Page 28 of The Players

He scratched his duck-fluff hair. “Someone’s here for you.”

“Someone’s here? Like who?” Randy started to stand, but Brendan shook his head. “Not for you. For her.” His finger slid over to me.

The joy died in my throat.

Who even knew I was here? I’d told my grandmother and the boys. That was it. None of them would show up here, though. They would all call or text. Unless… something was wrong.

I was on my feet and striding out of the break room in seconds. I heard Randy and Brendan behind me.

The store seemed abandoned, but one lone soul stood up front by the cash registers. I didn’t immediately recognize the person, but the light blond hair made my heart skip uncontrollably. Was it Savannah? No. The figure was male.

Could it be… Spencer?

As I got closer, I saw it was indeed him. I wrung my hands together, wondering what in the world Savannah’s tagalong could want with me.

I skidded to a stop as his ice-blue eyes locked onto me. I wondered what he might think of me as those eyes took me in. My blond hair was pulled into a messy bun on the top of my head, any makeup I’d worn this morning was likely long gone, and I had on my grocers’ blue vest. I could imagine the insults he could concoct with all this ammo. Well, let him. I’d survived his sister. Another round with one of them couldn’t hurt me anymore than I’d already been hurt.

“What do you want?” I said, taking the last steps toward him. He was thin and lithe, with strong muscles showing beneath his tight, designer T-shirt. His blond hair was cropped and spikey, and he had a dangling earring in one ear. He was posh in all the ways Savannah was, and attractive in all the ways Easton was. Beautiful like a glacial iceberg that was set on a collision course to kill you.

“Vivian Romero, what I want… is to talk to you.” His eyes stayed locked on me as his face held no expression.

“She’s working,” Randy said, sliding in front of me and using every inch of her five-foot-four frame to try to intimidate this rich boy. “She can’t talk to you, so scram.” She batted him away with her hand.

Spencer dropped his head and stuck his hands in his pockets, but he seemed to have no intention of moving. “I think she’ll want to hear what I have to say… but if she’s busy, I can go.”

He spun on his heel and began to walk toward the exit doors.

“Wait!” I called.

“Vivian!” Randy said, grabbing my arm.

I turned to her. “If he has information, even one little bit, I need it.”

“He’s going to lie to you,” Randy said through her teeth. Behind her, Brendan stared like this was an entertaining soap opera, and he was only missing the popcorn.

“He might lie to me,” I said, “but even a lie can tell me something. Just give me a minute.”

Carefully, I extricated my arm from her grip and followed Spencer out the doors to the front of the store.

Twilight had fallen over the parking lot and the overhead halogens had started to glow a dull orange. One of them buzzed overhead as a car passed, its muffler rattling softly. A chill fall breeze hit my arms, and I wondered for a split second what I was doing out here alone with my enemy. Or at least myenemy’s family.

Spencer was walking to the parking lot, but I didn’t want to go too far since I had no idea if this was a trap or not. “Stop, Spencer,” I commanded.

He did so, his expensive sneakers skidding in the gravel. When he spun around, there were those ice-chip eyes again. “You changed your mind.”

I nodded, trying hard not to wring my hands. “What do you need to tell me?”

He gave a wane smile. “Well, I have to say, I thought we’d get to know each other a little better. My sister seems to know you so well. Yet, I haven’t had one interaction.” He ran ring-covered fingers through his blond hair making it messy in a sexy way.

“Your sister is a bitch,” I said, testing the waters.

His lips widened in an almost-smile. “That she is. Proud of it too. You should meet our mother.”

I hoped very much that would never happen. “If you’re related to the Hills, that’s all I need to know about you, Spencer.”

His smile faded. “Everyone always makes that assumption.”

“So you’re not like them?”

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