Page 82 of The Romance Adventure

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I have exciting news. Do you want the good news or the good news first?”

The van stops on the road nearest me. The driver looks vaguely familiar. Even though Royal has been handling the contractor and workers, there has been so much activity this past week, it’s hard to keep track of who’s who. The door slides open as I turn my attention back to the pearl in my palm and the conversation with my beau on the phone.

“I’m not sure any of this news is good, Isla,” he says.

Before I can ask what he means, footsteps pound my way.

I struggle to breathe as a clammy hand suddenly covers my mouth. Everything goes dark as a potato sack covers my head, at least that’s what it smells like. My phone slips to the ground along with the pearl.

“Double-crossing me was your first mistake, Isla. That little article online about the work you’re doing here was your last,” the guy says.

Only, it’s Dax’s distinct voice that comes muffled as I struggle to get free from him and his thugs.

I say, “No, trusting you was my first mistake, Dax,” but the words are muted and garbled.

I kick and struggle to get away, but it’s no use. My breath rushes in my ears and my pulse pounds against my bones. Tears prick my eyes as I’m tossed into the van.

Royal

CHAPTER 20

Isla doesn’t respond. She must’ve forgotten to charge her phone as usual, and it died. She plays music on it constantly, draining the battery.

More than anything, I want to be mad at her for deceiving me, but then I think about her singing and dancing—to her own drummer and radio classics alike. Not going to lie, it’s adorable.

I’m about to click off my device and go talk to her in person when I hear a shuffling sound followed by someone that isn’t Isla. Maybe her phone didn’t die. Did she drop it? I listen carefully for a moment and it’s a jumble of shifting cotton and muted voices. One is distinctly male with a slight accent. The other sounds like Isla.

It’s hard to understand what she says.

Oh, busting goo bratwurst beefsteak wax.

I frown. That can’t be right. It’s not even lunchtime and she’s not big on meat products.

“Isla, I’m still here. We need to talk,” I repeat.

Then the line goes silent. A tingle runs through me.

Was she talking to me? Someone else? Once again, I try to figure out what she said.

Yo, busting boo buzz lie worst milkshake, Jack.

Maybe Jack is visiting. But he would’ve gotten in touch with me too, especially after I thanked him with three dozen pizzas delivered to his workplace after the blind date. The guy hates pizza, which calls into question our friendship, but I digress.

“Also, Isla calls him Jackie,” I mutter.

Dough dusting foods thirst cake, tax.

I must be getting hungry for lunch.

The tingle inside quickens and my pulse picks up as questions race through my mind as I stride to the BMW. I should’ve met Isla in person to tell her it’s over. That I know about her and Dax.

I swing by Beans & Books. Isla’s sister helps a customer ahead of me in line while Nutmeg, the bookstore cat, stares daggers at me.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Are you talking to my cat?” Bean asks.

“Sorry. My mind is elsewhere.”