie before you get in the water right?”
“Fugly? How old are you again? And it’s not a date, it’s—”
“Here,” she handed me a black and silver wrap dress. “Wear this instead. And wear a sweater instead of that hoodie.”
“Fine. Do you think he’s trying to get on my good side so I can write good reviews for his films from now on?”
“Ha! I think he likes you Mel. Him being here is definitely not a coincidence. I wouldn’t be surprised if his sole purpose of being here was to see you. This is like run-in number four, right?”
“He had his people find out where I was and came all the way to St. Barts just to ask me out again? Yeah right.”
I put on a white sweater and glanced at myself in the mirror before heading down to the shore.
The dockyard was two miles away, and I was regretting not allowing Matt to meet me at my villa. It was extremely dark outside and the complimentary flashlight wasn’t much help.
You did the right thing…You did the right thing…You don’t really know him.
I could see a row of white boats and yellow specks in the distance. The closer I got, I saw that those yellow specks were small glass lamps hanging off the side of the pier. I could make out a man sitting on the edge.
“Good morning,” Matt stood up as I approached. “It’s good to see you again.”
How can someone look perfect every day? Every. Day.
“Morning,” I yawned. “So, do we just run out there now and come back? Or do we stay in the water until we’re near hypothermia?”
“You’re not a morning person are you?”
“I am actually,” I stifled another yawn.
“Right. We’re going to take my yacht out.”
“We’re actually going to take it on the water?” I couldn’t hide my excitement.
He looked as if he wanted to say something, something sarcastic, but he just took my hand and helped me onto platform.
He led me past yacht after yacht. Each one was grander and way more regal than any of the ones I’d ever seen. Underneath the yellow lights I could make out some of their names: “The Majestic,” “The Finale,” “H.M.S. PMS,” and “We’ll Sea.”
Why hasn’t he let my hand go?
We kept walking until we approached a super—yacht with silver rails. The underbelly of the ship was black, while the upper decks—I counted at least four—were painted white. I strained to see the fine cursive letters on the side of the ship.