Like the unusual one she’s wearing? “Where’s the problem? Did business drop off?”

  She shakes her head. “The opposite, actually. Three weeks ago, one of the Real Housewives, with millions of Instagram followers, made a completely unsponsored video, raving about the beaded smart watch band she bought from me. Orders blew up, and since then I’ve sold what I normally would in a year.”

  “That sounds like a good problem to have.”

  “Yes…and no. I make everything myself in a corner of the lone bedroom in my seven-hundred-square-foot apartment in LA. I need a bigger space. I need some new tools. I need to hire staff to pack and ship all this stuff, handle customer service calls, and make me an occasional sandwich. I can’t do everything on my own anymore.”

  That sounds like a genuine problem, but… “Your brother still won’t help you?”

  She shakes her head. “He told me to get a ‘real job.’”

  Of course he did, while he’s living in a fucking McMansion in Malibu putting the shit he makes up in his head down on paper. The asshole. “If you’re working full-time and making a living, you have one.”

  “Exactly.” She throws her hands in the air. “He keeps insisting I could be hired by a Fortune Ten company since I have a business degree with an emphasis in entrepreneurship. He conveniently forgets that I was a double major and I also have a BA in fashion design. But according to him, that isn’t worth the paper it was printed on. The thing is, I don’t want another job.”

  And he shouldn’t push her to get one. Unfortunately, Parker is always convinced he’s the smartest person in the room, and his ego won’t tolerate an opinion to the contrary. “Sounds like he hasn’t changed.”

  She presses her lips into a flat line. “He hasn’t.”

  I’m stupidly tempted to reach across my desk and caress her soft cheek in reassurance. I don’t. I’m still not convinced her visit isn’t merely a tactic to catch me off guard. “I understand the reasons you’re looking for financial help.”

  “Without too many strings.”

  That counts me out—at least under normal circumstances. I’m meticulous when it comes to managing clients’ money; even more so when it’s my own. But I get that she’s not looking for another Parker in her business. “What good would a fiancé do you? Well, unless he’s rich himself…”

  “I don’t want a handout from anyone. But a fiancé would help with my grandparents’ trust.”

  “They left you money, too.” Of course they did. So why isn’t she using that?

  “A lot of it. Enough that I could be one of your clients if I could get my hands on it. But Parker—”

  “Holds the purse strings, and he won’t give it to you?”

  “You know my brother well,” she returns acidly. “The way the trust is put together, I get all the funds without requiring anyone’s approval or any other stipulations at twenty-five. But that’s three years away. If I don’t get help now, my business will be long dead by then.”

  She’s right. When lightning strikes with a product, especially anything trendy, every minute counts. But something niggles at me. “Parker inherited all of his at twenty-one, no strings. Not you?”

  “No. My grandparents were old-fashioned. They were convinced I wouldn’t know how to manage that kind of wealth until I was older. Or had a man’s ‘steadying influence.’” She rolls her eyes. “So I could have the money today…if I got married.”

  The picture is clear now. If she’s telling the truth—big if—she must be horrifically pissed off at Parker. I would be.

  Then again, Parker is a master at weaving a woe-is-me tale. He probably crafted this one and spoon-fed it to his accomplice—a.k.a. his oh-so-bangable little sister—to finish bringing me down.

  So I feel compelled to poke holes in her story. “How will a fiancé help you if your grandparents’ trust stipulates that you have to be married to get your money before you turn twenty-five?”

  “Well, technically, Parker is the trustee, so he could decide to give me my inheritance now. Of course, he refused.” And she doesn’t merely look pissed, but hurt, too. “He might change his mind, though, if giving me the money was the difference between me burying myself in my work and marrying you.”

  “So where did you leave things?” Maxon asks that evening over the sounds of a crying baby in the background.

  Must be close to his daughters’ bedtime. “With Parker’s sister? I told her I’d think about her proposal.”

