“It’s not a dog,” Granger says. “It’s a horse!”
“She’s so sweet,” Tilda says.
“That face,” Lauren says.
They have obviously all met Olive and fallen in love with her—after casting Winnie out onto the street. Cash stares at his mahi. It’s a beautiful piece of fish, and the pan sauce is probably heaven, but Cash can’t eat. He’s furious with Tilda for not telling him that Duncan was coming to dinner. This is why she was being so extra with her outfit and sparkly makeup—it’s all for Duncan. She has already met with him, maybe with her parents or maybe alone, but when Cash asked about her meeting last week, she claimed it was top secret.
Dunk says, “I guess my question for Cash is, what position are you qualified for? Do you have any management experience? What do you do on Treasure Island?”
“I’m the mate,” Cash says. He holds Duncan’s gaze, just daring him to smirk. Cash wishes he’d chosen a different shirt, one that makes him look less like Gilligan. He’s tempted to throw his napkin on his plate and leave. He doesn’t belong here. But he likes the idea of an eco-resort on Lovango. Treasure Island passes Lovango Cay every day, coming and going. It’s just sitting there, beautiful, lush, undeveloped, filled with potential. What a great opportunity to build something from the ground up.
“I’m a Colorado guy, actually,” Cash says. He nods at Dunk’s T-shirt. “I saw the Revivalists at the Mission Ballroom before they hit it big.”
“Cool, cool,” Dunk says. “I saw them in Austin. Great show, probably best show I’ve seen in a while.”
“Duncan, eat something,” Lauren says. “You haven’t touched your food.”
Tilda glares at her mother and mouths, Mom, stop!
“I’m a people person,” Cash says. “I enjoy the interface on Treasure Island, and I’m good at it. Before I moved down here, I taught skiing in Breckenridge.”
“Love Breck,” Dunk says. “We’ll have to talk about that after we get into the whiskey.”
Cash relaxes enough to take a bite of mahi. His mother might have caught this fish.
“We’ll find a place for Cash,” Granger says. “I’m already conferring with engineers about the desalinization plant. We greased the palms we needed to grease for the permitting.” Granger leans forward. “How much time can you take off work, Til? Will the restaurant shut down if you’re away for a week?”
“Ayers owes me a bunch of shifts, so, yeah, I can probably take a week. Why, are you flying me to Napa?”
“I’d like to send you on a reconnaissance mission,” Granger says. “Island hopping. Three high-end resorts. I want a report on everything from the kind of ice they serve in their cocktails to the brand of toiletries in the bathrooms to the temperature they keep their fitness centers.”
“Oh my God,” Tilda says. “Can Cash come?”
“Obviously your mother and I would feel more comfortable if you weren’t alone,” Granger says. “And we have to be in LA next week for work.” He pours Cash the last of the Shiraz. “What do you say, Cash? Can you swing it?”
A week away? Cash thinks. He would be a fool to turn the opportunity down, but he’s the only crew member on Treasure Island right now. Whitney in the office and the boat’s owners, who live on St. Croix, are desperately looking for someone else. Any warm body will do; all they need is someone without a criminal record who can pass the required drug test. But even if they do miraculously find someone, Cash won’t be able to leave for a week. Ayers is too sick and exhausted to come back, and she has seniority; she shouldn’t have to come back because Cash wants to skip like a stone across the Caribbean.
“I can’t,” he says.
“But—” Tilda says.
“I just can’t leave them in the lurch, Til. You know that.”
“Dedication,” Granger says. “Personal integrity. Frankly, if you’d said you could go, I would have wondered if you were the right person for our project.”
Cash drinks what’s left of the precious wine. He’s passed a test.
“I can go,” Dunk says. “I have zero personal integrity.” He laughs. “Kidding, of course. But I am free and I would love to put my eyes on a few places, gather some intel.”
Cash opens his mouth to protest. Does Dunk understand that Cash and Tilda are dating?
“Great idea,” Granger says. “Til, is that okay with you?”
Say no! Cash thinks.
“Sure,” Tilda says.
The drive home is tense. Cash isn’t sure what to say. He and Tilda have been together a couple of weeks. They haven’t said I love you; they aren’t even close to that. They’re still in the gaga-infatuation stage, which was, admittedly, rushed along a bit by Cash’s circumstances. But he likes Tilda. A lot. They’re exclusive. They’re living together. So what will happen while Tilda’s gone? Is Cash going to just stay in her villa as she’s gallivanting around the Caribbean with another guy?
“Thank you for being so cool about this,” Tilda says, which is rather ingenious of her because Cash is not feeling cool at all. “If it puts your mind at ease, I’m not attracted to Dunk—like, not even a little bit. He’s too intense.”
Intense. She’s making this sound like a flaw, but is it?
“Who is he?” Cash asks. “How does he have the money to buy an island? He’s my age. Do his parents have jack?”
“He hasn’t mentioned parents,” Tilda says. “He was born in Australia, moved to the States when he was twelve…”
“Twelve?” Cash says. “Wow, he really milks that accent.”
“I believe accents develop when you learn to talk,” Tilda says. “Why are you being ungenerous?”
“I’m not,” Cash says, though he is.
“Dunk is self-made, he’s built and sold a couple of companies, and now he does real estate down here. He has a palatial home out in the East End. It’s bigger than my parents’ place—six buildings, including a pool house, two guesthouses, a gym, a theater, the whole enchilada.
