Chapter One
OWEN
Normally, I’m the guy with the plan. I have everything mapped four or five steps ahead, and I prepare for every contingency. That all changed when my wingman went off-script and got married. Rhett and I have been practically connected at the hip since we were kids and lived a few houses down from one another in Pascagoula, Mississippi. Rhett was the hotheaded, impetuous one. I was the steady force that kept us on an even kilter.
It’s funny.
Now that Rhett is off living his own life, I no longer have anyone to be responsible for. Well, except for my mom, who’s in a care center and being treated for dementia. My old man is lurking around Pascagoula somewhere—probably a regular at some seedy bar—but he hasn’t been a part of my life for years, so I don’t count him.
Back to Rhett, while I’m still his manager and take care of all the business relating to his mega-successful acting career, it’s not the same. I never thought I’d say this, but I realize now that keeping Rhett in line was what gave me my sense of purpose.
I’m at loose ends—adrift in murky waters of uncertainty and boredom. I need a new challenge. Something I can sink my teeth into. All those years I was managing Rhett, I regretted not pursuing my screenwriting career. Now we’re at the point where Rhett’s career has gone better than either of us could’ve ever imagined. All I have to do at this point is keep things running on autopilot, and the money flows in. I’ve got plenty of time to pursue my goals. My throat goes sour. Lucky me! Back when Rhett and I were scratching and clawing to make a buck, I didn’t realize that it was the thrill of the chase that kept me going. Now that “I’ve arrived,” I’m not sure that I want to be here. Yeah, I know I sound like a putz. Cry me a handful, right? Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for our success. I just can’t escape the nagging feeling that Bela was right when she accused me of riding on Rhett’s coattails because I was too afraid to take a risk and put myself out there.
I’ve been telling myself for months that I need to get back into the game, but I haven’t been able to write a word. Every time I try, I hit a brick wall. There’s nothing worse than having a story locked away so tight inside you that the most intrepid therapist couldn’t drag it out.
Just when I hit a low point, questioning if I should just give up my dream of making a name for myself as a screenwriter, I received the absurdly fancy invitation via courier inviting me, along with an undisclosed number of other screenwriters the invitation said, to Rosalind Brownlow’s private island where we will vie for the chance to turn her latest book series into screenplays.
Nothing short of desperation could make me go near Rosalind. Yes, I suppose it has come to this.
Maybe my upcoming trip to Rosalind Brownlow’s private island will give me the shot in the arm that I need to get myself in gear. I can’t keep floundering. It’s time to step up to the plate and be a man. I’m no sucker. As sure as I’m breathing in and out, I know that Rosalind has an ulterior motive for inviting me to her shindig. So, I sharpened my defenses and took great plans to block her move. I went big and invited Trista Weatherby, a highly sought-after model who’s on the cusp of becoming a household name, to accompany me. Trista and I have gone out several times and have a good rapport. I figured her knock-your-socks-off beauty would be enough to keep Rosalind at bay.
Just my luck, Trista got called to Morocco last night for a photo shoot that, in her words, “Was just too good to turn down.”
“Sorry to leave you hanging, darling,” she added.
Yeah, right! Trista’s about as sorry as Br’er Rabbit, who got tossed headfirst into the thorny patch. Her breezy tone let me know that once she got off the phone, she wouldn’t give me a second thought.
Despite the tight pickle I’m in, I can’t deny that it feels good to be back in the small town of Comfort, Alabama. I can see why Rhett loves it here. From the minute I crossed the town limits, time slowed to a more comfortable pace. I drove through town, taking note of the colorful awning over the entrance of Skeet Donelson’s bakery. I was tempted to stop and buy a dozen of her famous chocolate chip cookies. However, I was afraid it would put me too far behind schedule.
Hopefully, there will be time to indulge my sweet tooth later.
I’m looking forward to seeing Skeet’s husband, Jasper. He and his buddies have grown tight with Rhett. And, in the natural course of things, Rhett pulled me into his friend circle. Rhett and his buddies are the only friends I have to speak of. My posh condo in Buckhead hasn’t felt so posh as of late. The quietness is deafening—more like the morgue. Ever since I left Pascagoula for the bright city lights of LA, I told myself that I preferred the fast pace of city life over a small town. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ve actually been toying with the idea of selling the condo and finding something here in Comfort. The only thing that has stopped me is the fear of being a third wheel to the happy couple. Rhett probably wouldn’t mind me hanging around. However, I’d venture to say that the notion wouldn’t sit well with Bela.
