Adrift: Haven Island Series

By Isabel Jolie

A delicious hot billionaire romance featuring two polar opposites adrift in a small island town.
 

It's bullshit. I'm innocent. 

And to prove it, I'm surrounded by lawyers and paying them ridiculous sums of money, and the legal eagles have the gall to tell me to be patient.

I'm Gabriel Chesterton, a hedge fund manager with a stellar track record. When my firm asks me to take a paid leave while the SEC twits investigate, I have half a mind to tell them where they can shove it.

But, I'm told this nightmare won't last long. And a vacation calls my name - or rather, one particular online celebrity who happens to live on the island my buddy now calls home. 

 

She's the perfect distraction while my life gets sorted out.

Only, I make a mistake. Because while I'm focusing on the two-dimensional centerfold, her three-dimensional self knocks me on my ass.

That billion-dollar scandal doesn't hold a candle to the demolition the blue-eyed babe wreaks to my well-ordered, disciplined, successful life.

 

Adrift is a steamy billionaire romance between an alpha arrogant male and the woman who challenges his world order. The standalone contemporary romance novel is the second in the Haven Island series, an island where people come to shelter at their life's lowest points, right off the coast of North Carolina.

 

See what readers are saying:

Absolutely great storyline!

This storyline is not like any other that I have read before. It kept me enthralled from start to finish.

The characters are all beautifully written about and interact with each other so well that I almost hated to see the story end. The book has just about everything that a reader could ask for in a good read, laughter, heat, tears, passion, a great storyline, interesting characters, and a beautiful ending. - Donna G.

 

Billionaire Fast Life to Slower Pace Island Life

Loved books insight into different ways hard working people take care of themselves. Find love when you drop your preconceived ideas about a person's career and really get to know them -Samantha CW

 

Great book!

So much to love about this book. I loved Poppy. And the issues addressed in this book. So well done. I choked up quite a few times. Amazing. Can't wait for the next book. -MamaBee

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Isabel Jolie
• Release date: Jun 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781953942173

Isabel Jolie

Isabel Jolie, aka Izzy, lives on a lake, loves dogs of all stripes, and if she’s not working, she can be found reading, often with a glass of wine in hand. In prior lives, Izzie worked in marketing and advertising, in a variety of industries, such as financial services, entertainment, and technology. In this life, she loves daydreaming and writing contemporary romances with strong heroines. Visit her website at www.isabeljoliebooks.com to sign up for her newsletter. If you scroll to the bottom of the page, there's usually a free book offered in exchange for joining her newsletter.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Gabe

Change the channel, quick.

Reed hovered near the monitor, located the control, and flipped to C-SPAN.

What’s going on?

He pressed a single index finger to his lips.

A press conference filled the screen. The U.S. Attorney General, a stout woman in a monotonous black suit, stood behind the podium. The scroll at the bottom reflected stock market fluctuations. All looked normal. Futures positive.

Department of Justice is moving forward with a civil lawsuit.

Any onlooker would’ve thought the Lakers were playing the way my colleague leaned forward, laser-focused on every word.

I scanned email, figuring he’d tell me what was going on in a minute.

The civil lawsuit seeks to seize assets from Cyr Martin that were purchased using stolen money from CROW5. The woman droned on, listing specific asset targets, such as his home, a movie he invested in, and his stake in multiple companies.

Wait… I paused, drawn into the unfolding scene. Why are they zeroing in on Cyr Martin?

Reed remained glued to the screen, arms crossed, his ass planted on the front of my desk.

Cyr invited us to mind-blowing parties. A-list bands, ice sculptures, free flowing alcohol. Gorgeous models, infamous celebrities, reality TV stars, now and then a big actor or two filled the floors. I flew out to Singapore once to attend one of his bashes, and he’d set me up in a hotel suite at the Ritz. He’d checked up on me personally, had an overflowing welcome basket for my arrival filled with champagne, scotch, chocolates, cashews. I tossed the Gucci bedroom slippers after texting Reed to ask if Cyr thought I was gay. I’d suspected the short Asian might be coming on to me and I might have to break it to him I flew on the straight and narrow, but then I discovered every single out-of-town guest received these gift baskets worth thousands of dollars. The overweight, jovial guy hardly screamed criminal. Fantastic host? Yes. Deserving of a Justice Department inquiry? Not so much.

