Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Ugh.
This was going nowhere.
I saved the document and closed my laptop.
Alex looked up right as I sighed. “I’m sorry. I disturbed you, didn’t I?”
“It’s fine. I was starting to dry up anyway. It’s late.” One of those things was a lie.
“It’s one of those days. I think I’ve read the same page six times now.” He closed the book and put it down on the sofa next to him.
“Are you all right? You’re not usually up this late. I know. I always am.”
His lips twitched. “It’s just been a rough week or so. With my mum harping on at me and getting those bloody cats.”
I grimaced. “Talk about an unpleasant surprise.”
“Mm. We spoke again this evening and it wasn’t the most enjoyable. I never thought I’d have to draw lines with my mother regarding who makes decisions in this house, especially when it still feels like hers.”
“I can imagine that’s difficult to do, but she has to respect your wishes as Oly’s father. If you said no cats, that means no cats.”
“Yes, well, I think we’re both more than aware that I will eventually get suckered in and lose this fight, but I’m going to go down swinging.” He chuckled. “And, hey—maybe it’ll be a good thing for Olympia.”
“Cats are supposed to be good for kids with autism, you know. Everyone thinks of dogs as the best emotional support animals, but for kids who need calm and quiet, cats are the perfect companion.”
“That’s another reason I’ll probably lose.” His lips twitched. “And then there’s Olympia’s assessment this week…”
Ah. Of course.
“I forgot about that,” I admitted. “It’s Wednesday, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“I’ll look at my plans so we can take Wednesday off. It’s going to be stressful enough as it is for her.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that.”
“Of course.” I smiled, sliding my laptop onto the cushion next to me. “Want to play that game of chess?”
Alex’s eyebrows shot up. “Sure. I’ll try to go easy on you.”
Laughing, I carried my wine glass over to the ornately carved mahogany chessboard in the bay window. It was the most perfect spot for it and looked out over the private gardens that Gabriella was currently redesigning for her college course.
“They’re going to look so good when they’re done,” I said. “The gardens.”
“They are. She sent me her preliminary plans this evening. I’ll show them to you tomorrow.” Alex sat opposite me and set his glass on the windowsill. “Are you sure? It’s a bit late to play properly.”
“Yes, my brain won’t shut off anyway. Too many things whirring around it. If I start reading a book, I won’t sleep at all, and the same goes for a TV show. Chess might as well do it. Besides, you seem like you have a lot on your mind.”
“I think you’re starting to spend too much time with me, Adelaide. I don’t appreciate how easily you’re able to read me.”
I grinned. “I hate people, but I love watching people. Spend enough time doing it and you’d be surprised how easy it is to figure humans out.”
He motioned for me to take the first move. “I suppose that’s a handy skill to have as a writer.”
“Yes. But, really, I’m just terribly nosy.”
“Again, handy for a writer.”
“Well, when you look at it that way, it is rather positive, isn’t it?” I reached for my wine and frowned at the board. “Wait. How did you do that?”
Alex grinned. “There’s a reason nobody plays chess with me, Adelaide.”
I looked at the positions of the pieces in awe. We’d only had a few turns each, and I wasn’t even sure how I was supposed to get out of this. “What the actual fuck?” I whispered.
He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. “Do you want some help?”
“Absolutely not. I’d rather lose with dignity than win any other way.” I took another drink of my wine and hovered my spare hand over the board.
Damn it.
This match was already lost. I didn’t have to be a grandmaster to know that.
What kind of hinky chess magic did this man possess?
“I’m quite offended by this,” I said, making my move. “I’m rather used to winning, and I know you’ve already won.”
“Not necessarily,” Alex replied, his eyes scanning the board before he quickly moved a piece. “Chess is a funny old thing, but I would be surprised if you could beat me.”
“Mm.” I settled down and set about playing, and the worst part of this was that I could see the moves he was going to make.
I knew what he was doing. His opening had been exquisite, and had I recognized what he was doing, I might not have found myself two moves behind.
Alas, I was.
Bloody hell.
He was going to make mincemeat of me.
Who was he, Magnus frigging Carlsen?
Ugh.
I considered myself to be a very competent chess player, and that knowledge meant that I rather suspected that he was going easy on me right now to give me a chance.