The Millionaire's Intriguing Offer

No Strings Attached

She'd left the floppy hat in the back of his car, but she didn't want it anyway. It was liberating to feel the wind ruffling through her short hair, feel the salty spray of water on her face. They were flying over the water, faster and surer than they'd ever gone on the small boat Jack had patiently taught her to sail. She'd had two chances now to tell him who she was – first when he'd called her to schedule the date, and then again today in the car when he'd wondered aloud if they'd met before - but she'd choked both times. He hadn't recognized her, and she'd have known his face anywhere. It was the face of the boy she'd once dreamed would come save her when things were at their very worst.

Time to face facts. Their childhood friendship simply hadn't meant the same thing to him that it meant to her. And it had meant everything to her. But it was time she let it go. It was better to say nothing than to remind him and watch the blank look on his face as he struggled to remember the girl he'd spent a couple of summers hanging out with on his family's summer estate. Too painful to contemplate if he pretended out of politeness to recall memories that time had washed away.

So why not just be the former debutante friend of Mitsy's that Jack – no, Jonathon, she had to stop thinking of him as Jack - assumed her to be? In another week she'd be back in Boston. The interview on Tuesday was a long shot, and even if they offered her the job she wasn't sure she wanted to give up her life in Boston and move to Miami. According to Mitsy, Jonathon was a self-professed playboy who never dated anyone seriously. He'd deliver the Date of a Lifetime as promised, and then move on, returning to the women who belonged in his stratospheric social circle.

She had a chance this weekend to live a fantasy. To be the woman who spent $18,000 at a charity bachelor auction without thinking twice, and took for granted luxury sailboats, fancy vacation homes in Bimini, and dinners served by a personal chef.

Instead of being the woman who worked long hours at her nonprofit job, lived in a modest one bedroom apartment, cooked frozen dinners in the microwave, and still struggled to pay off her loans from graduate school.

Jack and Sparrow were a childhood dream that was best put away. And she'd said goodbye to the girl who had been born Crystal Marie Metz the day Adelaide and Harlan Reid had made her their own. Bailey Reid was going to lean back, relax, and have a good time. She deserved it.

And she might as well start right now, Bailey thought, as she watched Jonathon trim the sales.

"Need any help?"

He grinned back at her. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"It's been a while, but I'm great at following directions."

It was fun sailing with him again, even if she was the only one taking a trip down memory lane. He was wearing shorts and a thin t-shirt that showed off the sinewy strength of his arms, and she wondered if people who saw him in his business suit had any idea how built he was.

Suddenly Jack - no, Jonathon, she reminded herself - was at the helm, the boat keeled nicely, and the wind filled her sails. And just like that, they were flying. God, she'd missed it. She hadn't realized how much until just now. For the first time she started to seriously hope she landed the job. Sure, she could sail in Boston, but she probably wouldn't. In the Northeast it was more a hobby for the privileged, which she definitely wasn't. But she started to imagine herself buying a little Sunfish here in Miami, and spending her Sundays sailing on Biscayne Bay.

"You want to take the helm?"

She walked over, slipping in front of him to put her hands on the wheel. But instead of stepping back, he stayed there, behind her, feet planted on either side, those strong arms bracketing her, braced against the swell of the waves. The salt spray was a remembered caress on her face, and she felt the same sense of freedom and exhilaration and raw power she'd felt the first time he'd taken her sailing when she was eleven. The boy had been cocky, and they'd ended up capsized more often than not. The man was confident and steady. And the boat cut through the waters just past Biscayne Bay like a sleek bullet.