“I want to see the island first. Then you can tell me your basic concept.”

“And Glau’s sketches.”

“Not interested,” he says, and I bite back a smile. I’d been expecting that answer.

“You still need to look,” I say. “Aiden or Damien might want your thoughts.”

I expect another protest, but then he nods. “But not before I see the island. I don’t want anyone else’s vision in my head when I see the raw space. Certainly not Stark’s.”

I shoot him an annoyed glance. “What is it that bugs you so much about him?”

“He’s arrogant, for one thing,” Jackson says.

“So are you.”

The words are undeniably true, but he only smiles. “Maybe. But I’m also not a man who forgets or forgives easily. Especially when someone skirts the law to get what they want.”

I must look confused, because he continues. “Atlanta, Sylvia. He swooped in, bought land out from under everybody, and screwed more people than just me.”

I frown. “Even if that’s true, I don’t believe he did something underhanded. He’ll grab an opportunity, sure, but illegally?”

“You may work for him, but you don’t know him.”

I raise my brows. “But you do?”

“I know enough.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “And I didn’t mean to go off on your boss. Sorry. I just don’t want his ideas in my head when I do my initial walk-through of the site.”

“Okay.” That much I understand. “Okay. Why don’t we go this afternoon? We’ll have a few hours of daylight after the party. I’ll call Rachel and have her notify security we’ll be on the island, and then get her to send Clark and the helicopter to the Malibu house around three.”

“Tell her we’ll be on the island,” Jackson says. “But we don’t need the helicopter.”

“We don’t? Why not?”

“What? Don’t you think I can handle transportation?”

I narrow my eyes. “Unless your secret identity is Aquaman, I sincerely doubt that this car turns into a boat. Or a plane, for that matter.”

“Do you trust me?” He asks the question casually, almost teasingly, but I think I hear an undercurrent of something else. As if we have veered off the topic of transportation and onto something much more serious.

“Yes,” I say, and realize that I mean it. Trust, however, is an elastic thing. And I am not entirely sure how far mine stretches.

I think that he is going to say something more, but before he gets the chance, my phone rings. I grab my purse off the floorboard, rummage around, and answer the call.

“Are you busy?” Cass asks.

“On our way to Damien and Nikki’s for lunch,” I say.

“Our way,” she repeats. “So how did it go?”

“It’s going just fine.” I glance sideways at Jackson, who looks both curious and amused.

“Fine? Really?”

I can’t help my laugh. “Yeah, really. Who would have guessed?”

“How very interesting,” she says with a singsong lilt to her voice.

“Okay, moving on. What do you need, Cass?”

“I got an email from Ollie. He wants to meet on Tuesday to talk about the franchise thing.”

“That’s fabulous.”

“I’m scared shitless. I don’t know what kind of questions to ask. I’m not even sure why I’m doing this anymore. What if I screw everything up? My dad spent his whole life paying off this place—what if I fuck it all up by trying to expand? I can’t—”

“Hey. Deep breaths. Nothing’s going to happen on Tuesday. It’s an informational meeting, right? He’ll talk to you about what you want to accomplish, and you’ll ask every question you can think of.”

“My mind is blank,” she says. “I can’t even remember my own name, how am I supposed to think of intelligent questions?”

Considering Cass has more business savvy in her little finger than most people have in their entire body, I’m not particularly worried. I can tell that she is, though. Totally Tattoo is her entire life, and the fear of losing it is what has kept her shopping at Goodwill, and has filled her savings account to a point that she actually has the capital to consider expanding.

“When’s the appointment?”

“Five. Oh my god, Syl. Can you come with me?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I say, mentally reviewing my calendar. “But I don’t know that my questions will be any more on point than yours.”