I pull into the parking lot of Morelli’s Restaurant and kill the engine. The sigh that pushes through my lips feels as heavy as a block of lead as my thoughts go back to the reason I’m stopping by the restaurant first thing. I’m set to leave for Rosalind’s private island in three days, and if I can’t figure something out, I’ll be doomed to go alone. A shudder runs down my spine. Rosalind Brownlow is as lethal as she is beautiful. The two of us met many years ago when I was called in at the last minute to be part of the writing team that adapted a screenplay from her bestselling book. It wasn’t until I arrived in LA and went to the film studio that I learned Rosalind had fired two of the writers the day before.
Did I mention that Rosalind is a diva from the word go?
She was intolerable and treated the writers like dirt. Fearing for their jobs, the remaining team members opted to just suck it up and put up with her crap. However, I dished it right back in no uncertain terms. For some strange reason, which I still can’t figure out, Rosalind decided that she liked me. No, it was more than like. She was enamored with me. She did everything in her power to trap me in her crafty web. However, I resisted and managed to use enough finesse to keep my relationship with Rosalind on friendly terms. Talk about a tricky song and dance. It took all my prowess to pull that stunt off. Can I do it again?
A sense of foreboding washes over me. My luck might just run out this time. I push the angst away with a steely resolve. I just have to stay one step ahead, and I’ll be okay.
Rosalind’s new book is the third in her worldwide bestselling series. Why couldn’t Rosalind just pick someone to write the dang screenplays and work out the terms of the contract? That’s what any normal person would do. But no, Rosalind has to go in for all the mumbo jumbo. She wants to show everyone how successful she is. All the guests on her island will be at her mercy.
Including you, the little voice in my head asserts.
If I weren’t in such a funk, there’s no way I wouldn’t entertain Rosalind’s offer.
No, that’s not true. Only a fool would turn this opportunity down. I may be at a low point, but I’m no fool. Whoever Rosalind chooses to write the screenplays for her series will be given the golden keys—a chance of a lifetime. If it’s done correctly, I’ll be assured of VIP status in Hollywood for years to come. My path as a screenwriter would be laid out for me on a long, smooth road that would bulldoze over all of the uncertainty I have about the future. I would KILL to write the screenplays for Rosalind’s Brutal Beauty books. Rosalind knows this, of course, which is why she extended the invitation.
When I accepted, I told Rosalind that I’d be bringing my girlfriend.
Rosalind played off the news like it was no big deal. If her social media posts are to be believed, Rosalind is involved with country music superstar Keith Lowe. Maybe that’s true. Maybe it isn’t. I know how publicity works. The whole world thought Rhett was involved with Starlet Hayes, but he detested her and all of her diva ways.
Is this fate’s way of giving me my comeuppance? I’m the one who masterminded the Starlet Hayes and Rhett Wilder ruse. It turned out to be a huge fiasco, and Rhett got the brunt of it.
I didn’t want to take any chances where Rosalind was concerned, which is why I wanted to bring Trista along.
Okay, that idea is dead in the water. Time to move to Plan B.
I drum my hands on the steering wheel of the rented Mustang, my mind racing a mile a minute. There’s still a slim chance that I might be able to finagle a date yet. I take in a breath and let it out slowly. “Here goes nothing,” I mutter under my breath as I get out of the car and stride towards the restaurant.
When I step inside, it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The scent of baked bread wafts through my senses, causing my stomach to rumble. I chartered a private jet to fly to Comfort and then had a rental car delivered to the private airport. I purposefully timed it so I could get to the restaurant before the dinner rush. It looks like I succeeded. The place is practically empty. It’s a good thing that I resisted the temptation to stop at Skeet’s bakery on the way over.
A pretty hostess greets me with a chipper smile as I approach her stand. “Hello,” she begins, “do you have a reservation?”
“I don’t.”
Her face falls. “Oh. Shoot. We operate mostly on reservations, but I’ll try to work you in. How many?”
“Actually, I was hoping to talk to Bela Morelli—um, Bela Wilder,” I correct, using Bela’s married name.
The girl blinks. “Is she expecting you?”
I offer a disarming smile, which turns the girl’s cheeks pink. “No, but I’m a family friend.”
