Page 29 of Champagne Fizz

Arie is one problem.

But Simon—the image of his mischievous smile and flirty eyes flits through my mind again and my body shivers.

Simon is a whole different problem.

6

SIMON

Iwalk out of the gym after my late-morning workout and start my morning routine.

Walk to the beach (and try not think about Kendall).

Get a bullet coffee from the organic coffee kiosk near the pier (and do my best to ignore the fact that she totally bailed on me early last night).

Stroll down the boardwalk (and remind myself it’s fine that she left. It was a business meeting and I’m not interested).

Of course, it’s impossible for one’s brain to compute a negative request. There’s science to prove that. If I tell my brain to not think about an elephant, what’s the one thing I’m guaranteed to be thinking about? A damn elephant. So, telling my brain to not think about Kendall is basically brainwashing myself of the opposite.

I pop in my Air Pods and distract myself with the latest business audio book I’ve downloaded. Only, when I look at my playlist I’m confronted with the total double-standard cliché that I am. I keep giving Kendall crap for listening to Sue Blade’s podcast like it’s her own personal heroine drip, but it turns out I am doing the exact same thing. The last three books I’ve consumed are entrepreneurial catnip with buzz-word titles likeThe Discipline of TractionandYour Next Five Moves. I wrote off Kendal as a fashion-clueless-Sue-Blade wannabe, but she could just as easily call me a Tony-Robbins-entrepreneurial groupie.

I scroll through my books, trying to see if I’ve got a fiction novel, a cook book, a sports biography,anythingthat’s not business related.

Nope.

Not one.

I stuff my Air Pods in my pocket. Arie’s right. I’m a single-minded putz who’s only focused on one thing: business. Our business. On making it the best. On climbing the next entrepreneurial mountain so I can—what? I can’t even remember the last time I went on a date, or tried surfing, or called a friend that wasn’t somehow related to Flambé.

To prove myself wrong, I pull out my phone and start dialing Esme, Arie’s twin sister on the mainland. I’m not addicted to the next happy-shiny-business-trends-in-the-Pacific. I have friends. Of course, the second Esme picks up I realize she’s Arie’s twin, so that doesn’t really count as “not related to Flambé” even if she is an ocean away.

“Simon!” Esme sings into the phone, making me imagine her sitting poolside in Los Angeles, drinking lemonade out of a pink-and-white-striped curly straw as she fluffs up her lavender hair. The cutesy straw is the kind of thing Arie would make fun of but Kendall would probably deem best-friend material. Which of course makes me wonder if I picked the wrong twin to befriend all these years. Not that Esme and I aren’t friends, we just aren’t I-want-to-murder-you-for-your-obnoxious-ability-to-finish-my-sentences close.

“Esme, hey,” I say, stopping to look out at the palm trees that dance in the morning sun. “I need the opinion of a woman who isn’t being stubborn as hell and all-around trying to light all the innocent villagers on fire.”

“It sounds like my sister is being an absolute pleasure to work with,” Esme quips.

“Dull is not in Arie’s vocabulary,” I agree, moving out of the main flow of the tourists pouring down the boardwalk. “Okay, here’s the question, yes or no: pursuing Ned and Olivia’s wedding planner is an absolutely awful idea? Correct? And for the record, your sister hates her with that special venom she reserves for cotton candy and people who wear yellow suits and say fuzz instead of fuck because they’re too sweet to swear in public.”

“Wow,” Esme exclaims, laughing. “Way to jump into the deep end of the conversation, Simon. Life in LA is great by the way,” she says, pointing out that I’ve skipped the small talk and gone straight for the jugular.

“Sorry,” I apologize. “I’m being a jerk. How are you and Desmond? How’s Hollywood?”

“We’re fine.” Esme laughs, genuinely unfettered about it. “You know, same old glamorous life of dating a movie star: premiers, ball gowns, glittering lights. Whatever television is selling as fame and fortune normalcy.”

She’s joking, of course. When they can get past the armies of fans and paparazzi, Esme and Desmond are the perfect couple.

“This is why I need to call you more,” I admit. “I’ve a one-track mind whose life revolves around how to expand his business or make sure your sister isn’t killing anyone.”

“Ismy sister about to kill someone?”

“Maim, maybe,” I concede, thinking about the arsenal of weapons Arie has in her kitchen. “More of a take-out-a-leg-Nancy-Kerrigan-style but with a rolling pin.”

“And it’s the wedding planner Arie wants to take down?”

“With a vengeance.” I grimace. “To top it all off, they’ve only met once.”

Technically,I’veonly met Kendall a couple times and I can’t get her out of my head. It’s the way she bristles every time I verbally poke her that could get one addicted. Not to mention those lips, or how she was flushed pink with annoyance when she came back from the bathroom last night, and all but ran out of the Gin n’ Lava like she couldn’t handle one more second with me. Which brings out my competitive side.

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