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In other words, after Parker was assured Riley ended things with Corinne? That controlling prick bribed her ex to break up with her? Not that I put it past Parker to throw his cash around, but holy fuck. Riley took the buyout and walked away from Corinne? It sure looks that way.
But the bigger question is why the son of a bitch has suddenly returned, offering her cash…
“What’s his bank balance?” I bark at Owen.
“About three thousand bucks. He’s got a 401k that’s tanking and a modest savings account his grandfather left him. With his car and the apartment he bought in New York, he’s probably worth a hundred grand.”
So where the fuck is Riley coming up with the five million to lend Corinne?
There’s only one answer that makes sense.
If Parker was able to pay Riley to go away, he could just as easily bribe the schmuck to come back. They’re both taking advantage of Corinne’s tender heart and lingering feelings in different ways.
I stand, figuring out how quickly I can shower, sober up enough to get in my car, and race across the island to find her—wherever she is. She deserves to know she’s being deceived by two assholes who claim to love her.
Then I remember she thinks it’s “sensible” if we’re no longer together. She doesn’t want me to care about her anymore.
“Do you know where he’s staying?” I can’t stop myself from asking, even if there’s no point because I can’t beat down his door and pound in his face—though I’d love to.
“Stephens? Same hotel as Parker Emerson.” He rattles off the name of a ritzy resort on the beach.
“Isn’t that a coincidence?”
Owen snorts. “Since Emerson is paying for both rooms? No.”
“How fucking like Parker.” I thought all along that Riley’s reason for being on the island made no sense, and I was right.
My heart might be broken, but my bullshit meter is still working.
“I’m guessing he brought in the ex to break you two up.”
That’s my read. I’m fucking pissed that it worked. Which brings me back to what I do with the information Owen just laid in my lap.
If I tried to tell Corinne, would she even listen?
“Do you have proof?”
Owen scoffs. “What do you think? I’m a professional. I would never call with this information if I couldn’t back it up.”
Hope, that ever-optimistic bastard, rekindles inside me. My inner cynic smothers it. Corinne doesn’t want me or the carnival ride I’ve made of her life. But I love that goddamn woman. If I can keep her from stepping into her brother’s trap and hooking up—or god forbid, settling down—with his puppet, I’ll at least have done what I can to make sure she has a happy future.
“Send it to me.”
“Already in your inbox. Anything else?”
I don’t think so, but… “Be on standby, just in case.”
“You got it. By the way, as a bonus for being a repeat customer, I’ve got another tidbit for you. Parker hooked up—and cheated on his girlfriend—with that gorgeous blonde from the big-screen rompy romcoms.” He rattles off the name of a famous actress most every heterosexual guy I know would like to bang. “She told her assistant and a few close friends he’s a lousy lay.”
That makes me laugh, mostly because it fits. Before Hadley’s grand exit, she admitted that, as a lover, Parker was a selfish douche who didn’t ring her bell. Funny that some things never change.
“Do I want to know how you found that out?”
“You don’t. Just be grateful.” Owen laughs. “Call me if you need me.”
After we hang up, I sprawl back on the sofa, bouncing my phone on my knee and wondering what the fuck I do with all this information.
With a sigh, I open my emails, take screen shots of the information Owen collected that prove every assertion, and paste the information into a text to Corinne. At worst, she’ll ignore me. At best… No, I can’t dive headfirst into some stupid fantasy where she comes back, throws her arms around me, and tells me she loves me. I’ll drive myself crazy.
I hit the send button. Nothing happens. No delivery confirmation. No indication she’s read my message. No reply. Minutes tick by. Nothing changes.
I can only come to one conclusion: Corinne blocked me.
What the fuck? Did Riley put her up to that, another stipulation before he supposedly loans her the cash? Or did she decide she needs me out of her life forever?
Yeah, that makes the most sense, and I have to stop trying to rationalize ways in which the last twelve hours haven’t been about her cutting me loose.
Son of a bitch.
I reach for the last quarter of the whiskey bottle. “Why the fuck not? Hair of the dog and all that. Bottoms up.”
Grimacing the whole way, I chug the rest. I haven’t had anything to eat since last night, so the booze crashes into my empty stomach. The buzz lights me up fast. The pain of her departure dulls over again, but it’s still there like a nagging toothache.