He’d sold me on CROW5, although he didn’t have to sell me hard, because Nigel, our managing director, was hot and heavy on including it in the fund. I didn’t have to include it, of course. My fund, my decision. We got out weeks before shit became public, so I figured no harm, no foul.

The U.S. Attorney General concluded her announcement, and reporters’ hands flew up. Reed tugged on his chin then chewed on his thumbnail.

Dude. What’s up? You pulled all your investments from CROW5 early on, right? I asked, trying to understand his fixation on a civil suit that didn’t involve our firm. The scandal hit months ago; any fall out should’ve hit last quarter. We both knew Cyr, in a business acquaintance kind of way.

Reed worked in private equity, but we’d been friends for years. We liked the same bars, and he lived near me. He ranked as one of a handful of colleagues I’d become personal friends with while working at Belman.

He chewed on his thumb more, thoughtfully, then answered with his question. You know pretty much every single firm lost their shirt on CROW5? But we didn’t.

We were paying attention. Other firms don’t watch the Asian markets as closely as we do. When the Prime Minister of Malaysia sold his shares, we did too.

They start out as civil. It’ll go criminal. He flipped the channel back to CNBC and muted it. We are the only investment firm on Wall Street that profited from CROW5. And we were an underwriter.

Doesn’t mean anything. You know that.

Mark my words. It’s coming here. That investigation. He pointed at the screen. It’s coming here. And Nigel is going down.

Reed’s words landed an oxygen sucking punch. Government investigations never bode well. Our managing director, Nigel Sanford, had been one of Cyr’s closest friends. Ample evidence of the friendship existed in publicity photos, the two in group shots at charity events, and even one or two movie premieres. My assistant, Valerie, read those rags, and she’d always pointed the photos out. Nigel met his current girlfriend, a Victoria’s Secret model, through Cyr. They’d get featured every now and then.

My cell flashed the name Mom. I picked up the vibrating phone and answered as I motioned for Reed to leave my office.

Hey, Mom. She didn’t call often during office hours, and I had two minutes to spare.

Do you have a minute, honey? Her soft-spoken question always made me smile. Dad trained her well. I could rush right off the phone and never fear I’d hurt her feelings.

Just a sec. What’s up?

Adrian Tate’s back. Or he’s returned to the States. I gathered my folders. Reed hovered in my doorway, but I waved him on. Whatever he wanted to say, he needed more than the sixty seconds I had to offer him. I was wondering if you could reach out to Tate. Gregg and Adrian had a falling out. I wouldn’t normally ask, but if Rachel were still alive, she’d be torn apart.

Mom, I don’t really talk to Tate anymore. My childhood best friend had grown up to become a Greenpeace warrior.

He’s your best friend, she pleaded.

I’ve spoken to him a handful of times in the last ten years.

That’s more than he’s spoken to his family. Honey, his mother was my dearest friend. I wouldn’t ask you to get involved, but I feel helpless. And I think about if it was my children and—

Do you have a phone number for him?

No, but he’s staying at his grandmother’s beach house.

In North Carolina? I pulled the phone away from my ear as if by doing so my mother could see me gape. Didn’t Pearl Tate die?

Well, honey, I thought you could fly down there. It’s a nice short flight, right? And you’re always looking for places to fly to.

She wasn’t wrong. Ever since I earned my pilot’s license, I’d been asking friends and family to go for short rides all over the northeast.

Please, honey. I wouldn’t ask but—

I’ll see what I can do.

Oh, honey. Thank—

Gotta run, Mom. I disconnected and paused at my assistant’s desk. Valerie, can you contact the flight club and see if you can get me a Cessna for Saturday morning?

Route where?

Ah, shit. I forgot the airport name. It’s in North Carolina. Southport. I did a quick search on my phone. KSUT. She jotted the letters down, and I headed to an analyst meeting.

Over the next few days, the suit against Cyr Martin wasn’t mentioned within Belman, our Wall Street investment firm. Reed seemed to be the only one aware the Justice Department had announced a civil suit.