  But I’m not interested in becoming an investor, especially not now. My capital is tied up in buying my partnership in Bethany and Clint’s brokerage and expanding my business into real estate with Maxon and Griff. Becoming Corinne’s fake fiancé, though? That intrigues me…for a lot of reasons.

  “For how long?”

  “Forty-eight hours. She’s only staying on the island for a long weekend.”

  But her visit raises a host of questions. If she’s sunk every dime she’s got into her business, who paid for her trip? And if she needs to be making product to keep up with the insane demand, why is she waiting even two minutes to get back to her desk?

  All the answers seemingly lead back to Parker and raise the only truly important question: Why did Corinne come to see me—and not someone else—unless she’s trying to help her brother put the final nail in my coffin?

  That’s the most likely scenario…but what if I’m wrong? What if she really can hand me my revenge on a silver platter?

  “Do you need that long to think about what you’ll say to her?” my oldest brother asks.

  “No. But I need more time to dig into her cover and see how much of it is true.”

  Maxon laughs. “You may not have known you’re a Reed your whole life, but you certainly act like one. We’re all born driven, decisive, cutthroat bastards. It’s in our genes.”

  “That’s a fact,” his wife, Keeley, shouts in the background.

  Maxon laughs. “At least until the right someone reminds us that we have a heart. Isn’t that right, sunshine?”

  “You better not forget it, mister,” she teases. “Do you have time to give Kailani her bath?”

  “Sure. Come here.” His voice softens when he murmurs to his daughter, laughing at her little-girl sounds. “So you’re going to let Corinne sweat for a couple of days. I like it.”

  “You would,” Keeley says with a laugh.

  “What, sunshine? The enemy’s sister suddenly goes behind her brother’s back to help X get revenge? You have to admit, it’s pretty convenient.”

  “Is it, but if she’s being truthful, it’s also clever. Her brother will never see it coming.”

  Keeley has an interesting point. I can’t deny that if Corinne is smart enough to support herself with her craft, she might be smart enough to scam her scumbag of a sibling.

  Since Maxon has his hands full and I’m nearly at my destination, we wrap up the call. Then I pull my sleek, two-seater Audi into a resort I’ve hooked up in a few times. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s hardly Motel 6. I give the valet my keys and promise him a healthy tip if he takes good care of my wheels. Then I don my sunglasses, despite the setting sun, shove my hands into the board shorts I threw on to look like a tourist, and stroll inside.

  The minute Corinne Emerson left my office, I called in some favors. A client’s nephew is a private investigator on the island, and in exchange for a reasonable fee and some investment advice, he quickly learned that Parker’s sister is staying here and is scheduled to depart Sunday morning.

  So that part of her story checks out. I’m still waiting on the rest.

  As if the PI has ESP, my phone rings. “Perfect timing, Owen. Talk to me.”

  “Either this girl is really slick at covering her tracks…or she’s being straight-up with you. She paid for her plane ticket with her own credit card. Same with her hotel stay. Apparently, she told friends she’d always promised herself a vacation in paradise if her jewelry business ever had a six-figure year. Now it has, at least according to her most recent bank statement, but she’s only staying a few days because unfulfilled orders are piling up. And she has a meeting on Monday morning with a local bank to discuss a small business loan. They’re going to reject her since she has no collateral. Despite having good credit, it will be her third rejection.”

  Damn, this guy is fast. I won’t ask how he comes up with this kind of information in a few ticks of the clock. If Corinne is here, asking me to invest, she must expect the bank will turn her down again. “Thanks. Anything else?”

  “Her brother seemingly has no idea where she is. Or if he does, the two of them are putting on a hell of a show, because, according to social media, his new girlfriend is trying to set Corinne up with a co-worker and thinks they’ll be double-dating tomorrow night.”

  Not conclusive proof that Parker’s pretty sister is telling the truth, but it makes her story seem more legit.

  I stop and take in the full-frontal ocean view from the hotel’s lobby. Yeah, that never gets old. Despite three years of living on Maui, I’m still struck dumb every day by how beautiful it is.

