Page 29 of Some Like It Hott

My heart does a littleawwwat being included. Never mind that Sonya’s the kind of big-hearted person who probably calls everyone a friend after an hour of hanging out.

“And here’s a pro tip—there’s almostneveranyone here after nine p.m. No idea why, but it’s basically deserted. Quinn and I like to come then.” She blushes. “Maybe peek through the gate to make sure it’s unoccupied before you enter.”

I laugh. “Duly noted.”

In some ways Sonya reminds me of my sister. She’s got that whole glossy, polished thing going on—hair, nails, eyebrows, eyelashes, makeup. And her clothes are really nice—expensive looking and well fitting and probably designer. I’m betting she doesn’t leave the house very often without looking in the mirror, which is a thing I accidentally do all the time. (Hello, salad greens in teeth.)

But Sonya is warm and friendly. She doesn’t have the Teflon veneer of some beautiful women—including my mom and sister.

“There’s no sulfur smell,” I observe.

“No,” Sonya says, smiling. “We’re lucky. That smell is caused by bacteria that feed off sulfides, and this particular spring doesn’t reach deep enough for that to happen.” She tilts her head. “You two want a dip now? No one’s in there. Pres, I’ve got some of Quinn’s trunks in my office, and Nat, you could go in your?—”

“No,” Preston says. “In fact, I’m on a call in five. Thanks for the tour and the ideas. We’ll be in touch.”

And he turns on one expensive dress shoe and strides away.

Sonya watches him go, an enigmatic expression on her face. She turns to me and raises her eyebrows. “How’s it going with him?” she asks.

“About like that,” I say, wincing. “Just when he seems to be softening toward me, he growls like a wolf with a thorn in its paw. I can’t figure him out.”

“But you’re trying,” she says, smiling.

“Yeah,” I admit.

She smiles. “He’s…an enigma.” Her eyes move over my face, slowly, and then she seems to make a decision. “You won’t be the first woman who came face-to-face with a Hott brother and needed some help figuring him out. You know he’s not the first one to have to deal with their granddad’s will, right?”

“There are a lot of rumors and stories.”

She nods. “Yeah. Quinn’s bit was having to work at the Hott Spot reception desk. And you haven’t met Quinn yet, but that’s like making Oscar the Grouch a greeter at a Michelin-starred New York restaurant.”

I chuckle.

“And then Shane, who until recently was the picture in the dictionary next toHollywood fuckboy, had to plan a celebrity wedding and somehow decided that the easiest way to pull that off was to be the groom in his own fake celebrity wedding.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup.”

“Their granddad is?—”

“Sometimes we use the wordsadist,” she admits. “Hanna says it’s more that he’s a chess player and he’s playing one half of a match the brothers don’t know they’re also playing—but I don’t know. Jury’s out. And we might never know, I guess. Since he’s…gone.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s pretty intense.”

She nods. “Yeah. I will say…” She hesitates, tipping her head to the side and eyeing me thoughtfully. “There’s a bit of a pattern at this point. Of Hott brothers falling for the women they’re paired up with in the will shenanigans. Quinn and me, Shane and his fake bride…”

I wave a hand. “Well. I’lldefinitelybe the one who breaksthatpattern because there haveneverbeen two people less likely to end up together than Preston and me.”

Even if, when I peeked and watched him retie his tie in the treatment room, I wanted to climb him like a tree.

“Yeah,” Sonya says, dragging me back to the present, where I try not to blush furiously. “Preston is a tough nut to crack. Until a few days ago, I would have said Tucker was the ‘toughest Hott to crack.’ But Hanna has this client from New York who happened to mention that Preston’s marriage imploded more than a year ago. Hanna didn’t know. He hasn’t told anyone, as far as we know, even though the divorce is inked and filed.”

My mouth must have fallen open, because Sonya says, “Right? And the marriage was kind of a mystery to begin with. I never met her, but everyone says she was this flamboyant, super social SoHo artist.”

I can’t explain why the news of Preston’s secret divorce hits me so hard. Why the idea of this uptight, arrogant, grumpy guy not wanting to tell anyone he got divorced gives me all the feels.

But I’m pretty sure Sonya can see right through me because her eyes move over my face again, curious and a little knowing. “This is how it starts,” she says, and I think she’s holding back a smile. “You start out wanting to understand what makes them tick.”

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