Belman didn’t rank as the biggest investment firm, but Wall Street considered us a gold plate staple. The wealthiest in America trusted Belman to guide their investments and to make them money in an unstable world. Some investments in high-risk, volatile countries wouldn’t pan out. Finance 101, international investments were riskier than domestic. But if you knew what you were doing, you could make a shit ton more. Higher risk, higher reward.

Saturday afternoon, I performed a remarkably smooth landing onto black asphalt in the middle of a field. And an hour later I boarded a ferry.

It didn’t take much to get me in a plane. I loved the invigorating feel of navigating small aircraft, especially on a clear day with miles of views. But landing and requiring a car service plus a ferry to get to one’s final destination equaled hassle. But my mother asked, and I’d do it for her. As for my childhood friend, I didn’t know what to expect. It didn’t surprise me he chose to live on an island inaccessible by car.

The loud ferry horn sounded, and a calming breeze cooled, offering a welcome reprieve from the oppressive humidity and August heat. The ferry headed into the inlet, placing the sunset to my back. The salty air filled my lungs, and memories of my teen years surfaced as the island came into view. More homes surrounded the marina than before, and maybe there were a few more along the shore tucked in the trees, but overall, nothing much had changed. The top of the stone lighthouse rose above the green skyline.

Back in the day, I visited every single summer. Nana Pearl let us ride roughshod all over this speck of land couched between the Cape Fear and the Atlantic Ocean. A verifiable kid’s paradise.

An older guy struck up a conversation as the ferry slowed to enter the harbor.

You here for the week?

Nah, just the weekend.

My family has been here all summer. I’ll stay for the next week, then we’re all leaving. School starts back. You got a place here?

No. My buddy does.

You been here before?

Yeah.

We love it here. A woman and two boys leaned over the wooden railing on the dock. The boys waved excitedly, and he grinned, flinging his arm in the air to return their salutation.

Have a good one, I told the man then stood in line to unload.

After unloading, it didn’t take me long to spot my childhood friend. Tate stood outside the unloading area, arms crossed. He had longish hair pulled back in a short man bun, a deep tan, and wore a faded, ripped t-shirt, old khaki shorts frayed on the ends, and flip-flops. If I’d run into him on a city street, I might’ve assumed he was homeless. He hadn’t aged a fucking day. His familiar grin had me smiling back like no time had passed.

A crack of thunder tore through the sky. One drop fell, then two.

You got any baggage?

It’s all here. I lifted the shoulder strap of my carry-on tote bag.

This way, he shouted as heavy drops fell in quick succession. I chased after him to his golf cart and tossed my bag in the back seat.

Get the zipper, he shouted over another crack of thunder and now pounding rain. We both pulled on the zippers at the front, fastening a plastic shell over the sides. After securing us in the claustrophobic rain cover, Tate pressed forward on the pedal and set off at a slow pace. The windshield wipers swiped ineffectively. Visibility through the torrential rain extended maybe five feet. I kicked back for what I expected would be a longish ride.

So, dude. Ten years. What’s up?

Lightning lit the sky, and rain drowned out his response as it thundered down on the top of our golf cart. Water cascaded out the sides of the wheels as Tate pushed forward through the downpour, driving us presumably back to Nana Pearl’s cottage.

My mom filled in some blanks. Nana Pearl passed a few months ago, so it’d be Tate’s cottage now—if he could convince Gregg, his older brother, to stop contesting the will. Something I really couldn’t help with if he didn’t talk to me. He stared at the ocean, ignoring me. I shoved his arm.

Silent treatment? I come all the way down here and you’re not talking?

I’m gonna talk. Keep an eye on the waves as we pass by, okay? I saw one nut job out there by himself.

On this side? I thought surfers went to South Beach. Surfing wasn’t really my thing, a bit too slow of a sport for my taste, but I’d done plenty of it during all those summers right here. Plus once in Costa Rica, where I almost died. Those Costa Rican waves were righteous.

South Beach is where the surfers who know what they’re doing go.

Shit. I shifted in the seat and kept lookout for a suicidal idiot out on the waves. As we approached his place, complete darkness fell over the island.

Ah, fuck. We lost electricity, Tate muttered.

