Page 18 of Izzy and Her Off-Limits Love

“I’ll send you a stipend to pick up a few things just to last through the weekend,” Sadie says. “You can go on a little shopping spree on our dime! At least tomorrow is Saturday, so you don’t need work clothes.”

“Yes, but I needsomethingto wear.”

“Could you borrow something from a friend? I assume you have someone to stay with—or do you need help with that too? I could book you a hotel.”

“I can probably stay with Alisa, but …”

Liam touches my shoulder and shakes his head. Somehow, I know he’s silently communicating that I can stay with him. It’s both a wonderful and terrifying prospect. One I can’t argue about when we’re on speakerphone with one of the nosy family members we’ve complained about several times.

Honestly, though … I don’t want to argue.

“Can I just run in and grab a few things?” I ask Sadie. “I promise I’ll be fast.”

“They said absolutely no one can go inside at least through Sunday,” Sadie says firmly. “Some kind of toxic … syndrome. From the fumes.”

Maybe I’m being paranoid, but that sounds made up. I decide to test my theory. “Toxic shock syndrome?” I ask.

“That sounds right.”

“Sadie—that’s the one you can get from tampons!”

“Oh, right. Well, it’s not that butanothersyndrome. Also very toxic. And shocking.”

I’m suddenly aware that now I’ve talked about both underwear and tampons in front of Liam in less than two minutes.Phenomenal.

Sadie’s response further confirms my suspicions, but I don’t want to accuse my aunt of lying. I can’t think of any reason why Sadiewouldlie. Or how she managed to get a fumigation tent here if not for actual fumigating.

Then again, Uncle Benedict is a billionaire. He owns an island. A super yacht. And a hockey team. If anyone could procure a fumigation tent on demand, it’s him. I just don’t getwhy. I’m probably overthinking this.

“I’ll hold my breath. It’ll take two seconds to grab my computer bag. It’s got my laptop and my charger.”

I can see Liam opening his mouth to say something, probably forgetting that we agreed we didn’t want the family to knowwe’re together right now. I only have a split second to react, so I reach out and press a finger to his lips.

The goal was to stop him from talking. In that sense, mission accomplished!

But it doesn’t just shut him up. I’m suddenly speechless, the feel of his soft, firm lips on the pad of my finger. Nerves spark to immediate awareness. Liam, the archivist of copious amounts of random facts, could probably tell me the exact number of nerve endings in a fingertip. I swear, right now, I feel more than seems possible.

My default response tells me to pull away, but without Natasha in the picture anymore, do I really need to?

Liam’s gaze is intense, and I am struck with a sudden urge to rip off his glasses. Not because they look bad—far from it—but because I don’t want anything between us.

“Hello? Izzy?”

I drop my finger from Liam’s lips and fumble with the phone. “Sorry. What?”

“I’ll send you a new charger and some money for clothes. Or I’ll just shop myself and send you new clothes—whatever you want. This is a mess, and it’s my fault for not checking to make sure you heard when the city first called. Just let me take care of this. You have an iPhone, right?”

“You can’t just buy me a new everything,” I protest.

“Actually, yes, I can. There are a limited number of billionaires in the world, and I happen to be married to one. I could probably buy you a whole house and have you moved in by morning.”

I hear a deep grumble in the background, probably Uncle Benedict arguing that buying a new house would be a little extreme. But I also know he’d do whatever she asked, even if that meant investing in real estate because of an unexpected fumigation issue.

One which I still think seems contrived.

Benedict’s voice comes over the line. “I’m sorry about this, Izzy. It wasn’t my idea. Ow!”

Sadie whispers something harshly in the background and must take the phone back because her voice is louder, like she turned off speaker phone. “He means the fumigation wasn’t his idea. It was the inspector’s. Who plans fumigation on a perfectly good Friday night? Anyway. You’re sure you have somewhere safe to stay?”

---