Page 4 of Return to the Island

“Of course,” I said, smiling falsely.

Branson excused himself after congratulating us and exited our small hole-in-the-wall, boutique office.

“What was that all about?” I snapped, turning on Miller the second the door closed.

“That man wanted to eat you alive. I had goosebumps just watching him salivate over you. A little competition thrown in and he wanted to devour you.”

“He did not,” I squeaked. “Besides, what makes you think you’d be competition compared to him?” I smiled with the tease and Miller’s hand came to his chest as if he was affronted.

“Gasp,” he chuckled. “Her humor returns.” His attention returned to his laptop.

“I don’t think we should accept this,” I said, stepping over to Miller’s desk. He looked up at the concern in my voice but his eyes opened wide.

“Are you crazy? You deserve a break after all you’ve been through. Plus, the donation is for a million dollars.”

My head shot back at the amount. We could use every penny of that money.

“Something feels off about this. Who hosts the event again?”

“Calliope Industry.” The clicking of Miller’s keyboard signaled his immediate internet search. “Newer corporation. Fortune 500 in its first year. Owner was voted one-to-watch in the past year.” Miller slid his laptop so I could see the image of the man behind the generosity. In a dark business suit with a chiseled face and a silver banded wrist watch, the image of a powerful man graced the screen. His green eyes intense. His jaw set. His glare on me. He was unrecognizable and yet every bit the same.

“No,” I whispered. Wrapped around his wrist, butted against the watch, was a green band made of leaves.

“He’s delicious.”

I couldn’t speak.

“What a long-ass name, though. Terrence Jackson Corbin IV. Says his nickname is Tack. He looks like a prick, but Jesus that name makes him sound important.”

I swallowed hard at the thought. He was important. Once. To me.