Her eyes kindle with a hopeful interest that I recognize well. It wouldn’t take much to sweep her off her feet. “What’s your name?” she asks.
“Owen Calhoun.”
“I’ll tell Bela you’re here.”
“Thanks.” We share another smile.
As the girl hurries away, I look around the restaurant. Memories of the past collide with the present, sending a pang through me. This is where Jess and I first met. Rhett sent me on an errand to pick up food. It wouldn’t be fair to say that I miss Jess, per se. However, I do miss having someone in my life. Going it alone stinks!
I see movement and assume it’s the hostess returning. Nope, it’s Jess. She’s still as pretty as ever with her slim build and long, honey-blonde hair.
A tentative smile curves my lips. “Hey.” I hate going through the motions of the ex-girlfriend two-step.
The edges of her eyes and mouth tighten. “Hey.”
A couple of awkward beats pass before I step forward and catch her in a hug.
She gives me a half-hearted hug and quickly pulls back, tucking her hair behind her ear—something she does when she’s nervous. “What’re you doing here?”
I wince at the accusation in her tone. As if I have to explain myself. “I’m here to see Bela.”
She takes in the information with a curt nod before eyeing me with speculation. “Do you really think you’ll stand a chance against Rhett in the cage?”
My spine goes stiff. “I guess that remains to be seen.”
“Indeed,” she clips, looking at me like I’m something rotten that she stepped in.
Okay, Jess is making things ugly. Tomorrow evening, I’m participating in a charity event sponsored by Skeet Donelson’s outreach center. Earlier in the day, teenagers from the surrounding areas will participate in a tournament where they spar with one another.
Afterwards, there’s an adult amateur event. Rhett and I are slated to fight first in a single-elimination tournament. The winner will go on to fight Skeet’s husband, Jasper, who’s a firefighter. The winner of that match will then fight Memphis, who’s an amateur boxer.
For the crowning event, MMA former world champion, Corbin Ledger, will do an exhibition fight with The Ranger, also a former world champion.
The sole purpose of the event is to bring awareness to Skeet’s outreach program, which she started to help provide adolescents with a wholesome place to hang out in the afternoons and evenings while their parents are at work.
I only agreed to fight against Rhett for two reasons—one, it’s a worthy cause. Two, he’s been talking smack to me for months. Somebody needs to put that cocky bigmouth in his place. If that person is me, then so be it.
Knowing that I’m going up against my best friend, who has gotten dang good at fighting, has given me a fair amount of heartburn. And yes, I might’ve hired a personal trainer to help get me in shape for the fight. However, I love Rhett like a brother. At the end of the day, I don’t expect to win—only to put up a decent enough fight so that he won’t laugh me out of the cage.
I search Jess’s face. “How’ve ya been?” I should be the one who’s disgruntled here. After all, Jess broke up with me. She claimed I was emotionally unavailable. The insult stung, but I don’t harbor any hard feelings towards Jess. Our relationship would’ve eventually run its course. Truth be told, I was relieved that she was the one to end things.
“I’m good,” she says woodenly, like it’s nearly breaking her face to have to talk to me. “How about you?”
I shove my hands into my pockets and rock forward on the balls of my feet. “Can’t complain.”
Silence stretches between us.
I take note of the large rock on Jess’s left finger as a dry chuckle escapes my lips. “Wow, you’ve been busy.” Another person moving on with life while I’m stuck in the same spot. Lovely.
She tugs on her ring with a self-conscious gesture. “It’s been over a year since we broke up.”
“Yeah, I suppose it has.” I give her a conciliatory smile. “No hard feelings.” I truly mean it. Jess deserves to be happy.
She grunts and then crosses her arms over her chest. “Why do you want to see Bela?”
The disdain in her expression causes the hair on the back of my neck to bristle. “That’s my business.” Enough already! Jess is starting to push my buttons. I tried to do this the nice way, but she’s not having it. “You can rest assured that my visit here has nothing whatsoever to do with you.” I thrust out my jaw, looking her in the eye. If she wants a fight, then by golly, she’ll get one. I may be many things—some of which aren’t so great—but one thing I’m not is a doormat.
Her face turns bright red. “Fine,” she grumbles and then flings her hand. “You can go on back.”
I can’t resist giving her a mocking bow. “Why thank you, Your Majesty.”
Fire flashes from her eyes as I stroll past her and make my way to the back where Bela’s office is located.
