Page 191 of One Bossy Disaster

“What the hell?” I whisper.

Shepherd strides around the house like he’s on a mission, filling his water bottle now, so he doesn’t notice.

Destiny, don’t go. Don’t go anywhere with him.

My heart stalls.

I read it three times.

That’s all it says.

Two stark sentences that come out of nowhere and say so much without telling me anything at all.

I’m not sure what to think.

For one, she shouldn’tknowwe’re spending time together, though she didn’t mention any specifics. It could just be an assumption.

Still, this feeling of wrongness catches at the base of my throat, making it hard to breathe.

What do you mean?I message back.

For all I know, it’s another cruel mind game. And seeing the dynamic at our meeting, probably some scheme her mother put her up to.

I wonder how much she agrees with Adriana, though.

No, I don’t know her. It’s not like we were ever more than distant frenemies before this craziness blew up.

But when wehavemessaged before, she’d usually reply pretty fast, thanks to being the terminally online type. She’s always on her phone, checking her socials and analytics, never missing the slightest chance to promote herself or jump on a fresh subject with viral potential.

The minutes tick by and my message stays unseen.

Huh.

She’s probably just messing with my head, trying to shake me up with this creepy-ass vague warning.

But I’m not letting this wreck what might be my last time with Shepherd Foster.

“Dess?” he calls loudly from the kitchen, almost like he can read my mind. “Everything okay?”

I stare at my phone for a few more seconds while Molly flattens herself on the ground. Nothing but more notifications rolling in.

“I’m good,” I call back, wrapping Molly’s leash more firmly around my hand.

When he emerges and heads for the back door, I join him.

We walk down the sun-soaked path to the pier together with Molly weaving between us, her head up and her eyes bright.

“This is her first time on a big boat that’s not a ferry,” I explain.

“We’ll see if she’s impressed,” he says. “I suspect fancy yachts don’t do much for Lancaster girls.”

I roll my eyes but laugh anyway.

His yacht is actually perfectly nice as far as rich guys and their toys go.

I expected nothing less, but as we get closer, I can appreciate just how sleek and modern it is, pretty but functional instead of grossly flashy like some others I’ve been on.

It’s a tall beast with white sides and massive black windows. A few cozy lounge chairs are perched in the front for soaking up the sun, and each cabin below is equipped with its own floor-to-ceiling windows.

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