Page 18 of On the Beat

“So, what are you going to do today?” Paulo says, addressing Ryder. “There’s some good surfing around here if you want to take lessons.”

If I didn’t know better, looking at Ryder would make me think he’s a California transplant who grew up on the beach, with ocean-blue eyes and a carefree, wind-blown demeanour. But, I do know better. He’s from Kentucky, and probably the spawn of the devil himself.

“I think I’ll just hole up somewhere and work on my music.” Ryder scratches the back of his neck. “I intended this to be more of a creative retreat than anything else.”

“And here, I thought you were running away.”

The pop star’s head snaps toward me. “Excuse me?”

“I said, and here I thought you were running away,” I say, as though some sudden boldness has possessed me to antagonize the one person—well, the one person besides Jane—who could make or break my career. When will I get a chance like this again?

Ryder looks me straight in the eye. “How much do you want?”

“Excuseme?” Does he know that I’m here for him? To write a newsworthy expose on him?

“How much do you want me to pay you for you to go away, Isla?” he says.

Paulo clears his throat. “Stop fighting. You’re my cousin, and you’re my friend. I demand the two of you have a truce.”

“I would love to have a truce with him,” I say, smiling a smile that feels brighter than the sunlight radiating through the windows and exacerbating my headache. “Too bad that ship sailed when he couldn’t keep his hands off of my property.” I turn to Ryder. “I’m not taking your money.”

My job is worth more than any cheque he could write me.

“Too bad, because I’m giving it to you. How much do you want, Isla?” Ryder taps his fingers against the table with each word.

Paulo starts to walk toward us. “Guys, I mean it.”

“Paulo, you’re my best friend,” says Ryder, “but she invaded my privacy. She’s your cousin, not mine.”

“I’m sorry!” The words fall from my lips. They admit guilt, but all I’ve felt since I got here is guilty. Guilty for invading his vacation, guilty for getting between him and Paulo, maybe even guilty for the job I’m asked to do. Guilt gnaws at me, eating every ounce of pride I brought. “I’m sorry I invaded your privacy, but I don’t think it was–it was just a camera.”

“It was way more than a camera, and you know it.”

Paulo throws his hands in the air. “Why do I even bother?”

“You may be able to impress everyone else in your life with your fame and money, but I’m not one of them. I’m staying. We have an agreement, and I thought you were the type of guy who kept your promises.”

He scoffs, tall enough that he’s eye-level with me despite sitting down. I must have hit a nerve—or maybe my daggered words hit bone—because a fire flashes in his blue eyes that I haven’t seen before. “You know nothing about me, my promises, or what I do with my money.”

I think I know too much and too little, from what the news andMuse Unmaskedhave said. But I don’t say any of that, not about to ruin my career chances anymore. “You’re right. I don’t. But this is my family’s house, and I’m staying here. You can leave if you want, but I am not goinganywhere.”

“I’m not running away,” he says, and for some reason, I think he’s trying to convince himself more than me, not talking about running away from the beach house but from something else, some demon plaguing him that I can’t see or comprehend. “I paid to be here, like I said, and it’s only a matter of time before I find your price, Isla Romero. And when I do, you’re going to take it, and leave.”

I tear off another chunk of my pandesal. “You’re going to regret threatening me. Just because you’re a celebrity doesn’t mean you can push people around.”

His eyebrows rise. “You’re being a bit dramatic. Maybeyoushould be the celebrity. Have you tried acting? What are youreallyhere for? Don’t tell me it’s about family. Are you even a journalist, or are you one of Naoya Sugawa’s spies? Is that why you were filming me?”

My mouth drops open. Yes, I knew about Ryder Black’s feud with Naoya Sugawa—you can’t live in Hollywood and miss it—but I always assumed it was exaggerated for the cameras. Not as deeply embedded as the roots of a thousand-year-old oak tree. “I told you that I’m here to spend time with my family. You’re the one who keeps pushing me to leave like a paranoid, crazy person.”

Paulo’s eyes flash with irritation. “The two of you aren’t kicking the other out. If you’re going to stay here, don’t do it as immature brats.”

With that, he walks out of the kitchen.

Ryder snorts, ignoring his friend. “I’d rather be paranoid than sabotaged.”

There’s more than defensiveness in his eyes. Genuine hurt—genuine betrayal—and authentic pain lies in his expression. I can relate to that all too well, yet I can’t keep my curiosity from burning within me as much as the empathy wells up.

“Is that why no one’s seen you dating anyone in the past three years? Since you broke up with Skye Holland?” I add.

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