The door is open. I pause and rap my knuckles against it.
Bela looks up from her desk, eyes widening. “Owen, what’re you doing here?”
That seems to be the running question of the day. I squelch the irritation that climbs up my throat. “Can’t I swing by to talk to my best friend’s wife?”
“Of course,” she says smoothly. “I just assumed you’d go straight to the house to see Rhett.”
I immediately relax, reminding myself not to let Jess’s causticness get to me. “I’m headed there next.” I motion to a chair facing Bela’s desk. “May I?”
“Sure.” She closes her laptop and sits up taller in her seat.
I give her what I hope to be a friendly smile. “How ya doing?”
“I’m good,” she says casually, but I can tell from her impatient vibe that she’s ready for me to get to the point.
Bela and I didn’t start out seeing eye-to-eye, but we get along just fine now. It helps to know that Rhett is happier with Bela than I’ve ever seen him. Granted, there’s still a part of me that resents her for taking away my best friend, but that’s something I’ll eventually have to come to terms with.
“What’s up?” she prompts.
I moisten my lips, my pulse ratcheting up several notches. I’ve rehearsed this conversation multiple times in my brain. Let’s hope it goes as well in reality as I imagined. I cross my legs and shift around in the hard seat, trying to get comfortable. “What’s Ari up to these days?” My nervous jitters come out through my fingers that drum a fast beat against my jeans.
Her eyes go baseball-round before they narrow. “Since when are you concerned about my little sister?”
I clench my hands as a hoarse laugh leaves my throat. “Ari and I got to know one another in Italy last year during the wedding.”
She leans forward and rests her elbows on the desk. “What’s going on, Owen? The truth.”
My throat goes sandpaper dry as I swallow. Bela’s a straight-shooter. It’s better to just come out with it. “I need a date for the retreat at Rosalind’s island.” I feel like such a loser right now, having to practically beg for a date.
She quirks a face. “What happened to Trista Weatherby?”
My jaw drops. “You knew about that?”
She waves a hand like it’s no big deal. “Rhett mentioned something about it.”
The sting of betrayal hits me in full force. “Does Rhett blab everything to you?”
“Just the good stuff,” she fires back with a superior grin.
“Ha ha,” I say dryly. It’s not hard to see why Rhett fell so hard and fast for Bela. She’s a beauty with her olive-toned skin, big brown eyes, and long, curly hair. And she’s witty. I’ve got to give her that. Arianna, or Ari as everyone calls her, is just as beautiful as Bela—maybe even more so with her wide, expressive eyes and exotic features owed to her being half Italian, with high cheekbones, full lips, and an incredible body. The instant Trista told me she couldn’t go to the island, I knew at once who I should ask.
I jerk slightly when I realize that Bela is studying me with perceptive eyes. “What?”
“So Trista dumped you,” she muses in an amused tone.
My voice pitches high. “She didn’t dump me. She got called away to a photo shoot in Morocco. Just my luck,” I mutter.
Bela tips her head, a sly grin overtaking her lips. “You know, Owen, one of these days, you’re gonna have to take a good look in the mirror and come to the realization that the majority of your troubles stem from your bad decisions rather than rotten luck.”
I roll my eyes. “Spare me the lecture.” Just what I need—someone to kick me when I’m down.
She doesn’t skip a beat. “Why Ari?”
“Because she’s a good screenwriter,” I bluster. Land sakes! Bela missed her calling as an interrogator.
Bela lifts an eyebrow. “And you know that how?”
Here’s where it gets sticky. “We spent some time together in Italy.” I ping her with a gotcha look. “Don’t you remember? You put us together at your nonna’s house that night of the family dinner.”
“I remember,” she snips and then lifts her chin. “I also remember that you had zero interest in talking to Ari about screenwriting because you were too busy salivating after Jojo.”
“Salivating?” I balk. “I’m not a dog.”
Amusement touches her expression.
A fog of melancholy crowds me as I think about that dark time. I would’ve given anything to have gotten Jojo back, but that moron Sergio with his flashy red Ferrari and charming accent stole her away.
“When did you and Ari have time to talk?” she presses.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell Bela that her sister and I did a lot more than talk, but I refrain. I need Bela on my side. It’s better to tell the truth—as much of it as I dare. How can I put this delicately? “As you know, when Jojo chose Sergio … well, I was in a bad place.”
She nods in acknowledgment.
