She laughed and told me I needed to live on the wild side more.
Can I be charged as an accessory after the fact? Does knowing how he got the money for his flashy black sports car make me an accomplice in some way?
Most importantly, how rude of my sister to tell me. I did not need to know the man sitting across the table from me does illegal things.
Also. I can be wild when I want to be.
“A toast,” Landon says lifting his glass of champagne. “To Gabriela and her first film gig.”
I’ll drink to that. I lift my mimosa and grin at my twin sister. She’s wanted to be a hairdresser on a movie set for a long time and her dream has finally come true. As different as the two of us are—in looks, temperament, and choice of men—we’re both driven to succeed.
“I’ve reached my goal; now it’s time you reach yours,” she insists.
“Fingers crossed,” I say, literally crossing my fingers under the table.
While Gabby went to cosmetology school right out of high school and has been working at a salon for the past six years, I got my master’s in social work and am the activities director at my home away from home: the Davis Senior Community Center. The center opened twenty-five years ago on land generously donated by the Stuart Davis family, but we’re running short on funds to keep the full-service facility going. And we have a balloon payment due August first. The developer who purchased the building next door is eyeing the property and the city only cares about the best financial gain.
I care about every single one of my seniors and will fight tooth and nail to keep the center open for them.
“You should think out of the box for ways to raise money,” Landon says.
Am I crazy or does that sound like he’s suggesting something nefarious? Gabby, though, is looking at him like he’s a prince granting me his military legion to get what I need. If she has such faith in him, maybe I shouldn’t jump to conclusions so quickly.
“Okay. Like what?”
He surveys the room before his gaze settles on something in the direction of the lobby. “See those blue crystal vases?” He nods toward a trio of beautiful sapphire-blue beveled-cut vases holding fresh flowers visible through large open shuttered doors.
“Yes,” I say.
“If I’m right—and I usually am—those are limited-edition Baccarat and each one is worth more than thirty grand. You could take one. Sell it.”
I bring my fist to my mouth. How dare he say something like that. It’s one thing for my sister—and best friend—to overshare info with me. It’s quite another for him to bring his lawbreaking tendencies to my face.
Gabby laughs and gives him a playful swat on the shoulder. I’m sure she’s going to say, “Don’t be ridiculous,” but instead I hear, “That’s not a bad idea.”
Um, what the what? I can’t even right now. They’re joking, right? This celebratory breakfast has taken a weird turn and I want to finish my French toast then go work on a legal way to get my funding.
At my silence, Landon says, “I’ll steal it for you.”
“You can’t be serious,” I argue.
“They probably wouldn’t even notice it was missing. And it’s not as if a swanky hotel like this can’t afford it. I could have a buyer for you by the end of the day.”
I stare at him then my sister. She shrugs. “It’s not like it would hurt anyone,” she says.
An incredulous gasp slips out of my mouth. Yes it would. “Have you lost your sense of right from wrong?”
“Allie.” My sister puts her hand on my arm. “It was just a silly idea. We’re trying to help.”
“By doing something illegal? Not to mention if you got caught, you could go to jail.”
“I told you Miss Goody Two-Shoes couldn’t handle this,” Landon says.
A sharp, unwelcome pain slices down the middle of my chest. All my life I’ve been the good one while Gabby got to be the carefree one, allowed to make mistakes and take risks. All of a sudden, I’m sick of it.
“You don’t think I could go pick up that vase and walk out the door with it?”
“I don’t know. Can you?” Landon challenges, a smug look on his face.
I have no intention of stealing the vase but I get to my feet. Let him think me capable for a minute. Without a word, I stride toward the glossy wood table where the vases sit. They really are pretty, filled with an overabundance of white flowers, and curiosity gets the better of me. A vase this expensive must be bolted down, right? I run a finger over the beveled glass as caper music—ala Ocean’s Eleven—plays in my head. (I mean if I’m going to pretend to do this, I’ve got to have a soundtrack.) Cool to the touch, I shiver and decide I’ll try to lift it up. That ought to be enough to shock my sister and Landon. I put both hands on the vase.
