Restless, she stood and answered, “What’s there to talk about? If he knows, then he knows. It’s not like he’s far from the truth, Grant. Sebastian Shark can prosecute me, and then the police and lawyers can decide what happens from there.” Rio shrugged then, like she didn’t have a care in the world. “You’re really making more of an issue out of this than it needs to be.”
With that declaration, she detoured around where I stood and went to riffle through the clothes hanging inside the closet. I’d had my assistant shop for the typical concert tees and jeans she favored, a couple sundresses, a bathing suit, and a few pairs of pajamas. I figured if she needed anything else, we could get it when we hit the port in Hawaii.
Every instinct in my body shouted at me to just let it go. Don’t make such a big deal out of the bomb Bas just dropped on you and carry on with our day. This was supposed to be a stress-free break for her, after all.
But a strange mix of fury and frustration brewed in my blood. That odd combination, along with my sexual frustration, made my fuse shorter than usual. I wanted to pummel someone—or something.
Because, goddammit, I just might have ruined a lifelong bond with one of the two friends in my orbit I considered family.
And I did it for her—to protect her.
To ensure that she could work through her issues in freedom, not a jail cell.
And yes, I’d do it all again. Every single decision.
At the moment, however, I needed to work out the built-up frustration I was caging and come back to her in a calmer physical state and with a more rational mental one as well.
“I think I’m going to go work out for a little while. Will you be okay on your own for an hour or two?”
“For Christ’s sake, Grant. I’m a grown woman. Plus, it’s not like I can go anywhere.” Her features softened while she tried to reassure me. “I’ll be fine. I’ll probably catch up on email and stuff. Do you mind if I use your laptop to sign in to my account?”
“No, I don’t mind. I’ll get it set up for you. There’s a small office at the bow of the boat. Do you want to go there? Maybe have a little change of scenery? I can show you how to get to the cat’s cabin on the way.”
“Actually, I think I’ll just stay here. Maybe take a little nap too.”
“All right, suit yourself. When I get back, we can decide how to spend the rest of the day,” I said, pulling a tank top on while I spoke. There was no way I was going to let her stay cooped up in this cabin for the next week. Rio, me, and a giant bed plus an endless amount of time was not a safe equation to calculate at the moment. No, it was outright perilous.
For the first time since meeting this intriguing, confusing, challenging woman, I feared I might be in over my head.
Chapter Four
Rio
Only twenty-six messages waited in my email inbox. That was unusual, but I assumed Abbi had asked Dori to handle all the Abstract Catering correspondence, because not a single message was from that address.
I scrolled down the column anyway, curious about what kind of crap had made it through the junk mail filter.
Huge Going Out of Business Sale!
Delete.
“Didn’t they already go out of business months ago?” I muttered.
Travel Deals You Can’t Pass Up!
Delete.
Sorry, gang. Can’t make it to Aruba or Cairo this year. Want to know about my yacht cruise to Hawaii, though?
Mmm…with a cruisemate who looked so damn sexy in board shorts, I was four seconds from jumping him.
“Move on, girl,” I ordered myself through gritted teeth.
Genius Brain Update: Install Now!
Delete.
I’d removed that silly app an hour after downloading it—yet had been dealing with the promotional emails for eight months since. It was a little creepy—unless the damn app knew something I didn’t. Maybe I did need a few more genius neurons in my skull. Maybe they could’ve helped me from landing in this exact predicament.
“Move. On.” Forget the mutter. I fully growled it at myself now.
Top Ten Reasons Not to F$%* Your BFF.
“Well, here we go! Finally something with promise.”
My favorite online magazine subscription was one of my guilty pleasures, an ideal distraction for my overactive mind. Between the fluffy articles, horoscope predictions, trending top tens, and pop-up advertisements, there were also many helpful advice columns. After a few clicks of the trackpad, I had this one loaded and ready.
Too bad the end result wasn’t as good as my anticipation. The article ended up being snarky, bitter, and disappointing. Maybe the author was fresh off a bad breakup. Or maybe her partner went to work one day and never came home.
Like mine.
So who was the bitter one now?
I wasn’t about to answer that. Besides, I’d given enough time to cyberspace already. I quit the browser, logged out of my email account, and closed the lid of Grant’s laptop. My eyes were getting heavy while I read that drivel anyway, so a nap seemed like the right call. The cabin was so warm and quiet, making it easy to relax on top of the covers and curl up on my side.
And just like that, sleep was impossible.
Cue the racing thoughts.
Like wisps from a windblown dandelion, one topic after another darted over my brain’s hills and valleys, making it difficult to focus on just one—until a major seedling started blowing by more than the others.
Still, I desperately tried to ignore it.
“Shit.” I sighed.
I had to think about what had happened at Clear Horizons, as well as before, and after.
Analyzing my behavior the day Abbigail had me carted off to that place had to be done. Yes, that place. Christ, I couldn’t even think of its name without getting chafed. My mind had been anything but clear that day, or even the few preceding it. All right, so maybe I hadn’t been sensible for a long while—but knowing I was considered that unstable and dangerous to the people around me, my very family and loved ones, was past the point of unsettling. Throughout the years—fine, my entire life—I’d struggled with staying in optimum mental health. The social stigma attached to being diagnosed with a mental health disorder hadn’t helped either. But I would never hurt another person. No. There’d always been just one target of my abuse.
Me.
If there were an award for self-doubt and self-recrimination, I’d win hands down. Year after year, I would be the top of the heap at hating myself and everything about me. Of course, to the outside world, I didn’t appear insecure or fragile. Those particular flaws were hidden by a mask that had been carefully constructed over the years. I had perfected the art of the sham. Fake it until you make it—and look good while doing so.
Next, the unnecessary apology. Also, a professional in that arena. Shamefully, I can admit to apologizing for apologizing. All while maintaining it was perfectly rational to do so. Routinely, people forgave me for things I haven’t even done. The trick was to believe the nonsense yourself, so the sell was authentic. I was convinced I was responsible for every adverse action and reaction within a five-mile radius at all times. Just a precious gift my mother bestowed upon me when I was very young. She adopted the awesome parenting style of guilt as guidance, and I always took the bait. After all, at that age, every child wants to please their parent. If that meant feeling bad for every wrong or bad thing that happened, often encouraged by her insults and misplaced anger, then that’s what I did! I was committed to the cause and excelled. Who could blame a girl for doing her best?