“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean she makes certain assumptions, and I haven’t corrected them because after the last screwup, I can’t afford for her to walk off this project before it’s done.”
“Ah, yes, who can forget the upholstered cabinet doors, the gold monkey hanging from the ceiling, and the sink with the human legs?”
“It was supposed to be eclectic,” Nolan said through gritted teeth.
“I nearly had a stroke from looking at it. At least it put Dionysus on the map—tourists were coming just to sit in that giant wine glass and take a selfie.”
It wasn’t a wine glass; it was a champagne saucer. And none of the tourists had bought any wine. It was then that Nolan had begun vetting potential customers ahead of their visit because he didn’t have time to play cameraman for everybody’s BuzzHub videos.
“Can we change the subject?”
“Sure, let’s go back to Alexa. The way I see it, you have two choices—either you explain the situation with the interior designer, or you sit back and wait for Alexa to run her off the job anyway.”
He was right. Dammit, Brax was right. Alexa could be a tenacious little troublemaker, and the only saving grace was that Marielle hadn’t yet realised she was Alexa’s latest victim. But…but it also meant Alexa cared. First, she’d dropped everything to collect Nolan’s laptop, and even if fixing it had taken a while, she hadn’t given up. Now she was still meddling in his life, and he’d told her he wanted her to come back. He was the one who’d inadvertently encouraged her.
And the most puzzling aspect? He wasn’t as mad as he should have been.
No, he kept checking his messages, just in case she’d replied, and last night when he couldn’t sleep, he’d gone down to the kitchen and reminded himself how to make macarons.
“This is the part where we groan and say, ‘Fucking Alexa,’” Brax prompted.
“I— Yeah, fucking Alexa.”
“Your heart’s not in it.”
“She never should have come back.”
“Well, she has, and she isn’t a child anymore. Not that she ever acted like a child back then. I actually felt sorry for her—whatever happened at home, it robbed her of her peace of mind and her high-school years. She should have been in therapy, not a house share with nine reprobates.”
“I never touched her,” Nolan blurted.
“I know. If you had, Dawson would have given you a black eye. Although if you’d hopped across the state line to Maryland or West Virginia, whatever the two of you did would have been perfectly legal.”
Legal, perhaps, but still wrong.
“She’s more fragile than you think,” Nolan said softly. He’d never seen Alexa cry, only heard her, but there were times when she chewed her bottom lip and her eyes glistened, and he just wanted to wrap her up in a hug.
“You were what she needed.” Brax paused. “Maybe you’re still what she needs. Ah, Indi says I shouldn’t forget why I called—we have a table at the Making a Difference Awards in LA, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in joining us?”
“When is it?”
“Not until January.”
“What difference are you making? Tell me you didn’t win a prize for supplying the hottest escorts in California?”
“Hostesses, not escorts. And no, Indi got nominated for doing the Heimlich manoeuvre on a lady at some charity benefit.” There was mumbling in the background. “Apparently, the correct term is ‘abdominal thrusts.’”
Brax thrived on those kinds of events, while Nolan found them draining. But they were a good way to meet potential customers, just not in such a predatory manner as Marielle.
“Sure, I’ll come.”
“You can let me know the name of your plus-one nearer the time.”
He’d walked right into that one. “Maybe I’ll just hold your hand again.”