“Ari was there for me. We spent several days together. She showed me the sights and helped cheer me up.” I shrug my shoulders, keeping my voice nonchalant. “During the course of which, Ari showed me some of her work.” There. That was mostly the truth. Leaving out the part where we made out a few times. I don’t dare mention that I promised Ari I’d call her when we got back to the states, but I never did.
She purses her lips in thought. “So you want to take Ari with you to the island because she shares your love for screenwriting?”
“Exactly.” A smile stretches over my lips as I raise my hands in the air. That was easier than I thought.
“Uh, huh,” she harrumphs.
I scrunch my face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Taunting laughter glimmers in her eyes. “So, this has nothing to do with the fact that Rosalind Brownlow has been chasing you for years?”
“I’m gonna deck Rhett when I see him,” I mutter. Why does he have to blab everything to his wife?
Bela’s laughter cuts me off short. “Hold your thunder and lightning for the cage, slugger.” She flashes a wicked grin. “You’re gonna need it.”
I don’t dare admit that she’s probably right.
She sits back in her seat, looking thoughtful. “Well, if you’re trying to take someone who can hold her own with Rosalind, then Ari is certainly the right one.”
“I know,” I fire back, feeling vindicated.
She uncrosses her arms and wags her finger as she talks. “Which begs the question—why are you here talking to me instead of Ari?”
Heat climbs up my neck as I tug at my t-shirt. How do I navigate this? What did I role play in my head? Ugh! Nothing is coming. My mind is as blank as a new sheet of paper right now. Not good. “Well, Ari and I haven’t talked since Italy.”
“Really?”
The tone in her voice shoots through me like a dart. “Yeah,” I say offhandedly, “I thought it might be better to talk to you first … you know, test the waters and see if you’re okay with me inviting her.” I throw Bela what I hope will come across as a benevolent smile. “Seeing as how you’re her sister. I don’t want any awkwardness between us since you’re married to my best friend.” The corners of my lips turn down when Bela breaks into laughter.
“What?”
“That’s a load of crap.”
“It is?” I croak. Am I that transparent? Evidently.
She takes in a breath. “Yeah.” Her laughter dries up as she dabs at her eyes. “I know about you and Ari.” Her words cut me like a laser. “And I also know that you promised to contact her when y’all got back home, but you never did.”
“Did Ari tell you that?” I bluster.
“She did.”
Regret clutches me in a tight hold. “Like I said, I was in a bad place. If I could do it over again …”
“You’d do exactly the same thing,” a spiteful voice from behind asserts.
I whip around to see Jess leaning against the doorframe. A hot anger flashes over me. “Do you always eavesdrop?”
“Only when I know that you’ll be feeding my boss a bucket full of boloney.”
Any residual sentimental feelings I had for Jess vanish in an instant. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”
“Keeping Ari safe from the likes of you is my business.”
My voice goes flint hard. “Need I remind you that you broke up with me?”
Her nostrils flare. “You know you were gonna dump me,” she seethes. “I just beat you to the punch.”
I can’t argue with her there, so I just roll my eyes. My tone goes musing as I motion to the skating rink on her finger. “Tell me, Jess. What would your fiancé think if he knew you were still hung up on your old flame?”
Her face turns purple. “I hate you.”
“You know the old saying. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin.”
“You’re just a running cliché,” she harrumphs. “No wonder your screenwriting career never took off.”
Ouch! Talk about hitting below the belt. I never should’ve confided my hopes and dreams to Jess. I had no idea she’d weaponize them.
“Enough,” Bela cuts in with the firm voice of a mediator. “I’ve got this,” she says to Jess. “You should probably get back to running the restaurant.”
Jess opens her mouth to speak and then closes it. “Fine,” she spits, “but I hope you’ll do right by Ari.”
“Always,” Bela states with conviction.
Jess shoots me a blistering look before stomping out.
I turn back around to face Bela. “Well, that was interesting.” A heavy coat of defeat settles over me. “So much for asking Ari to go with me to the island, huh?”
“Ari’s a big girl. She can certainly handle the likes of you.”
Not what I expected. “Does this mean you’re okay with me asking her?”
Bela flicks her wrist. “Ask away.”
Eagerness thrums inside me. “Okay. I will.”
She holds up a finger. “Not so fast. If you want my blessing, then I need your assurance that you’ll use this opportunity to help Ari make connections for her career.”
