Yogasm: A Romantic Comedy

“Good. I could use some good news.” I continue to slash-sign the papers, but I don’t miss the look that passes between Raul and Winnie.

When no one speaks for a full minute, I straighten the papers and give the two of them my full attention.

Winnie winces. Why does she wince? “Do you remember what we talked about with the whole… publicity thing, sir?”

I give her a wary look. Something tells me she’s concocted a plan I may not like any more than I like the mystical woo-woo shit taking up residence next to my restaurant.

“You said you’d be amenable to taking in a child, sir, and she—”

My world comes to a skittering, screeching halt. I think she keeps talking, but I can’t process anything beyond child.

Child.

Child?

Words fall on deaf ears as I stare at her, too stunned to be angry or to react.

“I’ve got nannies coming in to interview this afternoon,” she says with a smile that looks half-maniacal, like she’s just gotten her little paper cup of pills at an institution.

I blink once. Twice. I sit up straighter in my chair, trying to process everything she just said.

“Child.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Coming here.”

She nods eagerly. “Yes, sir, exactly.”

I lean forward in my chair and glance at the desk calendar. Relief floods through me so fast, I actually nearly smile. “Ahhh,” I say, shaking my head and wagging a finger at her. “You got me there, Winnie. Gotta hand it to you, I totally forgot it was April Fool’s Day. Ha. Very funny.”

I turn back to my computer. When she doesn’t move, I look back at her.

“Sir?” she says, blanching. “I… I don’t play pranks, Mr. Santiago.”

That, I believe. I’m not even sure she gets knock-knock jokes. She’s the type that corrects grammar on social media posts, which is precisely why I hired her.

Winnie’s smile is starting to fade, and I swear her eyes look a bit haunted. Her wild, graying hair’s tucked into a thick knot at the back of her head, but wiry little curls have escaped, making her look a bit frazzled.

I look at Raul and raise my eyebrows hopefully.

“Me neither,” he says with a grimace. “No pranks.”

He is the type that would pull one, but I can tell he’s serious. For now.

“Winnie, why the hell are we sitting here in my office discussing a child?” I make a face. “And nannies?”

“You’re the one listed as next of kin, sir.”

Next of kin.

“Wait, what?”

She goes on to explain about how my lowlife, asshole brother supposedly sired a child and how the kid’s mother took off. And how, since my PR firm thought it best to improve my public image anyway and I’d agreed to do “whatever it takes,” this was a perfect opportunity.

“My brother isn’t dead! Jesus. Find him!”

Her face grows pained. “They can’t, sir, and the girl’s been put into foster care.”

“Dude, you did say you wanted to improve your reputation,” Raul says.

“Of course!” I say, gesturing. “I meant a donation to the library or something, for God’s sake.” I turn to Raul. “A church donation. A new wing at Children’s Hospital!” Something I could fling money at and leave well enough alone.

She blinks. “You agreed to this, sir.”

Raul looks away from me, but when I talk to Winnie, I’m looking directly at him.

“Did I?” I. Will. Kick. His. Ass. The look on his face says he can read my mind.

“Listen, man, this will be incredible for your reputation. And Miguel, you… you have to do something.”

I don’t respond at first.

I know he’s right. I do have to do something, and it might have to be something as drastic as… God… this.

My reputation is absolute shit thanks to the shenanigans of the past year, and it matters.

“Okay so don’t you have to take classes and be… investigated and all that?”

“We, um, already did that for you,” Winnie says, flushing pink at this admission.

“You can do that?”

“We… found a few loopholes,” Raul says with a grimace.

I narrow my eyes at him, and to his credit, he shrinks back a bit. I push myself to standing, knuckles on the desk, feeling every bit the barbarian the fucking media makes me out to be.

“You. Found. Loopholes?”

Winnie’s phone buzzes, and her eyes widen as she looks at the screen. “I-I have to go. This… they’re here.”

They’re here? Who’s here?

She takes off before I can ask her. I slump back down into my chair.

Raul slumps in a chair across from me. He gives me a tentative smile.

“Perhaps a… smoothie will cheer you up?”

He ducks just in time as I lunge across the desk at him.

Chapter 3

Sam

One week later, we’re settled in. And I have to admit? It looks a-MAZ-ing in here.

We've got a large glass display case in front, one of those gorgeous high-end deals that Madison somehow scored on Craigslist, housing our homemade cookies and baked goods. That segues beautifully to our smoothie stand, and to the far left we’ve got a brightly lit display of little bottles of essential oil blends that Allie swears by. We’ve strung fairy lights and set out candles, the decor Allie’s specialty. And honestly? The girl nailed it.