  “Did you get Corinne’s room number?”

  “Hours ago. Just before I called, I sent you an email detailing everything I know so far. I’ll wait while you look, see if there’s anything else you need before we hang up.”

  He’s being extra helpful and attentive, probably because he’s hoping I’ll take him on as a client. No can do, but I’ll make sure he’s handsomely rewarded if his information pans out.

  Seconds later, I scan my email. Sure enough, Owen sent everything I’ll probably need in order to watch Corinne for the next forty-eight hours—or until I’m convinced she’s not BSing me on her brother’s behalf. After I commit her room number to memory, I end the call and head for the elevators. Halfway there, I stop dead in my tracks.

  She’s perched on the edge of a stool in the bar, wearing a figure-hugging dress that clings to the tops of her thighs and shows off a tongue-swallowing amount of toned legs. The curve of her ass is impossible to miss—and even more impossible not to gawk at. Her dark curls brush the small of her back with her every move and gesture.

  Where is she going all dressed up? And who is she going with? I wish I’d fucking asked Owen if she traveled here alone…

  Nothing about Corinne gives me a hint. In fact, she looks almost out of place among the other guests who have obviously baked in the sun all day. Despite her sexy dress, she still looks so untouched—either by the rays or a man’s hands.

  As she smiles, the bartender says something, likely in an attempt to flirt. She dips her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. I catch a glimpse of her lips, glossy and plump and so kissable. I can’t remember the last time I was this tempted after a mere glance.

  I need to focus or I’ll fall for the first BS story she tells me, especially if it comes with sex. According to my brothers, that’s another hallmark of the Reeds. If we aren’t careful, we’ll think with our sex drives first. If there’s fucking involved, our brains come in a distant second.

  She sips on some bubbly cocktail and scrolls through her phone. I don’t see her looking around for a significant other or even a guy to spend the night with.

  While her attention is diverted by whatever TikTok nonsense she’s probably watching, I slip into a corner of the bar, half hidden behind a potted palm, and sit. It’s the perfect position to watch her.

  A waiter comes by. I order a scotch neat. He brings it promptly and asks if I want a menu. Normally, I’d be hungry for dinner at this hour. But watching Corinne, my stomach takes a back seat to lust.

  Around me, other men notice her. The guy two stools down is definitely eye-fucking her. He looks forty if he’s a day. Plus, his ring says he’s married. She ignores him. There’s another guy who’s clearly with a big party edging away from his crowd and closer to Corinne. Then the bartender, in between pouring patrons’ drinks, walks his stare all over her again.

  They make me bristle. I find myself glaring down anyone who looks at her for too long.

  Five minutes slide by. She finishes one effervescent drink. Her interaction with the bartender suggests that someone already bought her another. Corinne refuses and pays for it herself. Her brother is an asswipe and they share genes…but I admire her self-reliance.

  Fresh drink in hand, she starts suddenly, then reaches for her phone. “Amali? What’s up?”

  Since I’m sitting ten feet behind her, I can just hear her. If the music or the chatter were any louder, I couldn’t. Soon this place will be hopping and hearing myself think will be impossible. But now, it’s half-empty.

  Corinne hesitates and listens to her caller, nodding. “You said something about a blind date, but you didn’t tell me you meant this weekend.” She falls quiet again, this time frowning. “Look, I don’t have anything against Craig since I’ve never met him. But I’m not free Saturday night.” The woman on the other end must be yelling, because Corinne rears back and jerks the phone from her ear. “I’m not blowing you off. And it’s not personal. Maybe another time, but—” Suddenly, she winces, then lets loose a long-suffering sigh. “What do you want, Parker?”

  At the sound of my nemesis’s name, I lean closer. What is the shit stain after?

  “Last time I checked, big brother, I’m over eighteen. I shouldn’t have to tell you where I am. The fact I’m answering the phone means I’m alive and well.”