“Of course.”
Bela purses her lips. “This could work out well.”
“I think so.”
She gives me a pointed look. “Ari might just be one of the few women on earth who’s not affected by your charm.”
The comment takes the wind out of my sails. “Huh?”
Her eyes shimmer with some emotion that I can’t read.
“Did you really think that Ari has been sitting around pining away for you all this time?”
I didn’t realize it until this moment, but I suppose I did. “When you said Ari told you I hadn’t called her after Italy, I just assumed that meant she was upset.”
“No sir,” Bela chuckles. “In fact, Ari never expected you to call.”
“She didn’t?” What am I supposed to make of that?
“No.” She tips her head, her voice light. “She did say that y’all had fun together.”
“You bet we did,” I assert, like I’m on trial and trying to defend myself.
“She said you were a way to pass the time.” She throws me an apologetic look. “Sorry, was that too straightforward?”
“No,” I reply automatically. Why am I suddenly feeling dejected? I feel so … used.
Bela thrusts out her lower lip. “Don’t look so crestfallen,” she coos, “with that droopy, puppy-dog mouth.”
I snap my mouth back into place. “I’m not crestfallen.” I throw her a hard look, daring her to disagree. I think back to my time with Ari. She was amazing. I wanted to call her when I got home. Truly. But then my demons rose to the surface, and I talked myself out of it. Now I’m glad I didn’t call. Otherwise, I would’ve come across as a lovesick idiot. I actually thought Ari and I had a connection. We share a love of writing. Ari is well-read. Conversation with her is stimulating, which is dang refreshing. She’s the full package. And we bonded. I wondered if that’s why her face flashed through my mind the instant I realized Trista couldn’t go. The joke’s on me.
Bela cuts into my thoughts. “One thing you need to know is that Ari has a close friend whom she’s been seeing.”
My heart drops. “A boyfriend?” This is bad news. Very bad news.
She holds out her hand with stiff fingers and teeters it from side to side like a plate balancing on a ledge. “Sort of. I get the feeling that the guy is more into Ari than she’s into him.” She shrugs. “But I could be wrong.”
I’m taken off guard by the hot shard of jealousy that stabs through me. “Who is this guy?” An unreasonable urge surges through me. I want to track him down and beat the living daylights out of him.
“Braden Giles,” she chatters with gushing admiration. “He’s a doctor and lives in Birmingham. His family comes from old Southern money.”
I bunch my brows. “Oh.” It no longer matters that I’m worth a small fortune. I’m suddenly thrust back to being the poor kid from Pascagoula. The one with the alcoholic father and the crazy mother.
Bela’s voice lifts with a bubbling brightness. “In fact, Ari is visiting him now. She went to attend a special event held in Braden’s honor. He’s getting an award. Family practitioner of the year.”
“When’s the event?”
“This weekend.”
My stomach tightens. “So much for Ari going with me,” I say glumly. No wonder Bela was willing to give me “her blessing.” She knew all along that Ari was unavailable. “I don’t want to come between Ari and the doc.” My throat goes sour with the knowledge that I’d like nothing more at the moment than to steal Ari away from the doc. I’ve never met the man, but I’m sure he’s a putz. I’m still reeling from the knowledge that Ari relegated me as a way to pass the time. Wow. That’s harsh! Ari is incredibly beautiful and smart. It’s no surprise that some doctor with a long pedigree of Southern royalty is trying to woo her.
Bela shrugs. “Well, you could always call her and see what happens.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
She pinches her lips together. “No, I don’t think that’ll work. Ari will turn you down flat.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say dryly.
She gives me a censuring look. “What did you expect? You never called.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “I’m a louse.”
Bela giggles. “You’re certainly a pouter.”
“Am not,” I sulk.
She shakes her head, grinning. “You like my sister,” she taunts. “A lot.”
My eyes fly open wide. “Huh?”
“You do.” A coy smile wraps her lips. “Owen Calhoun has finally met his match.”
“I just need a date for the retreat,” I mumble.
“Sure you do,” she winks.
Exasperation prickles over me like sharp fingernails attacking my skin. “Are you enjoying having fun at my expense?”
“Immensely,” she chimes and then immediately turns serious. “At this point, there’s only one way that you will ever stand a chance of persuading Ari to go with you.”
I straighten in my seat, ready to do whatever it takes. “I’m listening.”
