Page 21 of On the Beat

“Bye,” I say to the dial tone.

I lean against the wall, wondering how I’m supposed to get her the scoop she so obviously wants from me when Ryder is already on guard. Slumping against the cool teak, I slide down to the floor, stretching out my legs and staring at the skylight. Nothing but pristine blue sky stares back.

Footsteps creak on the stairs and I scramble to get back into an upright position.

“What are you doing here?” Ryder says as he scans me. His gaze seems determined to find anything I’m keeping from him. And I do meananything.

I open whatever app is nearest to my thumb. “It’s none of your business where I… play Candy Crush. Did you know they only made two thousand levels of this game?”

“You’re in a beach house in one of the most beautiful destinations in the world and you want to play Candy Crush?” Ryder shakes his head.

He glances at my phone screen where it becomes clearly evident that I’m not playing Candy Crush. Instead, I seem to have opened my banking app, so he can see the scanty sum of money in my account. Great.

To distract him from this obvious fact, I tuck my phone back into the pocket of my jean shorts. “Candy Crush is just such athrillinggame.”

“Yes, if you’re fifty-five and retired,” he mutters.

“Why are you here?”

He gestures vaguely toward our location. “In this stairwell?”

“Uh… yes.”

“Didn’t realize you were charging a toll to pass.”

I try to slow my anxious heart. At least he doesn’t suspect me of doing something more nefarious than paying bills or something. “I’ll take your silence as payment.”

“I just wanted to get to my room. Is that something I have to get your permission for?” He tilts his head to one side, his blue gaze uncannily piercing. “Or, should I say, youreditor?”

“What?” Did he overhear my phone conversation? If so, how much? “Were you listening to me?”

“Actually, I was making an educated guess. Your response merely confirmed my suspicions.” He brushes past me to breeze up the stairs. “Like I said before, Isla. If word of my stay gets out… Well, you’ll definitely regret it.”

I suppress a shudder as I walk downstairs.

* * *

“Paulo, I am desperate for your familial advice,” I say as I walk into the living room where a basketball game is on is on. I watch as a player dunks the ball, slamming it through the hoop. “Please, give me your wise counsel.”

I’m not sure yet what kind of guy my cousin is or if he would respond well to overblown flattery. Then again, if he’s anything like my brothers, he should.

He looks up from the game, putting it on mute. “What’s up, Isla?”

“Ryder Black hates me.”

“I see why.” He tosses the remote onto the coffee table. Wow. So much for pleading and begging. Both have been absolutely worthless so far.

Still, I sit next to him on the couch and curl my knees to my chest. “Why?”

“You’re calling him Ryder Black.”

Maybe I’m the slowest person in the world, but I don’t get it. “So he hates his last name?”

“No. You’re referring to him as Ryder Black like he’s a celebrity, or a thing, or a piece of art on display in a museum. He’s a person, Isla. Treat him that way.”

“Heis–” I cut myself off. Where do I go from here? “How do you suggest I do that?”

He shrugs. “Stop tiptoeing around him. Stop taking pictures of him.”

---