Page 23 of Forking the Billionaire

“I’m going for a walk,” I said.

As I slipped on my sandals and grabbed my keys, I heard her voice follow me.

“Suit yourself.”

I didn’t care what she thought I should do, or if she liked the resort we were staying in. Gabriel wouldn’t have come here for the wedding if Layana wasn’t one hundred percent on board. She was the one who’d suggested it to begin with. His love for her was so clear, I was sure it could be seen from space.

What was that supposed to mean that Gabriel was weird about Esme? She was his sister. He cared about her. He was overprotective, sure. When we were teenagers, he’d sworn to murder any guy who ever touched her. He’d been like one of those sit-in-the-dark-with-a-shotgun dads.

And even if Gabriel’s behavior was over the top when it came to his sister sometimes, what could I possibly have done that would suggest to Jules thatIwas weird about Esme? We hadn’t even been in Calypso Caribella for twenty-four hours yet. Esme and I had hardly spoken to each other.

It was a ridiculous accusation with no basis. Jules watched too much reality TV.

I scrubbed my hands over my face and headed down the hall.

Maybe there was a bar open, or if nothing else, I could jog on the beach. All I knew is I couldn’t be in that room with Jules any more. I needed a break.

I took the stairs down. In the lobby I got a prickling sensation on the back of my neck. I paused, expecting Jules must have followed me and would show up at any moment. But she didn’t. No one did.

It was quiet and peaceful. There was no one behind the reception desk. Only soft, joyful island music played through the speakers.

Then I felt it again, a little ping, like I was getting flicked on the lobe of my ear. I must have heard something, even though I couldn’t say what exactly that something was. Instead of going outside, I was drawn to stay and investigate the lobby further.

And I caught a glimpse of trouble.

A pleasantly round jean-clad ass stuck up in the air, wiggling slightly, as its owner dug her face into one of the lobby’s sofas. Orange hair flapped around on the fabric. Frustrated murmurs escaped from between the cushions.

There was no question in my mind that the woman was Esme.

I approached, expecting her to pop up at any moment, giving some sign of what it was that she was doing. As I got closer, it became apparent that both of her arms were digging around deep between the cushions.

“Did you lose something?” I asked.

“Bah!” Esme flailed upward, but her arms were stuck, so she made it halfway before falling forward once more.

“Are you stuck?” I asked, without masking my amusement.

“No.”

Beneath her wavy locks of hair, her nose wrinkled and her lips flattened like she was about to pitch a fit. It only made me want to antagonize her further.

“You look stuck. Should I call for help, bring in the fire department?”

“I’m…not….” She twisted her body around, pulling and lifting her shoulders until she freed herself. “See?”

She lifted her chin and cast a satisfied smirk in my direction.

“Congratulations,” I said in a flat tone.

She stuck her tongue out at me.

I felt an urge to catch her tongue between my thumb and forefinger, but I didn’t. Instead, I crossed my arms. “You don’t live inside that sofa, do you?”

She snorted. Her dark eyes flared in waves of molten chocolate.

Amusement in my tone, I said, “That’s not a no.”

“I realize this is difficult for your pea brain to comprehend, but as a human, I cannot make a life for myself inside a piece of furniture.”

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