Page 58 of The Romance Adventure

Switching lines, she tells me there has been a development in the lawsuit that I’ve been doing my level best to forget about—hence, doing things like skydiving and staying here in Coco Key longer than is advisable.

I’m the plaintiff in the case, but the guy who tried to scam my company is slippery and did a good job covering his tracks. Angela tells me to check my email.

Having studied law and passed the bar, I fully understand the legalese and the content of the email. However, I cannot fathom why I’m reading the name Isla Pratt associated with Daxel Norris, the brother of the main defendant.

Hands hammocked on top of my head, I pace the room, trying to make the connections. No, that’s not quite right. The connections are there in black and white. However, I don’t understand why the woman who dumped a smoothie on me, whom I ran into on the road down here, then who read my grandfather’s will, and who I kissed last night, is involved in one of the largest digital finance scams in history.

I reread the report. It turns out that Gavin Norris’s brother Daxel, used his girlfriend, Isla Pratt’s, home address as the base for their crimes.

The question is: was she knowingly involved? The problem is: would she tell the truth or protect the guy?

My emotions blaze through me like a meteor threatening to scorch the earth.

Worse than a house of cards toppling, sandcastles always wash out to sea.

Erasing what happened last night from my mind, I head over to the Driftwood. Unfortunately, forgetting Isla or getting rid of her like CJ won’t be as easy.

Wearing a button-down plaid tank top, denim shorts, and work boots, Isla looks ready to take on the day and the jobsite.

“Good morning,” she says brightly. “So, is an executor like an executive? I always wanted to be a CEO and have a corner office with a view.”

I find that hard to believe.

“Is it like I’m your boss and you’re my employee? If so, we need to talk to HR because—” She shimmies her shoulders, likely referring to last night.

“No and no. Listen, this isn’t going to⁠—”

Holding the clipboard she used to take notes yesterday, Isla says, “Reminder, Royal is not a morning person.”

“I’m not an any kind of day person.”

“I’ll also talk to HR about company morale because yours is in the morale dumpster.” Her voice is bubbly, like this is all a big joke.

“Morale? How about morals, Isla?”

She goes still and shuffles back a couple of steps.

“Why are you even here?”

Her expression falls, but she quickly recovers. “Ah, I see. We’re doing this? Pretending last night didn’t happen.” With a surreptitious look around, she turns back to me and then winks. “Okay, got it. You just go on and keep pretending that I get under your skin and I’ll, well, just be me.” She snickers.

But I’m not joking, though. She has gotten under my skin...and inside. She reached a place that I’ve never let anyone go, especially not someone who, it turns out, is a liar and a thief, and potentially guilty of a crime, and no, it’s not stealing my heart.

“You might like to know that I got a machete and am prepared to hack away at the jungle bits.” She makes a slashing motion toward the out-of-control greenery.

I give her a tightly controlled look.

“I’m kidding. I contacted a landscaper and they’re going to handle the overgrowth so we can have a better look at what we’re working with.”

“I already got ahold of a contractor. They’ll be down tomorrow afternoon.”

Isla bounces on her toes. “So, we’re really doing this.”

“Regrettably.”

“You should probably change out of that suit. Looks like you’re going to a funeral and it’s impractical.” She juts out her elbow and tries to tap mine. I draw away.

“This is what I wear to work and when I’m in the courtroom.”