Page 2 of Mr. Risky

“Well, let’s go! We can drive around in my new Bentley while you’re here, of course. I’m afraid this old thing is going to die.”

“It’s fine,” I tried to say, although my cheeks burned with embarrassment at the way the engine was rattling and wheezing, but she wasn’t even listening.

“I’m so excited to show you what we’ve done with the guesthouse.”

We

I was older now, I was more mature.

I had finally even moved on with someone else.

The mistakes I’d made didn’t define me anymore.

But I was ashamed of my choices, and about what could have happened.

And of ever trusting that charming devil. . .

Two years ago I’d made a huge mistake. And I was about to come face-to-face with it.

“That’s where you’ll be staying, of course,” Pippa chattered on. “The other Sirens have to share quarters in town, but not you.”

Now we were passing the picturesque Oystar Bay downtown, deliberately cultivated to look like an old-fashioned beach getaway, with candy shops, fun houses, and diners, all for the benefit of the tourists.

The locals mostly came from generational wealth, and I drove past all the sprawling manors to the biggest one of all—Hollingsworth House, the driveway already filled with expensive sports cars and luxury SUVs for the first Sirens performance tonight.

“The place looks beautiful,” I said automatically.

Because of course it did. Their home was the jewel of Oystar Bay, a massive blue-and-white mansion, nine bedrooms, a ballroom, acres of jewel-toned lawn, all facing miles of pristine private white and pink beaches.

“My husband and I have been doing some renovations,” Pippa said excitedly, her massive diamond ring glinting in the sun as she pointed at a smaller house set off from the main one, up next to a rocky cliff.

My husband

“That’s where you’ll stay. It used to be servant quarters, but it’s so hard to get them to stay overnight these days that it’s become a guest house.”

“Very nice,” I said, because it seemed like something was expected of me.

“You can park here, behind one of these gardener’s sheds, and I can have one of the servants move it further back, so it’s out of the way. Now come on!”

She took off down the pebbled path, and I hauled my suitcase behind, the heavy thing knocking into my knees as I tried to keep up.

The fresh sea breeze whipped my auburn hair into my face, bringing with it an achingly familiar smell of salt, so potent my mouth watered.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

Because that would be expected, wouldn’t it? To ask how your best friend was doing?

“Work is going well. You know I’m practically running my Grandaddy’s charitable foundation these days. And it’s a lot of work. So many people begging him for money.”

“Oh. . .of course,” I said.

“He just needs to actually give me the job, but of course you know how he is. So stubborn. He thinks just because there’s been some auditors sniffing around the foundation that he needs to be extra careful.”

“Well, I hope you get it,” I said, a little out of of breath from trying to keep up with her.

“Granger and I are trying to have a baby,” she added in a chatty tone.

My heart constricted inside me, seemed to tighten like a fist as the blood rushed to my brain so fast I felt dizzy.