Because the thought of anyone else touching you fucking kills me.
“Because.” Irrational anger blanketed my words with heat. “It’s not you.”
“Stop acting like you know me.” Her voice rose to the level of a shout. “We are not friends. We are not dating. You are simply a client, and you are the one who forced me to come here. You have no right to act like my boyfriend or handler.”
“I’m trying to help!”
“I don’t need your help!”
Every piece of vitriol dragged us closer until we stood inches apart, our chests heaving and our bodies shaking from the force of our convictions. Animosity blazed between us, fanned by years of pent-up frustration and a spark of something far more dangerous. I didn’t know why I cared so much because she was right. I had no claim on her beyond work, and I was always telling her to loosen up.
But not like this. Not when it came from a place of pain rather than freedom.
“You’re right. I don’t know you,” I said. “But I know Sloane, and Sloane would never put herself in a situation like the one you were in. Sloane would’ve kicked that guy’s ass, and she would’ve pulled you out the same way I did.”
Part of my intervention had been selfish, but another part had stemmed from true concern. Who knew what photos and videos people grabbed before I got her down?
Perhaps I was overstepping, but screw it. It was better to be safe than sorry. Sloane’s professional reputation meant everything to her, and she would never forgive herself if one drunken night jeopardized what it’d taken her years to build.
“Well, maybe Sloane doesn’t always want to be Sloane.” Her heels wobbled in the soft sand, and she let out a curse before yanking her shoes off. “Also, I hate when people talk about themselves in the third person.”
My phone vibrated with an incoming call, but I ignored it. “Stop deflecting. What happened this afternoon? Why did you leave?”
I’d bet my entire inheritance the mysterious email was directly related to her desire to drink herself into oblivion.
My phone vibrated again. I ended the call without looking at it. Sloane swallowed. She was more fragile beneath the moonlight, her hair a gilded silver instead of ice-blond, her eyes shining with a wary truth that only the depths of night could lay bare.
More than anything, I wanted that truth and, by extension, the trust that came with it.
Let me in, Luna.
She opened her mouth, but a familiar ringtone cut her off. Her eyes shuttered, and fragility hardened into cool professionalism as she turned to take the call. “This is Sloane.”
Fuck. I rubbed a hand over my face, frustration chafing beneath my skin.
I’d never hated the invention of the cell phone more than tonight.
“Yes, we are…I see.” Her tone changed, and an ominous foreboding prickled my scalp. “Of course. I’ll handle it.”
Sloane hung up and faced me again.
A heavy sensation dropped like a lead weight in my stomach. I knew what she was going to say before she said it, but that didn’t soften the impact of her words.
“It’s your father,” she said, her eyes sober for the first time since she showed up at the club. “He’s taken a turn for the worse. They don’t know if he’ll make it through the night.”
CHAPTER 11
Sloane
There was nothing like a death scare to shock someone sober.
After I broke the news to Xavier, we returned to the villa and started packing. We didn’t say a word to each other on our walk back or the subsequent ride to the airport.
It was late, but I’d successfully roused his pilot, who got us in the air hours after Eduardo’s call. I also checked out early from our resort, left a brief note for Xavier’s friends, and tied up other loose ends while the younger Castillo retreated within himself.
I glanced across the aisle at Xavier. He was sleeping or pretending to sleep, but even if he were awake, it would be impossible to gauge his true thoughts regarding his father’s health. That was the one topic where he completely shut down.
I rubbed my temple and tried to hold down my meager breakfast. I’d grabbed a few hours of sleep right after we boarded, but a vicious hangover kept me from true rest.
On the bright side, I had plenty of work to distract me from everything that happened yesterday, including my father’s email and my argument with Xavier.
Now that I was sober, I was grateful he’d stopped me before I humiliated myself further at the club, but I still didn’t appreciate how he’d hauled me out of there like a caveman.
I didn’t dwell on the small flutter I’d experienced on the beach, which had clearly been the result of too much alcohol and nothing else.
As I was halfway through crafting a press strategy for if and when Alberto Castillo died, my phone went wild with incoming texts. Considering it was the crack of dawn in New York, that couldn’t be good, and a quick scroll through my texts confirmed it.
VIVIAN
Just wanted to check in on you. Call me when you get a chance.
ALESSANDRA
Have fun! Drink some sangria for me <3
ISABELLA