The feeling I’m being watched—and not by Gabby and her miscreant boyfriend—raises goose bumps on my arms. Mierda. I’ve been caught touching something I shouldn’t be! I pull the old, don’t-move-and-maybe-I’ll-become-invisible routine. It lasts for all of two seconds, my natural tendency to own up to my actions taking over.
Slowly, I turn my head to the side. A man at the bar is watching me. Keen, light-colored eyes, straight nose, lips quirked in surprised interest. His attention dips to my hands.
On this very expensive vase.
This is bad.
Super bad.
I drop my hands and fight the urge to flee, instead playing off my actions like it’s no big deal and leaning my hip against the table, arms crossed. Nothing to see here!
He gets to his feet. Determination rolls off him in waves likes he’s brandishing a sword and one false move and I’ll be pinned against this table.
I stick to my spot, chills racing up and down my spine. Not because I’ve been caught harmlessly touching the vase, but because I know him. Not know him, know him. I only know his name. Drew. He’s the guy.
The gorgeous and charming blue-eyed devil who tried to knock the angel off my shoulder.
And almost succeeded.
Chapter Two
Like At First Sight
Alejandra
Nine months ago…
“Cheers to Gabriela and Alejandra!”
I clink my shot glass against my sister’s and our friends’ Jane and Sutton’s. “Happy twenty-fifth birthday! Love you guys!” Jane half-shouts. The bar is crowded and loud, and one of the hottest spots in Los Angeles. It’s also way out of my price range, but Gabby can be very persuasive, especially when it’s a special occasion.
“Love you back,” Gabby and I say in return before the four of us toss back our tequila and slam the glasses down on the stainless steel bar top.
The alcohol goes down smoothly. Sutton tosses her red hair over her shoulder and orders another round from the very cute bartender. That I notice he’s attractive is uncomfortable, even though it doesn’t have to be.
Two months ago, my boyfriend since high school, Matthew, moved to New Zealand. We were very much in love, inseparable, each other’s first everything, and on the night when I thought he might propose, he told me he’d been offered a dream job—almost 7,000 miles away.
Being the wonderful guy that he is, he wanted us to talk about it together. Being the wonderful girl that I am, I wasn’t going to hold him back. This was an opportunity for Matthew to be a civil engineer on an important environmental project in a country he’d visited as a child and loved so much he couldn’t wait to go back one day.
We had a very mature conversation, talking for a really long time about what this meant for us, and ultimately we—mostly he—decided it would be best to break up. I felt like barbed wire had been shoved into my chest cavity. He didn’t ask me to go with him. He didn’t say twelve months will fly by and we can FaceTime every night so let’s give long distance a try. “I love you, Alejandra,” he’d said, “but this feels like the right thing to do. The assignment is for one year. No matter what, I will meet you at eight o’clock on the rooftop of the Observatory on
July twelfth and if we’re both still single, then we’ll pick up where we left off.” He looked at me so lovingly and added, “We’ve only been with each other. This break will be a chance for us to spread our wings and be sure about our future.”
I knew he had a point. I knew long-distance relationships were difficult. But I would have tried. Instead, he left me so he could do something new in a new place, and since kissing him goodbye at the airport, I’ve barely looked at another guy.
Until tonight. I toss back my second shot, feeling unsteady for noticing the bartender.
Our appetizer platter arrives next—truffle mac and cheese, pulled pork sliders and sweet potato fries—and smells delicious. I was too busy to eat lunch today so I’m eager to get food in my belly before the tequila sinks in. I pass down the small round plates to Gabby, Jane and Sutton. They serve themselves generous helpings before I do the same. We eat in comfortable silence, our appetites winning over conversation.
“How did your breakfast date go the other day?” I ask Jane a few minutes later.
