Finding the Billionaire - Macie St. James Page 0,1

a dimple in his chin that somehow made him just a little more interesting to look at than everyone else.

But that wasn’t what made her heart speed up a little when she saw him. She knew him. Well, she knew that face, anyway. It had just been on her screen a few minutes ago.

He was the missing billionaire.

Renee stared at him, not sure what to do. Should she mention it? No, that wouldn’t be a good idea. She had to stay silent, sit on the information a while. Then decide what to do with it.

It was the reporter in her. She couldn’t help it. Anyone else would think about calling the police or asking him straight out if he was the guy making news. Not Renee. Even unemployed, she was considering how she could use this to her advantage.

Derek Hughes nodded, then thanked April. But Renee had already abandoned all thoughts of ignoring the other guests at the inn. This was an opportunity, she was sure of it.

In San Francisco, Renee had been known as a reporter who went after a story, full speed ahead. That part of her personality kicked in and she stood, grabbed her cup of coffee, and moved a couple of seats over at her own large, empty table so she could see him without turning around in her seat.

First step: Make sure he didn’t recognize her. He did live in the San Francisco Bay Area, part of her TV station’s market. But she was hardly a household name, even locally.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

He looked up at her as if surprised she was still there. Yeah, mega successful dudes like him weren’t used to having conversations with average Joes. But he was a missing successful dude, for some reason. That made him a little less elite.

“Nowhere,” he responded, looking past her out the window. “And a little bit of everywhere.”

Okay. What did that even mean?

Before she could ask, he answered, “I live on my sailboat. I come ashore when I can, but never overnight unless the weather turns.”

He punctuated that with a nod at the window. Yeah, she got it. The weather was bad. But she found it pretty intriguing that a missing billionaire now defined himself as living on his boat. A sailboat, no less. She’d bet there was no way to trace him on that boat. That device on the table next to him was probably a burner phone.

“That sounds exciting.” She smiled wistfully. “I’ve always wanted to do something like that.”

She wasn’t lying. Traveling the world was a dream of hers. A sailboat might be a bit rustic. A giant cruise ship run by professionals who knew how to navigate around bad weather would be more her speed.

“I highly recommend it,” he said.

She frowned. “What do you do for work, though?”

Mostly, she was curious how he’d answer that question. Would he admit he didn’t have to work because he’d made a bunch of money in Silicon Valley on yachts or something?

Yachts. Boats. She suddenly got the connection.

“I’m in boating,” he said. “I travel around, selling. Boring stuff. What do you do?”

She couldn’t help but notice how swiftly he’d changed the subject. It would work with most people, actually, but she liked to ask the questions, not answer them.

As she searched for the answer, April returned, setting down a dish in front of her. It held a bowl of oatmeal, artfully arranged with an orchid on top, along with a blueberry and strawberry, both perfectly positioned.

Very chef-like.

“I’m a chef!” Renee blurted as April headed back to the kitchen.

Had that sounded as loud as she thought? She nervously looked around. She knew nobody else was here, but she did it out of habit.

“Interesting.” Derek leaned forward. “So, what do you think of the oatmeal?”

She looked down at the bowl. It was pretty, but she knew all too well that didn’t mean it was tasty. She picked up the spoon at her place setting and took a tentative bite of the oatmeal. Then she took another, much more generous one.

“Thick,” she said when she finally swallowed the second bite. “But the oats haven’t held their shape well. The key to good oatmeal is to soften the oats up just enough. Mushy is bad.”

“Mushy is bad.” He smiled at that, and for a moment, she wondered if maybe she’d strayed a little too far away from professional chef territory with that comment. “You know what? I think I’ll try some.”

As if summoned, April suddenly came