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petitions for leniency in this
case, but it would expedite the matter if your client admitted to these charges
and revealed the full extent of the involvement of any other of the principals.
We would take his cooperation into consideration during sentencing.”
    The Ferris & Hale seniors kept their game faces
on, but Obray, my lead, snickered openly. That was what I liked about the man.
Even-tempered to the point of seeming bland most of the time, Obray still loved
the fight. Put him in a corner, and out came the teeth.
    Shaking his head of salt-and-pepper hair, Obray used
a red pen to slash through long paragraphs in the indictment while the
prosecutors watched with sour frowns. “These…you have no hope in hell of
proving.” Three or four more paragraphs, over several pages, got red circles
around them. “These you might get lucky with, on the right day and with the
right judge, so let’s take a break and then we can discuss.” From the pinched
looks on the faces of the ministry men, I suspected his bemused tone had them
seeing more red than the ink.
    The attorneys all around the table rose amid the low
din of dissatisfied mutters and chair legs grating along the floor. While
others stretched and grabbed coffee cups and filtered out of the room, I
remained seated, gazing out the windows beyond the table at the Brazilian blue
sky.
    “Not coming, Adrian?” Obray asked, his hand on my shoulder. He knew we were both playing roles, that he wasn’t
that amused and I wasn’t this calm. I had a lot to lose, and it weighed
heaviest on me in the quiet moments.
    “No, some time to myself would be good,” I assured him. “And we both know you don’t want me talking to
those reporters out there.”
    He inclined his head. “True. I’ll be back in a few
minutes.”
    The negotiations only really began when I sat alone in the room—considering the deals I
would have to make with myself. The prosecutors wanted fifteen years of my
life, a nine-figure fine, and Ilha de Flor. What was my counteroffer? I rubbed
my hand against my rough chin and asked myself what I was willing to lose to
keep the island safe. To provide for Manuela and Luiz, the closest thing I had
to relations these days, even if the boy did consider me the devil incarnate.
Gabriel, my project manager… He’d be fine without me, but a phone call or two
might have helped him find a new job. I tried not to ponder what it said about
me that I had to count staff as family. But, really, who wouldn’t have wanted a
sharp-witted, strong-tongued beauty like Manuela as their grandmother? Surely,
no one could blame me for thinking of the woman as my avό …or
even a mother.
    There had to be a way to make sure Manuela stayed on
at the resort. Were I to sell the development, I
could’ve included a clause in the contract requiring the new owner to keep her
on staff. Yes, the prosecutors might have let me do that in lieu of taking the
value of the resort into consideration when they confiscated the island. Either
way, I was sure, I was losing my tropical haven.
    Suddenly so weary that I hardly felt myself move, I
rose from my chair and wandered over to the broad bank of windows. The district
buildings blocked my view, but I knew I was facing the ocean. Past the office
buildings and the resort hotels and the beach, out there in the water, she
waited for me, the island. My ilha and memories of Chloe.
    I came up short of breath as the first throb of a
headache pounded against my temples. There’d been times over the last couple of
days when I had completely blocked dear Miss Bloom out of my thoughts, but
there was a price to pay. When she did come to mind, it was always in an
overwhelming surge of smells and sensations…and regrets.
    Funny, it was easier—it ached less—to face the
humiliation of losing my resort, my island, even my freedom than to relive
those sixteen days in March when Chloe Bloom had been my submissive and my
biggest problem was getting her to open up