Please come closer. Please stay away.
“Why? What’s on Saturdays?” His jaw was granite, his eyes titanium. If he didn’t look so unattainable, I would caress his stubbled cheek the way I’d wanted.
I met his stare. “With all due respect, that’s none of your concern.”
“I’m hardly concerned. Just trying to figure out how reckless you are as I make plans around you and my daughter. For some reason, she seems to have taken a shine to you.”
I hesitated, grimacing. “What makes you think I’m reckless?”
“Turning down Ivy League schools—and bragging about it—pickpocketing in the middle of a busy promenade, pissing off the most powerful men in the state on your first day at work, to name a few. Since we’re hardly even acquaintances, I’m placing my bet on a lot more random shit coming my way if I dig any deeper.” His words cut me like a knife as he unbuttoned the two first buttons of his shirt.
I’d noticed some things. Like how it was the second time he‘d gotten rid of his tie or loosened his collar when I was around. Like maybe it had meant he felt hotter when we were in the same close space.
I focused on the floor, trying to avert my thoughts from where he’d taken them the minute he’d loosened his collar. “Up until a week ago I worked as a surfing instructor. I mean, yeah, I mug people. But only because…” I trailed off, looking for the right words without giving too much away, “look, I have no choice, okay? Trust me, just because my father is loaded doesn’t mean I see a dime of it. I’m not a kleptomaniac. And I only target certain people. The rich kind. The ones who don’t need the money to pay for electricity or food,” I added. Because to me, it made a difference.
“Bra-fucking-vo, Robin Hood. Newsflash—fifteen years ago, my mother couldn’t have paid her electricity bill if you’d stolen her wallet. Stop making indolent assumptions. It’s unbecoming.”
“You should remind yourself of that—you just labelled me as reckless,” I pointed out.
“Because you are. I don’t think you’ll be a good fit for Luna.”
“I never auditioned for the job, so no harm done.”
The speed with which he moved away from me was startling. Trent scanned me coldly, a sneer on his face. “You’re coming to the party. Non-negotiable, Van Der Zee.”
“Don’t,” I said, grabbing my phone from the counter and angling my body toward the door. “I see what you’re trying to do here. I like Luna, and I‘m willing to be there for her—even after hours, no problem. But on my own terms. And ideally, without you around, either. Camila is great, but you and I don’t get along.”
He opened his mouth to say something when Dean Cole waltzed in, grabbing a plate and loading enough fruit onto it to choke an elephant, his eyes impassive on the colorful basket.
“Hey, man.” He stuck a toothpick into a piece of watermelon and shoved it into his mouth, chomping. Trent spun to face him and offered him a wordless frown that screamed fuck off. Dean continued, undeterred. “As your best friend, I feel like I should give you a fair warning. Hitting on your business partner’s daughter, who could practically be your own kid, is a bad move. We noticed you were in each other’s face from across the hall, and we all know hate turns into something else more often than not. So here’s my two cents—keep your crotches to yourselves, kids. Right. Fucking. Now.” Dean was still smiling cheerfully as he delivered the message. An onlooker from the other side of the glass would think he was discussing the weather or football. I looked between the two men. Trent’s eyes screamed something Dean was obviously able to read, his lips remaining pursed.
“Gotcha, dude. Was just warning you.” Dean lifted one palm up in mock defeat.
I excused myself, sneaking out of the kitchenette and leaving the two men locked in a stare-down. Before I managed to make my escape, Trent grabbed my arm—gently, not like my father—and whispered into my hair, “What did you tell Luna to make her laugh?”
I closed my eyes, leaning toward his neck, holding my breath so as to not inhale him and feed the growing addiction. “I told her that her dad is an uptight jerk.”
I didn’t look back to see who won the stare-down, Trent or Dean.
It didn’t matter, because I was the one who was losing.
My sanity, my logic, and my mind.
I was on the losing end, and I needed a fast win if I ever wanted to run away with Theo. Which I did. A lot.
“ANY NEWS?” I LET MY shirt fall to the cathedral marble floor with a soft thud. Amanda stripped out of her dress mechanically, as she did most things, hanging the colorful number over the brown, tufted wingback chair in my bedroom and watching the Todos Santos skyline from the floor-to-ceiling windows.