Not the owner, not making money, not looking for a suit.
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19. red
The shirt Nami was wearing the day of the storm had been red, but after about three weeks on the island, it was definitely headed for the other side of brown. She had taken a dive in the water the rinse off as often as she could, but she had never taken her clothes off and tried to clean them with any measure of determination. The reason for this was simple: she knew Sanji would be watching, eagerly, and she most certainly was not about to give him a free show (and fat lot of good it would do trying to charge him here).
However, finally it reached the point where she couldn't stand it anymore. "Sanji," she said, standing up, "I am going to the other side of the island. Don't you dare follow me or come looking for me or any of that, or you'll be so far in debt to me you'll never be able to get out of it. I'll be back in a little while."
He regarded her from over his shoulder, nonplussed. "Yes, Miss Nami..."
She hurried to the other side of the island. The faster she did this, the better, she thought, quickly undressing. She didn't want to be too abrasive, though; the longer these clothes lasted, the better, as they were currently the only ones she had.
Nami had been gone for fifteen minutes when Sanji heard a noise. He looked up: it was a bird! He jumped to his feet. Something edible and different! He took off after it down the beach, lobbing anything heavy he could find in an effort to bring it down.
After a few attempts, he managed to nick its wing, causing it to drop lower in the sky. Now he could go in for the kill. Nami would be so thrilled!
It was then that something in his peripheral vision caught his attention, and he turned--
"Mellorine!" he cried, involuntarily falling to the beach. The bird shakily but hastily made its escape.
Nami's face turned as red as her shirt had been. "SANJI!" she screamed, closing the distance between the two of them and nailing his prostrate form with a sharp kick to the breadbasket. After she had explicitly told him not to--!
It took quite some time before he found himself able to sit up. He tried to stem the flow of blood coming from his nose by holding his finger under it (he wished Nami would come and kiss it better). When it dried, he noted with some sense of detachment, it, too, was the color of her shirt. Gingerly, he used his free hand to massage his stomach. Nami was delicate and graceful and all of those things, but she sure could deliver a blow when she wanted to.
Oh, but the pain had been worth it. So very worth it.