She Was Catering a Private Island Party, Not Realizing the Host Was a Millionaire Who’d Fall for Her
The Unlikely Encounter on the Private Island
Fay Monroe dropped the tray of mini crab cakes the second she stepped onto the dock. She saw the size of the yacht waiting to take her to the island.
“Holy crap,” she whispered.
She crouched to collect the scattered appetizers while trying not to sweat through her black catering polo. “This isn’t a party; this is a Bond villain’s funeral.”
“Careful,” her boss, Carla, hissed, rushing over. “Don’t drop the next tray, or they’ll throw us into the ocean.”
Fay let out a breath and nodded, adjusting the strap on her cooler bag. She was just here to cater one night, one party, one paycheck. It would help her cover rent and maybe, just maybe, fix the hot water in her apartment.
The yacht ride was silent, save for the hum of the engine and the buzz of the sea air. The staff kept to themselves, all of them dressed in black and white. None looked like they belonged near the luxury they were sailing into.
When they reached the island, Fay almost dropped her tray again. The house, if you could call it that, was nestled high on a cliff. It was all glass walls and modern edges, with lights flickering from inside like it was already alive with music and champagne.
A private island, a full staff, and she was hauling shrimp skewers into a mansion that probably had a heated granite driveway. They were ushered through the back, straight to the kitchen where everything gleamed.
“Don’t touch anything,” Carla warned.
Fay rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because I was totally planning to lick the marble countertops.”
She was plating hors d’oeuvres when the host walked in. At first glance, she thought he was another guest who had wandered in by mistake. He wasn’t dressed like the others; no tux, no pretense.
He wore just a crisp white shirt rolled at the sleeves, dark slacks, and bare feet, like he owned the ground he walked on. But he moved like someone who didn’t need to impress anyone.
“Is that the crab cake I smell?” he said, stepping closer.
Fay looked up, and then up more. He was tall with messy dark hair and eyes that locked onto hers like he was trying to place her.
“Uh, yeah, you want one?”
He tilted his head. “Sure, if you don’t mind feeding the help.”
Fay raised a brow, handing him a plate. “You don’t look like help.”
He grinned. “Don’t look like a guest either, do I?”
“Not really.”
He took a bite. “These are good.”
“Thanks, I made them.”
His smile widened, and something about it made Fay’s stomach flip. It was an easy smile, a sharp jaw, and dangerous eyes. Before she could say more, Carla barked her name from across the room. Fay turned away, shaking it off.
It was just a guy, a hot guy on a private island eating her food, no big deal. But he showed up again an hour later. This time, he was outside on the patio where she was refilling the champagne tower.
“You again,” she said, not bothering to hide her surprise.
“You remembered me.”
“Well, you didn’t give me your name,” she said, capping the bottle and wiping her hands.
He held out his hand. “Quinn Dales.”
Fay hesitated, then shook it. “Fay Monroe.”
“Nice to meet you, Fay Monroe,” he said, holding on to her hand a second too long.
“You’re not going to tell me what you do?” she asked.
He laughed. “What makes you think I do anything?”
“I mean, you’re barefoot and wandering around like you own the place.”
Quinn leaned in slightly. “What if I do?”
Fay blinked. “Wait, you’re the host?”
“Guilty.”
She immediately dropped her hand. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I thought—”
“Don’t be,” he said easily. “I liked that you didn’t know.”
Fay stepped back, suddenly aware of how close they were. “Well, now I do. So enjoy your crab cakes, Mr. Dales.”
“Quinn,” he corrected. “And I’d enjoy them more if you sat down and had one with me.”
“I’m working.”
He shrugged. “I’ll wait.”
Fay turned, cheeks burning, and walked back into the kitchen like her heartbeat wasn’t doing cartwheels in her chest. The rest of the night was a blur of trays, clinking glasses, and avoiding the gaze of the man who owned the island.
But she felt him watching her, not in a creepy way, just in a way that made her skin buzz. She caught him talking to other guests, laughing and shaking hands. But every time she passed, his eyes found hers.
At midnight, when the fireworks started over the ocean, Fay slipped outside to breathe. She didn’t expect him to find her again.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, stepping onto the balcony beside her.
“I’m not staying,” she said. “We’re leaving after cleanup.”
“Shame.”
She looked at him. “Why?”
“Because I was hoping to talk to you without a tray between us.”
She laughed. “You’re persistent.”
“I’m curious about what.”
“How a girl like you ended up here?”
Fay leaned against the railing. “I needed the money. A friend of a friend got me the catering job. I didn’t know it was for a millionaire with a private island.”
Quinn chuckled. “Technically, it’s two islands, but I figured that’d sound obnoxious.”
Fay blinked. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“Very.”
“Okay, that’s insane.”
“Tell me about it.”
She turned to face him. “You don’t act like a millionaire.”
He shrugged. “I got tired of pretending. Tonight was supposed to be for investors, but I ended up more interested in the girl who made the crab cakes.”
Fay’s chest tightened. “You don’t even know me.”
“Not yet,” he said. “But I want to.”
A silence settled between them, charged and warm. The fireworks faded, but the heat from his gaze didn’t.
“You’re insane,” she whispered.
He smiled. “Probably.”
And before she could stop herself, before logic or fear could kick in, she said, “Okay. Okay, I’ll let you get to know me.”
Quinn stepped closer, eyes locked on hers. “Starting now?”
She nodded, and just like that, something shifted. It was not loud, not fast, just real. Fay had no idea what she was walking into, but for the first time in a long time, she wanted to find out.
By the time Fay stepped off the boat the next morning, the soles of her shoes were damp, her eyelids heavy, and her mind was still spinning. She hadn’t slept, not because of the cleanup, but because of him.
She replayed their conversation under the stars a hundred times during the ride back to the mainland. Every word, every glance, and every impossible thing he’d said was on repeat.
She kept trying to convince herself it had been a fluke—a rich guy with too much time and a talent for charming strangers. But something about the way he’d looked at her made it impossible to dismiss.
Still, she had bills to pay and a job to get to. She didn’t expect anything to come of it.
