Page 14 of Lost At Sea With A Billionaire (Billionaire Row #5)

Janet

T he search for Captain Reynolds consumed Jonathan’s days.

Each morning began with a briefing from Hector’s team, followed by strategy adjustments based on the findings from the previous day.

Jonathan absorbed every detail, asked insightful questions, and often spent hours poring over maps and weather data himself.

I wouldn’t have expected anything less from him. The man I’d met on the yacht—focused, determined, unwilling to accept failure—was fully present in these moments. But there was a difference now. The arrogance had been replaced by humility, the rigid control by collaborative leadership.

“You should have seen him before the board meeting yesterday,” Sandra told me over coffee. She’d been released from the hospital and had immediately resumed her duties as Jonathan’s assistant. “He actually asked for input from the junior executives. Nearly gave old Mr. Drummond a heart attack.”

I smiled, picturing the scene. “Island life changes your perspective.”

“Whatever happened out there, it did him good.” She gave me a knowing look. “You both seem... different.”

I focused on my coffee cup, unsure how much to share. Jonathan and I hadn’t explicitly discussed how public to make our relationship. “Near-death experiences have that effect.”

Sandra wasn’t fooled, but she didn’t press. “The catering team sent the menu options for tonight’s dinner with the search coordinators. Would you like to review them?”

“I’ll do better than that,” I said. “I’ll cook.”

Her eyes widened. “You don’t have to do that, Janet. You’re a guest here.”

“I’m going stir-crazy with nothing to do while Jonathan’s working. Please, let me cook. It’s what I love.”

Sandra hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll tell the staff to give you full access to the kitchen. Just let me know what ingredients you’ll need.”

That was how I found myself in Jonathan’s state-of-the-art kitchen that afternoon, surrounded by the finest ingredients money could buy. After creating meals from island resources with primitive tools, the professional-grade equipment felt almost intimidating.

I ran my fingers over the smooth countertops, inspecting the knife collection that rivaled my own. Everything was pristine, barely used. Jonathan mentioned that he rarely ate at home and preferred restaurants or simple meals when working late.

“This is going to change,” I murmured to myself, rolling up my sleeves.

I lost myself in the familiar rhythms of cooking, crafting a menu that showcased local ingredients while incorporating techniques I’d perfected in my restaurant.

The stress of the past days—the helicopter ride, the media attention, the unfamiliar luxury—melted away as I chopped, seared, and seasoned.

When Jonathan returned from his meetings, the kitchen was filled with aromas that made his eyes widen as he entered.

“What’s happening here?” he asked, a smile spreading across his face.

I gestured to the array of dishes taking shape. “Dinner. I hope you don’t mind, but I commandeered your kitchen.”

“Mind?” He moved behind me, his arms circling my waist as he peered over my shoulder at the pan I was stirring. “This is the best thing I’ve smelled in weeks.”

“Better than fish cooked over an open fire on the beach?”

“Well, maybe it’s a tie.” His lips brushed my neck. “Need any help?”

I leaned back against him. “From the man who couldn’t identify a ripe mango? I think I’ve got it covered.”

“Hey, I learned eventually,” he protested, but his laugh rumbled against my back.

“Why don’t you go change? The search team will be here in an hour.”

He turned me in his arms. “Have I told you today that you’re incredible?”

“Not in those exact words.”

“You’re incredible.” He kissed me softly, then deepened it when I responded, his hands sliding up my back.

I reluctantly pulled away. “If you keep that up, dinner’s going to burn.”

He sighed dramatically. “We can’t have that. I’ll behave... for now.”

The dinner was a success beyond my expectations.

Hector and his team—hardened professionals who’d seen everything—became almost giddy over the Caribbean-inspired dishes I’d prepared.

The tension that had defined the search discussions eased as they enjoyed the meal, creating space for more creative thinking.

“So you were a chef on Mr. Black’s yacht?” Hector asked between bites.

“For about five days before we crashed,” I confirmed. “Before that, I owned a restaurant in Seattle.”

“She’s being modest,” Jonathan interjected. “Janet won Extreme Chef and ran one of Seattle’s most innovative kitchens before a lease issue forced closure.”

I glanced at him, surprised he knew these details about my career. He’d clearly done his research before hiring me.

“Well, their loss is our gain,” Hector declared, helping himself to seconds. “This might be the best meal I’ve had in years.”

After dinner, the conversation inevitably returned to the search. Hector spread maps across the dining table, pointing out the areas they’d covered and what remained.

“Based on ocean currents and the storm path, we’ve established this as our highest probability zone,” he explained, circling a region with his finger. “But it’s vast. Even with three boats, it could take weeks to cover thoroughly.”

Jonathan studied the map. “What if we add more resources? More boats, aircraft?”

“It would speed things up, but at significantly increased cost,” Hector warned. “We’re already looking at an operation that will run into the millions.”

“Money isn’t the issue,” Jonathan said firmly. “Time is. Every day reduces the chances of finding Captain Reynolds alive.”

I watched him, noting the determination in his jaw and the unwavering focus in his eyes. This wasn’t about guilt anymore—or at least, not just about guilt. It was about doing what was right, regardless of cost or conventional wisdom.

“Double the boats,” Jonathan decided. “And I want a second aircraft. We’ll run twenty-four-hour operations, rotating crews.”

Hector nodded, clearly impressed. “We’ll make it happen, sir.”

After the team left, Jonathan and I stood on the balcony, looking out at the night sea where the search continued under floodlights.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said, his arm around my shoulders. “It made a difference. The team needed that boost.”

“Food brings people together,” I replied. “Creates a space for conversation and connection.”

He was quiet for a moment. “That’s what your restaurant did, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just about the food.”

“No.” I smiled, touched that he understood. “It was about creating experiences, moments that people would remember.”

“I want to help you reopen,” he said suddenly. “When this is over. Whatever you need—capital, location scouting, business advice.”

I stiffened slightly. “I don’t need charity, Jonathan.”

“It’s not charity.” He turned to face me. “It’s an investment in something I believe in. Something I’ve experienced firsthand.” His voice softened. “But only if you want it. On your terms.”

I studied his face, looking for any sign of condescension or control. There was none—just earnest support, a deeper vulnerability that made my heart flutter.

“My terms?” I asked.

“Completely. Your vision, your menu, your space.” He smiled. “Though I hope I get a permanent reservation.”

The tension eased from my shoulders. “I might be able to arrange that.” Silence lingered between us. “You’ve changed,” I said softly.

His hand grabbed mine. “How so?”

“The Jonathan Black who demanded an audition on that yacht would never have offered help without strings attached.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “I thought I knew what mattered before. Success, control, expanding the company.” His fingers threaded through mine. “The island clarified things.”

“And now?”

“Now I know that all the success in the world means nothing if you don’t have someone to share it with. Someone who sees you—really sees you.”

“I see you.”

“I know you do.” He pulled me closer. “That’s why I’m falling in love with you.”

The words sent warmth spreading through my chest. “Falling?”

“Fallen,” he amended. “Completely.”

I stared at him. “I’m in love with you, too.”

I kissed him, pouring everything I felt into it.

“Let me take you to bed,” he murmured against my mouth.

“You never have to ask again.”

He swept me up in his arms and I was inundated with pleasure the moment he entered me with earth-shattering strokes.