Page 60 of Beautiful Lies

The fact that I left L.A. earlier than planned after giving in to the call of curiosity—and yes, desire for my little artist.

The fact that Chad, the ex, who should be far, far, away in Australia and not a problem is now here in New York.

Or the fact that his ass was at the restaurant, talking to Isla, sounding like he was asking her to take him back. I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. I was too far away, but I’m sure that’s what he was asking her tothinkabout.

I saw the way he looked at her, the way his eyes pleaded, the way he hunched over like he was seconds away from dropping to his knees to beg. His entire body language screamed it.

Motherfucker.

He didn’t know who he was dealing with. And I wish I’d wrung his scraggly little neck for his attempt to interrogate us about the ring.

I knew about Chad, the childhood sweetheart, before tonight. Though I didn’t have a picture. I didn’t think I needed one. It would have helped.

When you have potential threats, it’s always good to have a face to a name.

The moment he gave his name and confirmed he wasthe ex, something primitive and possessive ignited inside me that I couldn’t control. Then everything went dark. As though someone had switched off all the lights in my mind and I experienced a complete blackout moment.

Lightning flashes through the rain, illuminating the hard line of Isla’s jaw before the darkness swallows her again.

I catch the faintest movement in her hands. Her fingers twitch, and she breathes out a slow exhale through her nose. She’s furious. I can feel it rolling off her in waves.

Good. Let her be fucking angry.

I just wonder what she would have said to Chad had I not arrived when I did.

If I’m right about him asking for a second chance—and I’m sure I am—would she have said yes?

Would she have thought about taking him back in six months when we go our separate ways?

Why wouldn’t she?

I know how their breakup went down, but people like her—decent, normal people—cling to their first love far longer than they should. Her file shows she’s known Chad her entire life. They only split three years ago. Not long at all.

He must be back in New York for good or at least long enough to think he can win her back.

Fuck, listen to me.

I have more control than this. I don’t need a pissing contest with this fool.

But he tried to move in on what’s mine.

The thought infuriates me even more, and the last sliver of control slips.

Fuck, I have to say something.Now.

“So, how long is he in town?” I start with that.

Isla cuts me a look sharp enough to draw blood. Her hazel eyes are blazing, pupils dilated with fury, but for a moment, I'm caught off guard by how fucking beautiful she looks when she's pissed. Anger transforms her face, making her look dangerous instead of delicate.

"Don't." Her voice is low and controlled, but a tremor of rage simmers underneath. "Don't you dare speak to me right now."

The words hit like a slap, but they only fuel the fire burning in my chest. She turns back to the window, dismissing me completely. Something savage unfurls inside me at the rejection.

"That's not how this works, Isla." My voice comes out rougher than I intended, barely restrained.

She whips around to face me fully, livid. "How what works?" she hisses, trying to keep her voice low for Don’s sake. "Youmean how you showed up like some territorial animal and made an unnecessary scene? Or how you carted me out of the restaurant like I'm your property?"

The accusation hangs between us in the confined space of the Bentley. Outside, the rain pounds harder against the windows, cocooning us in this moment of reckoning.