“Okay,” I say, voice even. “Here’s the plan. We win this thing. We keep it professional.”
“Like I said,” Maya reminds me.
I nod. “And no matter how good someone smells or how many dreams they accidentally star in, we remember who the hell we are.”
“Bad bitches,” Jeremy says.
“Bosses,” Maya echoes.
I lift my glass. “Let’s go sink some empires.”
I don’t tell them that if Nolan Rhodes so much as breathes in my direction again, I might dissolve into a puddle of lust and career sabotage.
Pretty sure they’re already aware anyway.
A sleek white boat pulls up and docks to take us to White Thorn Island. The water stretches endlessly before us, a perfect shade of deep turquoise that would be breathtaking if I weren’t currently dealing with a second stomach-turning sight:
Chloe.
Nolan’s ex. Jackson’s current.
The realization is infuriating.
She steps up to the dock and I recognize her instantly from the online photos. Long auburn hair, perfect glowing skin, the kind of beauty that belongs on display.
I didn’t notice her on the plane. She must’ve been seated too far up, hidden in the plush, early boarding section while I was still huffing my way down the aisle as a woman on a mission—and twenty minutes late thanks to airport security and a very confusing escalator detour.
Now, here she is. Perfectly put together. Perfectly timed. And perfectly ruining Carl’s—er—Nolan’s trip.
Of course she is.
She’s standing way too close to that Temu Ken who was at Asher’s party.
I don’t knoweverythingabout Nolan’s history with her. Notallthe details. But I know enough to recognize how much this stings him.
And watching them flaunt their relationship—gross. Chloe’s tossing her hair, laughing at whatever nonsense that guy is saying, her hand grazing his arm. She knows exactly what she’s doing. It makes my blood boil for my friend.
Who is Nolan.
Fucking hell.
I tear my gaze away in an attempt to focus on the boat as we beginboarding. Everyone is enchanted by the scenery, phone in hand, chattering about how pristine and untouched the distant island appears.
I sense Nolan’s intense, calculating eyes on me. He’s trying to decipher every fracture in my defiant façade. It unsettles me.
So, I refuse to look at him.
Once everyone is on, the boat shudders to life and we slice through the water toward White Thorn Island.
The ride is anything but the smooth, luxurious escape I had anticipated. The choppy waves slam against the hull, tossing the boat unpredictably. Each crest of a particularly large swell sends my stomach lurching as if I’m trapped on a relentless roller coaster.
Maya grips the railing beside me, laughing breathlessly, while Jeremy spreads his arms wide and shouts something about “King of the World.”
Bracing myself against another violent dip, I grip the seat tightly when I suddenly hear it—a low, miserable groan.
I glance over, and there’s Nolan. But something is off. His posture has collapsed into desperation as he clutches the edge of his seat as if it’s his only lifeline.
Nolan’s face has turned unnaturally pale, and his jaw is set in a rigid line as his throat fights to hold back the inevitable. His Adam’s apple bobs, throat working like he’s actively fighting for his life.