“Really good,” she says. “We had three rounds of coffee and delicious French toast and she texted me yesterday to ask if I’d like to go out tomorrow night. I said yes.”
“That’s great.”
“Want me to do your hair?” Gabby asks.
Jane stops mid-fry-to-her-mouth. “Would you?” she says hopefully. She has naturally curly hair and is always trying to tame it.
“Of course.”
“Oh my God, I love this song!” Sutton drops her fork on her plate. “Let’s dance!” She hops off her barstool, her shoulders already swaying to the music.
Gabby and Jane quickly follow suit, taking several dancing steps away from the bar before realizing I’m still in my seat. My sister looks expectantly over her shoulder before remembering my predicament and glancing down at the clunky orthopedic boot on my foot.
“It’s okay,” I call out. “Go dance!”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I wave her away with my arm. I don’t love the idea of sitting at the bar by myself, but I’d hate to keep her and our friends tethered to me more. Gabby smiles and turns on her high heels.
One more week and this boot is finally history. I tore my plantar fascia sprinting to catch Mrs. Kindred before she toppled off the stationary bike during our weekly Senior Cycle class. Mrs. K. has already broken one hip. I didn’t want her breaking the other. She felt terrible for causing me to worry and rush to her side, but I told her the same thing I tell all my seniors: it’s my pleasure to look out for her.
“Get you another drink?” the bartender asks as he gathers our empty plates.
“Water would be great, please.”
He fulfills my request before moving down the bar. As I take a sip, I look toward the dance floor. It’s packed so I only catch a glimpse of Gabby’s dark hair. I peer down at my stupid boot. It’s not like I couldn’t go out there and make the best of it, but I’d feel awful if I inadvertently caused someone around me to take a misstep or trip.
Instead, I let the electronic dance music wash over me. I ever so slightly bob my head from side to side. The bar isn’t huge so when the front door opens my attention naturally swings to two men who walk in. Both are tall, dressed in classic dark suits and ties. I can’t help but notice they’re good-looking. The hostess grins at them with enthusiastic familiarity. The threesome talks for a minute before the two guys step away from the desk to take in the room with their heads confidently held high. When the one with light brown hair sweeps his gaze in my direction and we make eye contact, I immediately turn my head to stare at the condensation on my water glass.
Pretend condensation.
There isn’t any.
The ice cubes are very interesting, though. A few seconds of weirdness go by.
“Are these seats taken?” a man asks, his voice nothing special.
I peek out of the corner of my eye. He isn’t one of the two men who just walked in and I’m not sure why, but relief flows through me, my shoulders relaxing. A woman stands at the man’s side.
It wouldn’t be polite to save the seats next to me when there’s no telling how long Gabby, Sutton, and Jane will be on the dance floor so I say, “No. All yours.”
“Thanks.”
After the couple sits, I can’t help but scan the bar in search of the two…businessmen, I’m guessing. It’s Thursday night, a little past nine, and office buildings take up much of the block. Romeo One and Two looked a couple of years older than me so having a drink after a long day at work seems like a plausible explanation for their arrival. I cover my smile with my hand. Romeo was the name of our dog growing up and is also the nickname Gabby and I give hot strangers. More than a time or two our grandmother looked at us in total confusion when we slipped “Romeo” into a conversation.
The two men are standing and talking with a small group of twenty-somethings at a table near the front window. The one who I made eye contact with, let’s call him Romeo One, is in profile. Strong, clean-shaven jaw. Straight, slightly sloped nose. Nice ear. Nice ear? I’m about to look away when he turns his head and once again we lock eyes. The corners of his full mouth lift.
Wow. His easygoing smile causes a definite disturbance in the air, one that sweeps unwelcome but pleasurable curiosity over me. His perfect white teeth gleam, even from across the room.
I return to my enthralling glass of water. Take a sip to cool the places my imagination wants to run without my permission. He probably flashes that smile to everyone he meets and I just happened to be sitting in the right place at the right time. Besides, this guy is the complete opposite of Matthew and I still love Matthew. Ten more months will fly by.
