“I heard you the first time.”

  “But you don’t care. Perfect.”

  “I said I wasn’t overbearing like Parker. I didn’t say I’d be easy to deal with. But…since you can’t get the loan you need anywhere else and all of your friends are too afraid of your brother to stand up to him, it looks like you’re stuck with me, princess.”

  She presses her lips together in a mute white line as the waiter approaches and takes our order. He promises to have the food out quickly. I ask for a bread basket to help soak up some of the alcohol in Corinne’s stomach. Thankfully, he hustles back with it, then I butter a piece of steaming sourdough and set it on her plate. “Eat.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m trying to give up bread.”

  “It’s not Lent, you’re already drinking pure sugar, and you’re on vacation. Eat the carbs. It’s better than puking.”

  With an irritated side-eye, she bites into the warm, yeasty slice and moans again, this time in a low, melting tone. “Oh, my gosh, that’s good.”

  I shift uncomfortably to get my zipper off my turgid cock. If she knew the filthy thoughts that little whine of hers is making me think, she’d cross herself and hiss at me like I’m the spawn of Satan. “So…if I’m only willing to invest, not loan you funds, how do you see this partnership working?”

  “I don’t.” She finishes the last bite of sourdough, her eyes closing like it’s a sexual experience. “I might hire help for some clerical tasks, but I prefer to work alone. And I don’t want anyone else responsible for the nuts and bolts of my operation.”

  “Since you’re not willing to negotiate, it sounds like we don’t have much to talk about. We should just enjoy the rest of our dinner and go our separate ways.”

  She slams down the drink she picked up moments ago. “Listen, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you didn’t come to my hotel and suggest dinner just so you could turn me down.”

  “And you didn’t come all the way to Hawaii to play hardball, especially since your options are limited. Me giving you a loan for three years simply so you can succeed, while nice, isn’t a satisfying revenge. You’ll have to sweeten the pot.”

  Corinne hesitates. “What do you want?”

  “We’ll get to that.” Once I find the best strategy. But the more I turn this situation over in my head, the more I realize I’m not ready to put all my cards on the table. Still, letting her peek at my hand—while watching her reaction—might tell me how to proceed. “But I don’t know if I can trust you.”

  “Me?”

  “It’s not personal. You knew I wouldn’t give you my blind trust. After all, there’s a reason you made an appointment to see me under a fake name.”

  “C. Rose is my name, first initial and middle.”

  “Not your whole name and not the name you go by. You knew if you made the appointment as Corinne Emerson that I wouldn’t see you.”

  “Maybe so, but I hoped that once you’d talked to me, and I told you what was going on—”

  “That I’d magically believe you after you’d just lied to me?” I level a skeptical stare her way. “With very few exceptions, I don’t believe anyone or anything. And before you call me a cynical bastard, you might ask me why.”

  She stares down into her melting drink. “You think Parker is to blame.”

  “You think he isn’t?” I lean closer; I want her to hear every word of this. “When we started our senior year of college, I’d moved into an apartment with my girlfriend, Hadley. Well, my fiancée by then. I’d scraped together every dime I made for over a year to buy her the prettiest ring I could afford. We got engaged the weekend before school started. Like me, she was there on scholarship, having clawed her way into our esteemed academic institution with nothing but her wits and determination. Parker told me repeatedly that she wasn’t good enough for me. He called her a climber and a gold digger. I wasn’t rich, so his accusation didn’t add up for me. I told myself that he didn’t know her like I did. I even wondered if he just wanted her for himself. He definitely didn’t understand my feelings for her. So I told him to back off and shut up.”

  “That’s not how my brother operates. When he’s convinced you’re wrong, he’s relentless and all too happy to show you…” She pales as her eyes go wide. “Oh, my gosh.”

  “You’re getting the picture now, aren’t you? I came home early on a Friday night from one of the two jobs I kept to pay for my love nest with Hadley, all while taking a full class load. I found her—”

  “Stop. I know what you’re going to say.”

