The next two weeks with Alistair in South America are as grueling as the first two I spent with him. The days are packed with meetings and heavy negotiations. Our saving grace is Alistair’s private jet. Traveling in such luxury makes a hectic trip easier to handle. It doesn’t hurt either his personal assistant booked the best suites in five-star hotels.

By the time Alistair and I are back at his Puerto Rican office, briefing his team after two exhausting weeks of business negotiations, I’m spent and ready to go home.

To thank me for my hard work, he booked a full day of spa treatments at one of the top spots on the island.

I’m sitting by the pool after a much-needed massage, body scrub, and facial, flipping through the pages of a fashion magazine when my escort-gig-only phone rings.

I grab it from the table where it’s resting.

Holy shit!

Just before the call goes to voicemail, I shake out of my stupor and answer.

“Bryce?!”

“I know it’s been a while—a really long fucking while. But I didn’t want to call you until I was no longer swimming in a pool of feces.”

What a disturbing visual.

“What happened?”

From the headlines, Bryce’s company is still on shaky legs.

“You’re not going to believe this, Sofia!”

He sounds… elated?!

The tide is turning for Bryce?

God, please, make it happen.

“Harry Wheeler is a fraud! We caught him red-handed in his clever scam.”

“He was scamming you on top of extorting you?”

“No. He’s a scam artist.”

“He didn’t sleep with Derek?”

“He did.”

Thanks for not listening, God. “So, Derek’s appalling actions are still a stain on your company.”

“It’s no longer a crime for homosexuals to have sex in our country—”

“But it’s a crime to have sex with a child or teenager.”

“Here’s where the plot thickens.” I furrow my eyebrows. “Harry isn’t who he pretends to be. He’s not a teenager.”

“He’s not?”

“Nope.”

“Whoa.”

“I knew something was fishy. Some teenagers are eloquent, but it isn’t the norm. Harry was too much of a smooth talker––like a well-trained child actor.”

“No way?”