Page 61 of All Signs Point to Malibu

“It’s tried and true.”

Shit.

I wait.

“We’ve decided to go with him.”

I force a breath. “Of course. Whatever you feel is best.”

“I did enjoy your pitch, Hailey, and appreciate you taking the time.”

“Absolutely. Take care and good luck to Kylie.” I disconnect the call. “Fuck,” I mutter. How is Spencer doing it? He’s not thinking outside the box or offering anything new to his potential clients.

People like safe. They like to hear advice that’s in-line with their own thinking. Maybe I need to switch my approach... But the idea of compromising my own creativity to gain clients doesn’t appeal to me. If I’m trying to rely on my strengths—other than my gift—then I need to be true to who I am, what makes me different.

Unfortunately, the imposter syndrome resurfaces—could I actually pull this off without using my glimpses?

Warren descends the ladder and approaches. “Everything okay?”

“Just lost another potential athlete client to Spencer Stanley.”

Warren nods sympathetically.

“What? No snide comment?”

Warren hesitates, looking severely conflicted as he struggles with something for a beat. “Hey, why don’t you come to poker night at my place next week,” he says.

“Are you trying to make me feel better? Because stealing my money in a poker game when I just said my expansion plans aren’t going so shit hot is a weird way of doing it.”

He shakes his head. “I’m inviting you because there will be six professional football players held captive, with money on the line, forced to listen to what you have to say.”

My mouth gapes. Okay, that does make me feel a little better. Who the hell knew Warren Mitchell was capable of lifting my mood? I mean, physically, I’m sure he’s capable of all kinds of therapy... Focus, Hailey. “Seriously?”

“Can you play?”

“Not really.”

“Even better. Sunday night at eight or seven fifty if you’d rather,” he says with a wink.

I’m still in shock and slightly suspicious of the offer, but I nod. “Yeah, okay. I’m in.”

“Great.”

Not only is it a nice gesture, but it’s a future opportunity to hang out together.

The gate buzzer sounds from inside the house, interrupting the energy vibrating between us. “Must be the desserts,” I say. I head toward the gate, then cast a glance at Warren over my shoulder. He’s still staring at me, and where his expression used to radiate attraction now there’s a different look—a softer look—affection?

Yep. The earth definitely shifted with that tremor.

Hailey looks mortified as she stares into dessert boxes with the Frost God logo sitting on her kitchen counter. “What the hell are those?”

I fail to hide a grin as I peer over her shoulder. “In my expert opinion, Kama Sutra poses.” And very well done by the looks of them. Yates is truly an artist.

Hailey shoots me a look, then grabs her cell phone and dials Yates. She puts the call on speaker as the pastry chef answers on half a ring. “I know! I messed up!” he says.

Hailey’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thank the Frost God, you realize there was a mix-up. When can we expect the driver back with our order?”

“No, like I really messed up. Your order was delivered this morning to some sex toy sales party,” Yates says. “They ate them but left me a three star review because the designs weren’t risqué enough—which made me realize the mix-up.”

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