  I keep talking. “In our bedroom, on her knees, sucking your brother off. She was still wearing her engagement ring. But Parker left all that shit out of his fucked-up, pity-party book.”

  Corinne looks somewhere between shocked and sickened. “I’m sorry.”

  Her apology stuns me. “Why? None of that is your fault.”

  “I know my brother. If he didn’t like your fiancée and didn’t think you should marry her, he would have felt totally justified in proving it so he could ‘save’ you.”

  “Oh, he did. Not that he was wrong. The last thing Hadley said to me was that she appreciated me for giving her a place to live when she couldn’t afford one and I’d helped her study when she needed it, but despite being really fucking sorry, Parker had actual money, not merely a bright future. Of course, he dumped her right after she left me…”

  “I-I never heard any of this.”

  “No one has.”

  “And Hadley? You said she’s gone.”

  “Dead. Car accident about six months later. She was with some even richer—married—guy whose blood alcohol level was twice the legal limit when he plowed into a tree.”

  “If all that’s true, I understand why you want revenge.”

  “If?” The word is out of my mouth before I realize that I can’t question her honesty without expecting her to question mine.

  “He’s still my brother. Even though he’s being an ass about my inheritance and my business, I hate thinking he’s capable of that kind of backstabbing—”

  “He is. You said it yourself.”

  “But…none of Parker’s classmates the press interviewed mentioned Hadley at all. Nor did they say anything about him betraying you.”

  It’s a valid point. “I was too embarrassed to admit to my frat-boy friends and football teammates that she had cheated on me. So I didn’t tell anyone. If someone asked about her, I said we split up because she dropped out of school and moved away. Those weren’t lies; she did drop out and leave LA. It just wasn’t the reason we broke up.”

  “So what did you tell all those frat boys and football buddies that motivated them to make my brother’s senior year so hellish that he questioned his existence and contemplated suicide?”

  Of course she’s going to lay that accusation on me. “Nothing much. I just led by example. I got ahold of his porn-viewing history and circulated it. Don’t ask.” Just a guess, she probably wouldn’t want to hear how much her brother fantasized about being spanked by women in pleather, killer heels, and attitude. “Then I pantsed him at a party.” Where people snapped tons of pictures of him with a Mama’s Boy tattoo on his hip and posted them around campus and across the internet. I didn’t know they would go viral. Everyone else thought the whole thing was hysterical because they never really liked him; they tolerated him for me. Well, and he often paid for the beer. “That’s it. All I did was a couple of stupid pranks. Booze and immature idiots did the rest. At the time I wrote it off as karma.”

  Instead of dusting himself off, finding his bravado, and pretending he saw humor in their stupid, sophomoric crap, Parker sniveled and cried. They ridiculed him more for it.

  “His humiliation wasn’t revenge enough for you?”

  I didn’t take delight in his torment as much as I thought I would. He ended up shuttering his social media accounts for a few months and lying low. It was a blessing in disguise because I saw my circle of friends for who they were. After that, I reconnected with a bunch of my high school pals, especially Hayes and his now-wife, Echo. The two of them, along with Graham, Maryam, and Kella, are all genuine, kind people. They’ve stuck with me through thick and thin. Even though I live in Maui now, we’re still tight.

  Now that I think about it, none of those friends liked Hadley, either. The difference is, they didn’t sleep with her to prove their point; they merely supported me when the relationship fell apart.

  “If your brother would have left the past in the past, I would have, too. We both got fucked, just in different ways. But you guessed that he modeled Xayden Coast after me. So did the rest of the world, since the paparazzi won’t stop calling me for comment. Pushed Too Far smears me publicly. It could destroy me professionally.”

  “I guess it can’t be easy when you’re in such a high-profile business. Handling other people’s money… Clients have to trust you.”

  “Yes, and I’ve had to work twice as hard to maintain investor confidence since your brother’s book hit the bestseller lists.” It also doesn’t help that I’m Barclay Reed’s bastard offspring. “And with the movie dropping tomorrow, the cycle is starting all over again.”

