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“I’m not the new owner per say. I just hold half of Adam’s shares now.”
“Look at you. Using your brains and body to make big moves.”
“I wouldn’t say it was my body—”
“Girl, we both know Adam’s not with you just because you’re good at business.” She winks. “Now, even though that man ismysecret husband, I’ll give up the race and concede to you.”
“Thanks.” I snort. Island is just messing around, so I don’t feel threatened or disrespected in the least.
She smiles and nudges me toward one of the stylists. “Go wash your hair and then I’ll come back and shape it.”
As I move out of the chair, the front door of the salon bangs open.
Everyone looks up. A man built like a tank is standing in the doorway. He’s wearing a plain green shirt, dog tags and jeans.
My eyes widen when I recognize him.
Clay?
His sharp blue gaze sweeps through the room and lands on Island with an audible click. From the intensity of his focus and the scowl on his face, I can tell this isn’t a friendly visit.
Island can too because she moves behind the counter with a steely smile on her face. “Can I help you?”
“Island Hayes?” Clay’s voice is as rough as sandpaper. I don’t remember him being so hostile when Adam and I met with him. He was to-the-point and as welcoming as a tar pit, sure, but he wasn’t this… dangerous.
Clay takes a step forward.
Island stops him with a look. “State your business.”
“Let’s talk outside,” Clay growls.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Island says, her voice calm even as her body tenses. “State your business quickly or taste a bullet from the nine-milli that I keep right under this counter for pushy, dictatorial, clunk-butts like you.” She gestures down to the counter where she’s got her hands hidden.
“Dictatorial?”
“You didn’t think I knew big words, did you?”
Clay’s eyebrows relax a bit and then they tighten as if he just remembered something. “This is better discussed in private.”
“Then you should have made an appointment like a gentleman instead of throwing doors open like you’re at a saloon in the Wild, Wild West. Now…” A click sounds. Island’s voice is velvet steel. “This is the last time I’m going to ask you nicely.”
Clay’s fingers curl into fists. Island probably doesn’t know he’s ex-military but, from the way she’s handling herself, I’m not sure which of them would draw their weapons first.
Clay slides his eyes over Island’s body as if measuring her threat level. Then he narrows his eyes. “You sent a social worker over to my house.”
“No, I d—” Island’s expression shifts. She watches him with new eyes. “You’rethat little girl’s dad?”
What little girl?
It hits me in a second.
Wait… did Island send CPS to Clay Bolton’s house?
My stomach twists into knots.
Clay storms into the salon and stops right in front of Island. She’s so shocked that she doesn’t even move.
Leaning in until he’s nose-to-nose with her, Clay’s voice drops to a dark whisper, “If I lose my daughter because of your stupid meddling, then I will make your life a living hell. Consider yourself warned.”
