Page 25 of All Twerk, No Play

He laughed at my alarm that he would throw away five years of tenure. “When they passed you over, they lost my loyalty. And San Francisco is so expensive.” I softened at his logical reaction, then bristled when he added, “Plus Grace is so sweet on the phone, I’d love to meet her in person.”

Now, seeing him under our names in my building … it felt fuckingright.

Especially because the acrylic sign did compliment his dark hair.

When the sign maker left, I surveyed the domain of our new office buildout. A temporary wall cordoned off half the third floor. Blackstone & Clarke would occupy the front unit facing the street. I’d posted the commercial office space listing for the back unit and already had a few bites for prospective tenants.

Last week, the development company hired movers to shift the cubicles into the back unit in case my next tenant needed them, or until we hired more staff. Originally I planned on that expansion happening after the move to Manhattan, but looking around the open floor plan, I considered keeping this space as a satellite office. Alexander could work here during holidays to take less time off, and support staff would be less expensive in the lower cost-of-living location.

The phone rang and Connor answered, “Blackstone & Clarke.” He shot us both a thumbs up before focusing on the call.

Alexander took my elbow and guided us from reception towards our future office suites for privacy. He took a deep breath—he does that a lot lately—and said calmly, “Listen, Victoria, you can cut the act.”

“Excuse me?”

“The guy on Friday? I’ll admit, it was a bold strategy. Find a good-looking guy, show me what I’m missing. Mallory said it’s a regular move in her arsenal.”

Shame tightened my throat that he was calling my bluff.

“You doubled down, too. That phone call the next day seemedreal,” he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if I was short with you, Grace called me out for my tone. You deserve better from me, even when you …”

I raised a brow, daring him to finish his sentence.

You don’t have to explain anything to him, remember?Eric said after I hung up. I bit the inside of my cheek to retain my stern expression as his ridiculous lyrics about my ex-man ran through my mind.

To an outsider, Alexander would appear calm, but I recognized his tells: his shoulders were tight and his eyes wouldn’t meet mine. After years of reading his volatile emotions, I knew how to fight his fire by meeting it with my ice. I schooled my features and let him run his mouth.

“I can tell it’s an act. Victoria Blackstone wouldn’t bother with somebody with no career mobility. I mean, enlisted military turned personal trainer? Can you imagine Richard’s face if you brought that guy home?”

My defenses rose, frustration and shame cracking through. “Well, Alexander Clarke wouldn’t bother with this podunk Upstate city … yet here we are. And I trust your judgment enough that Ibought a fucking buildingfor our firm.” I held out my arms in a dramatic gesture around our office space. I released a bitter laugh, allowing the tension brewing below my sternum to escape.

“But you’re self-centered enough to believe I would concoct an elaborate ruse to make you jealous. God forbid I do anything for myself without your approval. Do I need your signed permission slip to bring a man home?”

His lips tightened. I dug deeper.

“You don’t know me as well as you think you do, because Eric—his name is Eric, by the way, not ‘that guy’—helped me realize howunsatisfiedI’ve been before.”

He winced. Bullseye.

“Wait, Cruz’s first name is Eric?” he said, rifling through a stack of papers. He flipped through details about Mallory's business incubator through the Chamber, that she’d advocated for us to take over.

A cocky smirk rose as he handed me the documents and pointed to a line on the list of participants: Eric de la Cruz, Owner, Cruz Control Fitness.

My teeth ground together so tightly my jaw ached. He was already my building super, why would he need another job?

Instead of letting him see my frustration, I lifted my chin and said, “Can’t wait for you to see him satisfy me at our first incubator meeting tomorrow.”

"The Pretender," Foo Fighters

Cruz

IsnuckintotheChamber of Commerce conference room, late because Mr. Sanderson had a dishwasher leak, my clothes dusty from changing HVAC filters. About 20 people milled around chatting before the meeting started. I grabbed a soggy sandwich from the refreshment table, grateful for Kate at her regular spot around the three U-shaped tables. When I approached, she lifted the seat-saving purse on the chair beside her.

Back when I met Kate two years ago, I hadn’t had a business. I’d worked as the building super and worked out for fun with guys from the Navy at their house. She was recently engaged and wanted to look incredible in her wedding dress, so I invited her to work out with us.

I didn’t regret leaving Pike and Rodriguez’s place—that place smelled like ass—for the local state park. Kate brought along her assistant Bec, and invited me to join this young entrepreneur incubator that she co-chaired with her fiancé Paul. Pretty sure she asked me to come because the meetings Paul ran were so boring that I kept her awake. He was smart, but dry.

I’d skipped the last few meetings, but Kate texted this morning to make sure I’d be here for some big announcement. I bit into my sandwich, wishing I’d grabbed a second as she made her way to the front.

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