  She nods slowly. “So what kind of revenge are you after?”

  I’d love to spend a raunchy weekend between Corinne’s legs, but even if it’s the juiciest possible retribution to let the whole world know I’ve defiled his little sister, I won’t do that to her. I wouldn’t wish having her public image wrecked and subjecting her to the kind of hounding by paparazzi and bottom-feeding gossip hounds that I’ve endured on anyone just for revenge.

  “No answer? Are we at an impasse?” She finishes the rest of her drink.

  I do the same, gratified when the waiter sets fresh cocktails in front of us almost immediately. “Let me think on it. We’ll find a way for you to get the money you need and the revenge I’m after.”

  Corinne is surprisingly quiet through the rest of dinner. What conversation we have centers around business. She seems especially intent on showing me pictures of her designs, the video the Real Housewives star rolled about her custom band, then snaps of her current office and workspace. It’s cramped and she’s clearly outgrown it.

  How does she sit in a dinky office chair with shitty lighting for ten-plus hours a day, seven days a week, and make these watch bands? I work hard, yeah, but I have enough time left over to spend with my siblings and their spouses here in Maui, to talk to my friends in LA. I take vacations. I hang out on the beach. I maintain a daily exercise regimen. I even keep up with a varied reading list, though a good chunk of it is work-related. But still…work-life balance. Corinne seemingly hasn’t had any for years. And her motherfucking brother lives perched above Pacific Coast Highway with unobstructed ocean views, having wild parties and rubbing shoulders with Hollywood’s elite. His only responsibility is spending a few hours a day giving self-indulgent interviews and plugging away at his next novel, release date still three years in the future.

  I barely know Corinne, and I shouldn’t waste energy or emotional capital feeling sorry for her, but I don’t understand how Parker can let his own sister slave away while he’s living the high life. If I didn’t already think the asshole needed to be taken down a peg or two, that alone would convince me he needs some comeuppance.

  “So what made you decide to move to Maui? Really?” she asks.

  After her fourth French 75, her words sound slightly slurred, but I’m relieved she ate half her dinner. At least she has something in her stomach.

  “A lot of reasons.”

  I’m still feeling out whether she’s spying for Parker. That theory is looking less likely by the minute. He’s done her wrong, too, and I understand wanting to succeed in spite of someone…but I haven’t completely written off that possibility.

  “Besides the views around here. You don’t seem like that type that’s in-in”—she sighs in frustration—“impulsive.”

  Since she’s over-enunciating, it’s time to cut her off. I also need to make sure she reaches her room safely. There are still too many guys around this resort—employees and tourists alike—who would be happy to take advantage of her.

  I motion to the waiter, then murmur instructions in his ear before giving her my attention again. I hate to admit she’s an adorable drunk. And she seems like a decent person, too. I have no idea how since she’s related to such an asswipe.

  “You’re right; I’m not usually impulsive. But you know I grew up the only child of a single mom, right?” At her nod, I continue on, making sure she’s listening too closely to notice the waiter behind her, swapping her cocktail with fresh water. “A few years back, right around graduation, I was contacted by a private investigator working for a family who suspected that we share a father and wanted me to take a test to verify.”

  “You really didn’t know Barclay Reed was your father?”

  She may not believe me; most people don’t. “No. My mom never said anything about the asshole whose only contribution to me was half my genes. So I said yes. I was curious. When I got the results, I was here on a business trip. In fact, I accidentally met my sister-in-law that day.”

  “Accidentally? You weren’t stalking?”

  “No. I had no idea. My friend Hayes, who was a coworker at the time, was with me. We had a few hours off, and his then-girlfriend, Echo, wanted to visit the bed-and-breakfast where her sister and brother-in-law had recently honeymooned. When we stopped by and started talking, it turned out that the guy who owns and runs the place with his wife is my oldest brother, Maxon.” I shrug. “Small world.”