  I give her props for standing up to the asshole. Sure, it’s possible she’s figured out I’m eavesdropping and her rebellion is merely an act. But I don’t think so. Since she’s dealt with her brother her whole life, she must be aware that Parker is convinced he knows better than everyone and rides roughshod over the people he claims to love. He doesn’t care how overbearing his behavior is. He only cares about being right.

  She sighs again. “No, I’m not available for a blind date on Saturday night, and that’s all I’m going to say. Tell Amali I’m sorry if there was any confusion.”

  Corinne looks frustrated as she stabs her screen to end the call and shoves her phone in her clutch.

  She hung up on her brother? Yes. She flatly ended the call without saying goodbye. Maybe she really is fed up with him…

  The overattentive bartender asks her something. She shakes her head. A swing and a miss. Not thirty seconds later, the married man leans closer and tries to strike up a conversation. She turns, glances pointedly at his wedding ring, then shifts away. Another strike. A quick scan of the party guy in the corner tells me he’s going to make a play for her next. Corinne stands, drink half-finished, then grabs her purse and makes her way out of the bar before he can strike out, too.

  I watch the swish of her long hair and the sway of her gorgeous ass as she heads across the lobby and disappears into the ladies’ room.

  Party guy looks deflated.

  I pay for my scotch and stand, then follow her. I have to admit that, so far, Corinne seems on the up and up. But the closer I am to someone, the better my BS meter works. Besides, slinking in corners isn’t how I get things done.

  Since I’m here, we might as well have another chat. That has nothing to do with wanting to see her again or craving an eyeful of her in that sexy-as-hell dress.

  I lean against a pillar and wait for her to emerge. Across the lobby, an old man ambles around the corner, cane in one hand, room key in the other. He scans the open area with a frown, looking lost. Tourists walk past him like he’s invisible. A bellboy approaches, pushing a rolling cart filled with luggage, but when the old man opens his mouth, the bellhop either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care and trudges by with a grunt. The elderly gentleman, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and sandals with athletic socks, heaves a dejected sigh.

  Feeling sorry for him, I shove away from the pillar to help. Before I can reach the old guy, Corinne emerges from the restroom, wearing fresh lipstick with her head held high. Since I’m still twenty feet across the lobby, she’s closer. I expect her to waltz past him.

  She doesn’t.

  I’m surprised.

  Corinne might be strapped for capital now, but she grew up with a silver spoon in her mouth. I haven’t delved much into the investigator’s initial report, but I know from Parker that Corinne attended a posh boarding school back East and spent summers with her grandparents in an opulent mansion. When I first met her, she’d already learned to speak four languages and play the piano. She also sang in an award-winning show choir, was on the debate team, and had been chosen for the academic decathlon. In short, she grew up with every advantage.

  It was a far cry from my childhood in a studio apartment in the hood with a single mother who worked three jobs just to make sure we had food, clothing, and shelter…most of the time.

  Corinne stops in front of the old man and lays a soft hand on his shoulder. “Do you need help, sir? You look lost and… If I’m wrong, just tell me—”

  “No, you’re not wrong,” he says in a voice gravelly with age. “I haven’t been this lost since my first trip to Paris back in the day, when I got off the plane and realized I couldn’t read any of the signs.”

  Her laugh is light, and a smile looks really good on her. “That must have been a while ago.”

  He grins. “June fourteenth, 1964. I landed at Orly—no Charles DeGaulle yet. The airport was chrome and yellow and seemed so huge. I’d graduated high school in small-town Wisconsin two days prior, and I was dying to see the world, starting with Paris. I had a backpack, a good buddy, a little money, and a travel guide. We spent three months on the Continent making our way from city to city, attraction to attraction, never worrying about getting lost. Now?” He laughs at himself. “My wife went to have a massage, and I can’t find my way back to our room. All these elevators look the same, but they don’t all go to every floor. My glasses…I think I need a new pair. I’d be grateful if you could help me.”

  Through his story, her smile widens. “Of course. I would have loved to have seen Paris back then. How amazing!”