“In matching silk robes embroidered with our names.”
Halston cringes.
To Klein, I ask, “Can you come to my office on Monday at ten? We’ll nail down the specifics of your half of the deal.”
He nods.
“I’ll text you the address.”
Halston forms a megaphone around her mouth with cupped hands, and bellows, “Let the games begin.”
CHAPTER 7
Klein
What the helldid I agree to?
From every angle, no matter how I examine it, the idea screamslikely to fail.Just how exactly are Paisley and I supposed to pull off a charade of this magnitude?
I’ve been unable to think about much else since leaving Obstinate Daughter and driving to my nephew’s soccer game. So much so that I’m distracted from the game playing out in front of me. Shoving aside the vague feeling that I was conned into agreement (thank you, Halston), I force myself to focus on the game.
Oliver charges down the soccer field, toe-poking the soccer ball away the first time his teammate passes it to him.
“Take a touch, Ollie,” the coach yells from the sideline.
“Why is the coach yelling at my nephew?” I grumble, even though he’s correct in his instruction.
A grin stretches across my sister, Eden’s, face. “That coach is Oliver’s future stepdad.”
I shake my head at her. “Be real.”
After Eden’s douche canoe of an ex-husband, she deserves the best. Oliver’s soccer coach is probably not that. Don’t ask me how I know. It’s a feeling.
“Check this out,” Eden says in a low voice. She pulls out her phone, taps and swipes, then holds it out to me.
On the screen, a young guy performs bicep curls in a tight shirt while his muscles pop and flex. I frown at the atrocity. “Why the hell are you showing me that?”
She points across the field. “That’s Oliver’s coach.”
I look at the dude standing next to the team bench, clapping his hands and yelling instructions at the kids, then back to the guy on the screen. “Seriously? Why is he doing that?”
“He’s working on becoming a fitness influencer.”
Loud laughter bursts from me. Eden smacks my arm. “Shut up,” she hisses.
“You knew what my response would be before you showed it to me.”
She makes a show of rolling her eyes before tucking her phone into her back pocket. “Dom called me this morning. He said you’re dead in the water without social media,” she pauses to drill a pointed finger into my chest, “so I’m trying to show you there are other people, otherguys like youputting themselves out there.”
“Let me guess. Dom asked you to talk some sense into me.” It would be just like our cousin to do that. Always telling my big sister when I dug my heels in about something. It’s been that way my whole life.
She nods once. “Precisely.”
“Eden, I have a negative percent chance of posting a video of me lifting weights.”
“Well, duh. You’d do something related to your field. Like, reading a passage of your book, or?—”
“Never gonna happen,” I interrupt.