  “I’d say so.” Automatically, she reaches for her water, frowning after her sip. “What happened to my drink?”

  “You finished it a while ago.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Don’t you remember?”

  The little line between the perfect arches of her brows is almost cute, though the rest of her—cleavage included—is sexy as hell. Once upon a time, I would have sweet-talked her until she let me carry her to bed.

  There’s too much at stake for that tonight. It’s tempting… But I have to settle for prying answers from her—at least for now.

  She shakes her head. “I don’t. I think you’re trying to pull a fast one.”

  “Me? Never. I guess that means you also don’t remember ordering”—I look up to find the waiter coming our way with two dishes of mango tapioca flan, topped with little yellow plumeria and a generous dollop of whipping cream—“dessert.”

  Corinne whips around so fast she has to steady herself in her chair. She gapes. “I would never have ordered that. The sugar. The carbs. My drinks are already loaded with them.”

  “Okay, maybe I ordered that for you. But give it a try. If you don’t like it, don’t eat it.”

  “I’m going to love it.” She sighs with regret. “I’ve never met a carb I haven’t.”

  “Why are you worried, princess? You’re gorgeous.”

  “Are you trying to seduce me into giving you information about the enemy? Or is that how you get so many women into bed? Liquor them up, butter them up, then sex them up?”

  I laugh as the waiter sets down our plates and shoots me a sidelong stare. He probably thinks I’m on a date. He’s likely also wondering how I’ll answer that question. “Not anymore. I’ve refined my methods over the years.”

  She reaches for her spoon. “I don’t know if you’re kidding.”

  “Coffee?” the waiter asks us.

  “Please.” I quit drinking scotch when I realized I needed all my wits for sparring with Corinne.

  “I should just drink my water…”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation? Live a little…”

  “I’m supposed to be securing a business loan. And I really shouldn’t eat this temptation on a plate, no matter how much it’s calling my name. But in for a penny, in for a pound.” She sighs, then addresses the waiter. “I’ll have coffee, too.”

  “I’ll be back with two cups shortly.” Our server disappears.

  “Take a bite,” I encourage.

  She hesitates. “I’ll demolish the whole thing.”

  “I’ll watch.”

  Her breath catches. “Why?”

  “You moan when you eat.”

  She closes her eyes like she’s utterly embarrassed. “I don’t mean to, but no matter how much I tell myself to shut up, once I start chewing, I make these sounds like—”

  “You’re halfway to orgasm?”

  Her face flushes redder. “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true.”

  Corinne cocks her head. “If you don’t liquor up and butter up women for sex anymore, what do you do? Compliment them until they stop saying no? Whisper sexy suggestions in that voice that makes them squirm? Look at them with those eyes that burn past their self-control before you strip off their clothes and…then what?”

  I shrug. “Whatever it takes. Shouldn’t every woman feel like a queen when she’s being pleasured?”

  Suddenly, Corinne shows renewed focus on her flan. One bite and she groans like orgasm is imminent. She presses her lips together and flattens her palms on the table like she’s trying to hold back the inevitable peak. Damn, I can imagine her in my bed, underneath me, her eyes closed, her nails in my back, her chest rising and falling as desire overwhelms her.

  I wish like hell I wasn’t pouring her into bed tonight and leaving her to sleep off her buzz. I’d ten times rather be settling between her legs and hearing her sounds of satisfaction when I make her come.

  Instead, I drag in a deep breath and try to defuse the tension. But her scent fills my nose and drives my lust higher. I’m seconds away from shelving strategy for ecstasy.

  The waiter thankfully reappears with our coffee. I grip the delicate cup in my big hands and swallow the black brew, trying to grab my libido by the throat and choke it.

  But it’s awfully fucking strong.

  So I pivot. “Tell me you don’t agree with me. I hope for your sake that your boyfriend does.”

  Yes, I’m fishing. My approach isn’t smooth, and I blame my visceral reaction to her for rattling me.