You got beer? We can sit on the porch and watch the storm. I loved a good storm over the ocean. And it would give me a chance to dig into Tate. Work some magic and get him to make amends with Gregg. Whatever the disagreement, Tate had to be the one at fault. If I could get him to apologize, it would all blow over, and I’d make my mom happy, the whole damn reason I flew here.

How do you feel about going to Jules for a few beers and dinner? My treat. They should be on a generator.

Jules sounds good. It had been a long time since the pack of peanut butter crackers I ate earlier in the day. He slung the wheel and turned us back toward the marina.

He pulled into a spot in front of a familiar wooden building. The narrow restaurant overlooking the marina had changed owners and names since I’d been here last. But Tate said the menu hadn’t changed that much. They still sold seafood. Steamed peel-and-eat shrimp dipped in melted butter with an ice-cold beer sounded pretty fucking fantastic.

I followed Tate past the hostess, through the restaurant, to the back room that housed the bar. The storm outside raged, and I guessed that was why the place wasn’t packed. The front tables were full, but the stools along the long wooden bar remained empty. Tate and I each pulled out a stool and sat.

We ordered beers, and I searched for the team names on the nearby television screen playing a college football game.

The bartender slid our beverages of choice over to us. I swallowed the golden ale, set it on the bar, then dug in.

I’m serious, man. I don’t get it. I tapped the bar for emphasis. You went over a year one time with no contact. Your dad didn’t know what to do. Why’d you do that? I’d get it if it was just me. But your dad. I didn’t mean to harp, but I liked Mr. Tate. He’d died a few years ago, but my parents had shared plenty about his concern and fears. He’d been one of those topics they used to fill dinner conversation when we got together.

Believe it or not, there are places on this planet without signal. He rubbed his forehead and avoided looking at me. Typical.

So, what? You were out on these ships for years? Don’t you have to dock at some point?

Sometimes. You can get gas from ships that come out to you. He closed his eyes, and I sipped my beer, studying him. Wrinkles lined the corners of his eyes, indentions into his leathery skin. Upon closer inspection, he had aged. The sea life hadn’t been his friend. Tate and I were only a couple of months apart, but I’d wager he hadn’t yet discovered facial moisturizer. Or sunblock. I waited, and he eventually continued. Even when you dock, the places we docked, they were third world.

Like what? Where? If you needed money, I would’ve sent it. Your dad would have too.

I know. And I appreciate it. But the issue wasn’t money. When we docked, it wasn’t for long. And it’s not like I was twiddling my thumbs. Or we were around people I could ask to plug my phone in for a charge.

Ten years. I sipped my beer, set it down. He watched the game. You’d go months with no one hearing from you. What’d you end up doing? CIA? Were you kidnapped? Like, we had a million theories. CIA. Say CIA.

"I’m not sure where to begin. I started out on the Panglossian."

Greenpeace. And we all got it, at first, that you didn’t have a way to call home. And tracked boats that were violating international fishing law? Did you catch any bad guys?

We stopped two of the big offenders.

So, you saved lots of fish?

These fishing ships nowadays. Did you know they have nets that can trail two miles back? Freezers that let them haul catch for months? They’re depleting the oceans. As he went on, it occurred to me he may no longer eat seafood. But he’d recommended this place. It doesn’t matter. You stop one boat, another three set sail. Until governments care, and someone tries to police the ocean, it’s…and even if they care, it’s not something that can be solved easily.

You giving up on our planet? He didn’t look like a happy man, that much was certain.

No. Not giving up. Well, maybe. I don’t know. Aside from the fish, which I know you don’t care about—

Hey, I care about the planet. Just because I didn’t join Greenpeace doesn’t mean I’m an ass.

Aside from the planet, it’s the living conditions. The humans.

He continued, and I searched for a conversation changer. What’d you do after Greenpeace?

Helped an organization get women out to sea so they could have abortions. It’s an organization that helps women in countries with no rights.

Damn. I guess I can see why you didn’t want to tell your folks about that. I was fairly certain his family was Catholic.

Yeah. I did that for less than a year.

And then? Ten years, I reminded him. None of this would solve Gregg’s issues.

I started working for a man based out of Mississippi.

Let me guess. Saving whales?

Tate slung back the rest of his beer and slid it forward for a refill. Hardly. Stealing boats behind on payments.

No way. A repo man.

