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“I have an island.” The words are out of me before I can think about them.
Annie blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What?”
I shake my head slightly, as if that will somehow rewind the last few seconds and shove the words back down my throat. But there’s no taking them back now.
“An island,” I say again, watching her reaction. “Off the coast. Private. Secluded.”
Her brows lift even higher, and then—of course—she laughs. It’s soft at first, then louder, like she can’t quite believe what she just heard.
“You have an island?” she repeats, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. “Like… an actual island? Not just some fancy vacation house somewhere?”
I nod. “An actual island. But there is a fancy vacation house on it,” I say, considering.
She stares at me like I just told her I own the moon. “I—okay. Sure. Of course, you do. You’re Cole Wagner.”
Something about the way she says it makes the corner of my mouth twitch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She smirks. “It means you’re a billionaire, and billionaires do weird things. Like buying islands and, I don’t know, probably commissioning gold-plated yachts or whatever rich people do when they’re bored.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “A yacht, but it’s not gold-plated.”
“Hmm.” She narrows her eyes playfully, like she doesn’t quite believe me. “So what do you do with this mystery island, then?”
“Mostly?” I exhale. “Ignore it.”
Her smirk falters. “Wait, seriously?”
“I bought it years ago,” I admit, adjusting the towel draped around my shoulders. “It was meant to be a getaway, somewhere quiet, where I could unplug, get away from work.”
A pause. “But I never go.”
Annie tilts her head, studying me. “Why not?”
I hesitate.
The truth? Because the idea of doing nothing has never sat well with me. The idea of sitting on an island with no meetings, no emails, no deadlines—it sounds nice in theory, but the reality? It makes me restless just thinking about it.
But I don’t say that.
Instead, I shrug. “Work keeps me busy.”
She watches me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she shakes her head, lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “You’re impossible.”
“What?”
“You own an island, Cole.” She laughs again, leaning back against the lounge chair. “You could literally disappearto paradise whenever you want, and instead, you choose to be here, working yourself into the ground.”
I arch a brow. “And what would you do with it?”
“Oh, easy.” She sits up, crossing her legs beneath her. “I’d take a long vacation—weeks, maybe months. I’d sleep in every day, drink something fruity with a tiny umbrella in it, swim in the ocean, lie in a hammock with a book.”
I smirk, watching the way Annie's eyes practically glow as she describes her dream getaway. "That sounds lazy."
She gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in exaggerated offense. "Excuse me?"
I chuckle. "I’m just saying, I don’t think you’d last. You’d get bored."
"Not a chance," she shoots back, lifting her chin. "I’d thrive. I was made for island life."