I let the dance music that continues to pour through invisible speakers flow over me again. The great beat means I’ll most likely be sitting here alone for a while. I’m tempted to pull out my phone so I have something to do, but I don’t. I can handle the bar scene without a safety net.
When laughter erupts from somewhere behind me, I naturally twist around, thankful for something to check out.
A pair of light-colored eyes immediately meet mine. Romeo One is looking at me. Make that staring at me—like I’m the most interesting thing in the room. I absently rub the side of my neck where my skin is warm to the touch.
He’s moved to another table where something is apparently very funny. A girl taps him on the shoulder, but his attention stays on me. I manage to keep my focus on him, too.
Until the beautiful face of my sister pops in front of me, snapping the invisible tightwire between me and Romeo One and breaking our connection. Thank you, Gabs.
“Hey,” Gabby says bouncing into my personal space. Her cheeks are flushed from dancing. “You doing okay?”
“Yes. You?”
“I met a guy!” Her smile is huge. “He started dancing with me and his name is Landon and he is really yummy.” She glances over her shoulder toward a guy at the edge of the dance floor. He lifts his chin at us. “That’s him,” she says dreamily.
He’s not my Romeo, but then Gabby and I have never had the same taste in the opposite sex. A good thing, I guess. “Go back out there. I’m fine here. Where’s Sutton and Jane?”
“They’re dancing with one of Landon’s friends. Come join us.” She reaches around me to drink several gulps of my water.
“I still think I should stay here.” I lift my leg and shake my boot.
“All right. I’ll check back in with you in a bit then!”
She’s gone before I can reply.
I watch her reconnect with Landon and then get swallowed by the dance crowd before my eyes flit back to Romeo One. He’s sitting at the table now, talking, and holding everyone’s attention. He finishes speaking, leans back, and someone else picks up the conversation. Not two seconds have gone by when he turns his head and, once again across the crowded room, his notice lands on me.
My heart thumps a beat faster as we continue to take each other in. There i
s something about a man in a suit that is really sexy. And when that man has loosened his tie and his shirt collar is open around the neck, it’s even sexier. I can’t be sure from this distance, but it appears the light blue button-down matches the color of his eyes.
His gaze dips to my body. He tracks slowly down then back up. My little black dress is my favorite thing to wear on a night out. Matthew used to say I slayed in it, and I agree. From Romeo’s deliberate perusal, I think he likes it, too.
I’ve never been on the receiving end of a look I feel between my legs and in my breasts, and I do my best not to wiggle. I dart a glance away, only to come right back.
Which is very unlike me. I don’t maintain eye contact with sexy strangers. That’s because you’ve had a boyfriend for the past seven years. Now you can do whatever you want.
I bite my lip. His mouth curves into a small, but powerful smile.
This wild, untamed sensation inside me is completely foreign and I have no idea what to do with it.
The man next to me bumps my boot as he gets up off his barstool to walk away. “Sorry,” he says.
“It’s okay.” The timing is perfect. I swivel in my seat and rest my elbows on the bar. I need a minute—or a thousand—to decompress. I’m flattered and I guess a little intrigued, and certain Romeo One is way better at this game than I am.
“Is it okay if I take this seat?” a man asks. The masculine voice is deep, seductive.
Friendly.
That’s what resonates deep inside me, and I don’t have to think twice about my answer. I also don’t have to turn my head to know who’s asking. “Sure.”
“I’m Drew,” he says as he gets comfortable beside me.
I take a moment to breathe in his clean, spicy scent before I look at him. “Alejandra.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Alejandra.”
“You, too.” Up close, he’s even better looking. Eyes a shade of blue green I’ve never seen before, neat hair longer on top than the sides, broad shoulders that fill out his tailored suit coat. I’d venture his outfit cost more than my monthly mortgage.
Hot Shot (American Royalty Book 3) Page 2