Page 50 of Peppermint Bark

“He films on location, or he's at awards shows and red carpet events, he —”

“He calls your mom every Sunday.”

His mouth snapped shut. Wow, I’d effectively shut up Alexander Clarke.

Feeling buoyed, I added, “I bet if you called him, he’d answer.”

“You want to bet me?” he said, a spark in his eyes. “What are your terms?”

My mind went blank. I’d meant it as an expression, not an invitation.

When he smirked, I knew I was in trouble. “Want some negotiating tips?”

“Ok, master negotiator,” I forced an eye roll.

“Anchor high with an initial offer, but give enough wiggle room for a counter offer. If you start with the wrong offer and they say no, you have to walk away. So if I win …” he tapped the steering wheel, “you have to make a whole tray of peppermint bark, just for me.”

Of course he’d go with something sweet. “I’d make that for you anyway.”

“I know you would, that’s why it’s a good initial bid,” he said with a knockout grin. “Your turn. What’s the thing you want most from me?”

I wanted him to kiss me. But if I lost, would he refuse on principle? He seemed like the type to cut off his nose — or more accurately, his lips — to spite his face.

Wracking my mind, I looked up at the yoga studio. Cruz’s first self-defense class followed mine, and I was nervous.

“If I win — no when I win, because your brother will totally take your call,” I said, and he smirked proudly at my confidence, “You have to come to yoga and self-defense class today.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Alvarez.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”

“Deal,” I said, shaking his hand. He clicked his brother’s name and put it on speaker. As it rang two times, then three, he said smugly, “I want the candy canes finely ground, no chunks.” But in his eyes, I saw a hint of disappointment.

“Alex, hey, is everything ok?” Nick sounded panicked. “Is Dad alright?”

Hearing his voice was jarring. I knew theoretically that their brother Nick was the actor Dominic Martin. But somehow, until I heard him say Alex’s name and ask about Bruce, it hadn’t connected that his voice would sound the same talking to his brother as it did on his popular show or in luxury car commercials.

“Everybody's fine,” Alex said to an exhale of relief. “I lost a bet.”

“You lost a bet?” his brother sounded confused, then said in a teasing tone, “Alexander James Clarke lost a bet?”

“First time for everything,” Alex muttered.

“What was the bet? Wait … did you bet that I wouldn’t answer?” Alex grunted noncommittally. “Let me get this straight: my own brother — my flesh and blood — bet against me?”

“You’re busy.”

“Busy schooling my assistant in chess, because even though we’ve played a million games, he still neglects his pawn structure.”

From the background came a protest, then a muffled, “You have so many pawn islands, it’s practically Indonesia.” Then back to Alex, he sighed: “What I wouldn’t give for a game with Victoria, she could hold her own.”

Wait, Victoria? The Victoria who called Alex about work?

The one who Mallory said might be his girlfriend?

That Victoria played chess … with Nick, the movie star?

I stiffened, but Alex didn’t notice. “I’ll tell her how much you miss her.”

“Don’t bother, we talked last week. I had a real estate question,” Nick said casually as Alex’s shoulders tensed. “So what were the terms of this bet?”

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