He reconciled the ledger.
And the only thing that he could come up with?
Not only did this woman think he was her bodyguard.
This woman was not Kara Koff.
It was the strangest audit he’d ever done. Yet he’d been training for this his entire life. Because core memories had now been unlocked from his formative years. Hours of primetime reruns. Years of watching opening montages and closing credits. Two names playing Rosie in the early seasons. Not just Kara Koff.
Twins.
And this one – the other one – was sitting cross-legged and barefoot, playing the part of the sister who had become a household name and the movie star.
Not just playing him; playing the entire boat, apparently.
His mouth went dry…having nothing to do with licking too much frosting. Every word she’d said that night reordered itself in his head, a puzzle he’d been solving in the wrong language.
His improv brain began firing on all cylinders.
Don’t break character. Follow her lead.
Yes, And?
And roll with it.
Chapter Twelve
Tzipi’s hands still smelled like vanilla and sugar.
She’d scrubbed them twice in the closest ladies’ room, but the scent clung to her skin, a souvenir from twenty minutes of Max’s body heat radiating next to her while they had frosted cookies like in a freakin’ Hallmark movie. Her face felt hot. Her chest tight. And somewhere between the sprinkles and the way he’d licked frosting off his wrist at one point, she’d completely forgotten she was supposed to be her sister.
Kara wouldn’t have fumbled the piping bag.
Kara would’ve been effortlessly charming, perfectly composed, giving just enough flirtation to keep everyone – Max, included – in her back pocket. Tzipi had just…been herself. Laughing too loud at his jokes. Getting competitive about their decorating skills. Brushing sprinkles off his bowtie and letting her hand linger a half-second too long.
“Smooth, Solokoff. Real smooth.”
Kara also would’ve been Teflon to the rest of them. Robby and Hannon and even that Leah woman. All trying to hang on. Nothing sticking.
Her phone pinged an incoming text from Kara, of course. It was as if her sister was in the corner stall, eavesdropping as Tzipi trash-talked herself in the vanity mirror.
Everything’s all set for tomorrow, so excited!
We could never have done this without you, Tiz.
Thankyouthankyouthankyou
Hope you are having fun!!! MAJOR Baller FOMO right now.
She gave one last look in the mirror. Hair still intact – thank God for Bree’s industrial strength hairspray. The lips could use a plump-up, but that was fine. What wasn’t fine was the stupid smile she couldn’t quite wipe off her face.
You’re not supposed to like him, like him.
Bottom line: he worked for Kara. He probably had a whole roster of celebrity clients he shepherded through events. Joked with other divas. Stayed professional while they flirted and fawned over him.
Except he hadn’t. He’d gotten personal.
And he’d looked at her like she wasn’t just another night shift.