Yep. Paid good. That’s about it.

Your dad considered hiring contract help to find you, but they weren’t even sure where to start. Said the GPS tracker they’d bought you stopped working your first year.

He froze, and I followed his sight line to the bar entrance. Two drenched blondes filled the doorway. One reminded me of pretty much every girl Tate had ever had a crush on. Athletic, all-natural. But the other girl oozed sex. Voluptuous curves, the slightest smear of mascara beneath her eyes, and her white…yes, white…sundress drenched from the rain. The tops of her luscious breasts might as well have been fully exposed. A thick white bra provided a semblance of coverage, but dark shadows hinted at large, saucer-sized nipples. The bra held those babies perfectly, creating deep cleavage. Perfect for motorboating.

I welcomed the women over with a broad smile. We dispensed with cordial greetings and whatnot. The other blonde apparently knew Tate, and she sat beside him. I centered my attention on the curvaceous one with a semi-transparent dress, and pulled out a stool, leaving the shapely blonde no choice but to sit by me.

Poppy, do you have a last name? Her full pink lips spread into a smile, off-setting spectacular crystal blue eyes.

I do, but I don’t share it.

Is Poppy your real name? It sounds like it could be a stage name. I’d only meant it as a tease, but those cheeks transitioned from a dusting of pink to a full-on rouge. Interesting.

She settled onto her stool and released a girly giggle. I slid my stool forward, closer to her, creating a bigger divide between Tate and her friend. I smiled, full enough my dimples popped. Girls loved the dimples.

Have you ever heard of OnlyFans? A slip of her tongue wet her lower lip. Sexy didn’t begin to cut it. I couldn’t believe my luck. An OnlyFans girl. Come Monday, Reed would never believe me.

CHAPTER 2

Poppy

That grin. Talk about having you at hello. When those lips stretched into a full-on smile, dimples popped on both sides. Forest green eyes and dark hair. The man had more appeal than a hot fudge sundae on a diet day.

Have you ever heard of OnlyFans? His mouth dropped open when I asked, and I couldn’t squelch my laugh. Yeah, he’d definitely heard of the site where I earned my income.

Where are you from? If he was local, I couldn’t share much. I’d hidden the account from everyone, kept it as my deepest, darkest secret forever. But I’d let my guard down with Luna recently. And she’d been cool…

Let’s back-up to OnlyFans. Your internet business. An all-dimple assault ensued. Danger, Will Robinson.

I haven’t seen you around before. Is this your first time here? I reached out and touched his knee, as if he were an old friend, then snapped my hand back as my brain caught up. You. Don’t. Know. Him.

Nah. I grew up coming here every summer. He angled a thumb in Tate’s direction. Old friends with that guy. Here for the weekend. So, what’s your story? Is Poppy your OnlyFans name?

My OnlyFans account ran under the name Blue Poppy. I kept my Fans profile and my real life separate. And this stranger, meeting the real me, didn’t need to know my full name. My acquisition brain kicked in. He could become a profitable subscriber. His expensive watch said he might not mind a monthly fee he’d forget about.

His gaze fell to my cleavage, and I weighed my options. Luna and Tate would eventually be an item. She didn’t know that, but they went all goo-goo eyes for each other. Add to the fact there were a grand total of three single year-round residents our age on the island, and it was kind of a no-brainer. By my math, I’d be seeing Gabe again, although most likely rarely, as he probably wouldn’t visit Tate all that frequently. Luna knew about my OnlyFans business, and Gabe might be a source of new subscribers–potentially. I’d been losing those. My Instagram ads were becoming less effective at pulling in new subscribers.

Will, the bartender, leaned over the bar. Poppy girl, you want your usual?

Yes, thank you. How’re you doing? Will’s expression darkened, and he grimaced before walking away. Will and his wife were going through a divorce. Will didn’t gush about his own problems, even though he heard everyone else’s. I’d have to come back and catch him one on one.

Should we order dinner? Gabe asked as he held a paper menu in the air. Maybe start with some calamari?

Sshhh, I warned him. Don’t ever suggest calamari near Luna. Doesn’t go over well.

Are they endangered? His puzzled expression amused me.

Apparently the octopus is quite brilliant. You should not eat them. I