Free This Year's Black by Avery Flynn

their sophomore year in prep school. “I’m sure you can.”
    Dominga’s eyes narrowed. “You’re Devin Harris. She said George would send his lackey for the money. Stay here. Aunt Sarah left you a note.”
    A bird could have pooped on his head and he wouldn’t have been as surprised. Mouth gaping, he watched Dominga disappear behind a door marked Employees Only .
    “This just feels wrong on so many levels.” Ryder sidled up to him.
    “Agreed.” He kept his gaze focused on the door, but his body instantly hardened in some kind of Pavlovian-response to her proximity and her intoxicating scent.
    “What’s really going on here?”
    Now, that was the billion dollar question. “Wish I knew.”
    Dominga sauntered out, handed him a pale pink envelope and, without another word, wandered off toward a pair of older women excitedly discussing a teal teapot in clipped British accents.
    Clearing his throat, he bought time by slowly turning the envelope over. The soft, feminine paper made him as edgy as if he ’ d held a damaged grenade with a loose pin. With care, he picked at the sealed flap, then slid his thumb across the opening until he could pull the note free.
    Ryder scooted in closer, her bare shoulder brushing against him.
    He flipped open the note. Four sentences in blue ink were scrawled across the unlined paper.
    It figures that he’d send you to do his dirty work. You’ll never get the money back. Leave now or you’ll pay the price. The store’s bottom line isn’t worth your life.
    “She’s looking out for us. That’s comforting.” Ryder’s frustrated words brushed against his ear. “You go ahead and take the jet home. I’ll find her and bring her back.”
    “I’m not going anywhere.” A twitch in his left eye—the one that usually announced an oncoming migraine—started in full force. “You may be the investigator, but I’m still running the show.”
    Too bad it felt like the show was running him over. Exhaling a deep breath, he closed his eyes and counted to twenty. “Let ’ s check into our rooms at The Palm Inn. We have an hour before the opening celebration for Andol Fashion Week. It ’ s a traditional affair with costumes. Ours will be waiting at the hotel.”
    He needed to get to the damn hotel, take his migraine medication, and figure out some fucking answers before another curveball hit him between the eyes.
    God, he fucking hated surprises.

Chapter Six
    “It’s pathetic to have regrets about fashion.”
    — Simon LeBon
    Gritting her teeth, Ryder turned sideways and checked herself out in the floor-to-ceiling mirror next to the huge sunken tub in the suite at The Palm Inn that was supposed to have two bedrooms, but instead held only one large bed. By the time they ’ d checked in, all of the other rooms had been taken.
    She couldn’t deny it, her nipples looked like she’d spent the afternoon in the Siberian tundra instead of traipsing from one end of this tiny tropical island to the other. As president of the itty-bitty-titty committee, her idea of a boob support usually meant the little shelf bra in her tank tops, which she had in abundance in twelve shades of black. But the diaphanous, soft yellow sarong didn’t come with a built-in bra, and the feel of the silky material against her sensitive flesh had her headlights flashing. That had to be the reason. The only other explanation was because she’d spent the day with Devin, and she wasn’t willing even to contemplate the implications of that. She still wanted to smack herself for telling him about Heath, but couldn’t deny that the unburdening had left her feeling lighter.
    However, she still wasn’t crazy enough to enjoy this outfit that was in another time zone from her comfort zone. For the billionth time in the past three minutes, she considered refusing to wear the damn thing that tied around her neck like a filmy halter dress. But that would only serve to tip off the fashionable elite gathering in the courtyard