Page 49 of Beautiful Lies

We’re powerful men, born into a world of enemies right and left. I’m certain one of them was involved. But that is another mystery that may stay hidden. Until we stumble over something else.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

“Not sure yet. Other than the new antivirus software we had installed months ago, I have no other explanation for why we didn’t see the trail before.” Dorian rubs his chin, contemplating.

“It’s got to be that. And maybe there’s nothing more. I think we would have found it. We found a lot.”

The entire system’s infrastructure was reviewed and the new software installed, designed to put up impenetrable firewalls. We think that uncovered whatever was blocking us from finding John’s hacking system, which Dorian discovered in the audit.

“Yeah, you’re right. But you know me; I’m still going to keep an eye out.”

“I do know you.” He wants more answers, and he won’t let it go until he gets them. I’m the same, but right now, I feel my priorities are exactly where they should be.

“I’ll take care of it. You have enough on your plate.” He chuckles.

Levi’s laugh cuts through the tension. “Who’s in for another round? Dorian, it’s all or nothing.”

“Then I’m in.” Dorian flashes me a helpless smile.

“Go win back your money.” I nod toward the guys.

Dorian smirks and returns to the table, and just like that, our conversation dissolves into the easy sound of chips, cards, and sibling rivalry.

But I’m still thinking.

What if there is something more to worry about?

What, though?

John Monroe seemed to be a man of many secrets. Any of them could leap out from some closet in hell. It’s strange; he didn’t seem that way when I knew him.

He seemed so ordinary. Like a real go-getter. I admired him. That’s why I helped him when he asked me for the loan. I never saw through the mask covering his true face.

And that’s just the thing. How well do you ever truly know a person?

It makes me wonder about Isla. About what she’s like. About how she’ll be in the upcoming months. Especially when we’ve already gotten off to a rocky start.

I finish my beer and glance out the window. The noise around me fades, replaced by the steady hum of my own thoughts. Thoughts of Isla Monroe that stay with me until it’s time to go to bed.

I head to my room, but sleep is the furthest thing from my mind.

I should go over tomorrow’s contracts, check the investor updates, or even my emails.

Instead, I pour myself another drink, grab my computer, and log into the security feed at home.

Sheila hasn’t sent me any further updates, so I take no news to mean everything is still okay. But my curious mind has taken over.

I just want to check on Isla for myself and see her beyond the report.

It’s almost midnight, so she could be asleep. I have a feeling she’s not, though.

When I find the footage of the bedroom, I smile to myself on seeing I’m right.

She has a bath towel wrapped around her body and is blow-drying her wet hair. I figure she must have just gotten out of theshower. Across from her is the painting she was working on at her apartment.

Sheila mentioned that Isla had been painting. Looks like she spent a good amount of time working on it since I last saw it. I don’t give away compliments easily, or at all, but her piece is breathtaking. It has a dark gothic beauty I’ve never seen before.

I’m no art expert, but I’m sure many people would agree it belongs in some renowned gallery with her name on a gold plaque under it.