“Mallory’s Grace?”
Alex scowled. He said gruffly, “She’s my friend too.”
“Aww, Lex, you made a friend!” Nick said in a patronizing tone that I hadn’t expected. He’d garnered a reputation as a thespian and Mallory and Kate's conversations implied he was quiet and restrained … but it turned out that Nick had his brother’s number, just like Elijah always knew exactly how to tease me.
When Alex’s cheeks flushed, I couldn’t hold back my laughter.
“Wait, is Grace there? Am I on speaker?”
“She’s here,” Alex said with a wicked grin. “Say hi, Grace.”
Oh geez, talking to a freaking movie star was not part of this bet.
“Hi, Nick,” I said shyly. I could feel the heat rising my neck and onto my cheeks. Alex’s gaze tracked it, then snagged on my mouth.
Between these two Clarke brothers, I might spontaneously combust. Then the police would call Elijah to report my charred remains in his stolen truck.
“Listen, class is about to start so we’ve gotta go,” Alex said, then added snarkily, “Way to make me look bad, Nick.”
“It is my most sincere pleasure,” Nick chuckled. “Hey Grace, thank you for believing in me even when my smug brother doesn’t. And Alex? Next time, you don’t have to lose a bet to call me.”
Chapter 19Alex
I hated this guy.
His smile was so bright it burned my retinas. He greeted everyone like they were best friends, even the people he’d never met, bestowing weird nicknames. Even in boring Nike workout clothes, the women’s eyes tracked him like he wore a Tom Ford suit. He was too cheerful, too peppy, and way too muscular.
He called Grace ‘Gacelita,’ and had a stupid handshake with Kate. It took me a moment to place the feisty brunette as Mallory's high school friend after she greeted me, "I thought your corporate overlords would have sent the Mother Ship to abduct you by now." She said that she thought of him like a big brother, even though I’d known her as an awkward teenager.
And what kind of name was ‘Cruz,’ anyway?
Before class began, Grace checked in with the students, many of whom she knew from yoga classes, then introduced Cruz, who bounced on his toes like a newly housebroken puppy waiting to be uncrated.
He shared basic self-defense principles, asked Grace to help him demonstrate two disarming techniques, then turned on rock music and split us up into pairs to practice, and she came to my mat without hesitation.
To test out the disarming techniques, I wrapped my arms around Grace. The music thrummed around us, her body tense as I gently pinned her arms at her sides. She gripped my wrist and twisted to break free.
Her hair flew into her face, her chest rising and falling as she smiled up proudly and released my wrist. I brushed the flyaway out of her face, allowing myself a moment to let my thumb trace her cheekbone —
The music cut off abruptly, leaving the room in stunned silence.
Grace’s eyes traveled over my shoulder and widened dramatically, those full lips dropping into a rare frown.
Then came the familiar elitist tone: “I’m here for Alexander Clarke.”
I braced myself and turned slowly.
Victoria Blackstone looked out of place in the yoga studio, wearing a silk blouse tucked into a charcoal pencil skirt, strawberry blonde hair in a tight bun. She stood with one hand on her hip, the other holding up the speaker’s power cord. I caught a flash of rage before a cool mask dropped over her eyes. Her Resting Bitch Face challenged anybody to tell her she was out of line.
“I think I’m in love,” Cruz murmured from a few feet behind us.
“I think you’re in heat,” Kate taunted.
Victoria’s calculating gray eyes narrowed. My mouth snapped shut. Her heel tapped twice. My chin lifted. Her arms crossed, power cord dangling from her fingertips.
“Hola, Cobrita,” Cruz said smoothly, approaching with open palms to break our nonverbal negotiation.
Oh shit, I couldn’t wait for her reaction to him interrupting her intimidation stare with a cutesy nickname. Victoria had been raised so formally that nicknames were an insult, never allowing her to be a Vickie or a Tori … God help the men who called her 'Ginger' or ‘Red.’
I didn’t know what the hell a ‘Cobrita’ was, but based on Victoria’s sour expression, she did. She closed her eyes, a hurricane gaining speed for maximum destruction upon landfall. When her eyes opened and landed on Cruz’s face, I expected one of her infamous ball-withering glares.
But when her eyes opened, the storm cooled unexpectedly.
“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?”
“With all due respect, I was in the middle of something first,” he said, gesturing around the studio to the class that she’d interrupted, then pointed to the power cord. “And you disrespected the Foo Fighters.”
“What the hell is a Foo Fighter?” When he scrubbed his hand over his face, she sniped, “Nevermind, I don’t have time for this.”
She swiveled back to me, cheeks flushed. “Your disappearing act set things back. Negotiations restart tomorrow in Manhattan. If you’re not there …”
If I was at fault for this deal crumbling, my career was over.
And if I hadn’t gone MIA for three days, she wouldn’t have had to consult my phone’s location then pick up my truant ass on a Sunday to force me to do the job for which I was exorbitantly paid.
“Now, Alexander.”
