“Which brother?” Cassya arched a knowing brow.
“The king, obviously.”
With a smirk, Cassya shrugged. “No love lost there.”
“So, you’re willing to work out a deal with us?” Alyster asked.
“Maybe,” she said.
Alyster was loath to admit it, but Jay had been right. Cassya was a distraction and would continue to be one. Right now he couldn’t tell if her hatred for her brother was genuine or not. And her sweet smile had fogged his ability to read her motivations. Did she actually enjoy Alyster’s company, or was that all part of her twisted plan to ruin him? “If you need to get a message to me, speak to Jay. He’ll make sure to relay it.” Alyster stood, ending the conversation.
Cassya rose and bid him adieu, offering her hand in good-bye. Alyster hesitated, knowing that one touch would never be enough, and it’d drag him straight into her vortex, from which he’d never escape. He nodded dismissively, and she tucked her hand away. “Good night, Captain Alyster.”
“Good night, Cassya.” I will see you in my dreams.
Shoot. Maybe I did need to get laid.
Chapter Seven
Dani
I snapped a lid on the cheese board I’d put together for Matt’s evening snack and stored that in the fridge. Check. Dinner was already cooking in the slow cooker—this amazing shrimp and sausage chowder I used to make for my ex all the time. It was one of his favorite dishes, but I wouldn’t hold that unfortunate fact against it. I’d actually told that anecdote in the video I posted of myself making the stew in my Instagram Stories, which Una had taught me to use.
Someone sent me a private message that I was better off without him, and I, in my attempt to keep the virtual conversation moving and scintillating, replied back with a thumbs up.
I checked my watch. Time to get changed.
After grabbing the gigantic, flowery Vera Bradley bag I used for everything—purse, tote, gym bag, you name it—I headed upstairs, pausing for a moment outside of Matt’s office. The sound of keys clacking emanated through the door. He was working hard, and good for him. As I passed by, I sent him positive mental vibes.
I ducked into one of the guest suites and put on my yoga clothes—black leggings and a blousy gray shirt with a very low back, which revealed the straps of a hot pink (attached) bra. The shirt was an impulse buy from this cute fitness boutique in downtown Wackernagel. I felt nearly nude in this thing, but in what I hoped was an empowering way. It even gave me Real Cleavage.
I was forty-five and had never truly owned my sexuality, which was something Matt’s book had illuminated for me.
Time to try something new, even if it dragged me out of my comfort zone.
I stepped into the upstairs hallway just as Matt’s office door opened. He startled, and so did I, as I’d been involved in a tiny inner conflict over just how much cleavage was too much cleavage. “How’s your foot?” I asked. I felt awful that my carelessness had dragged him out of his office this morning.
He shut the door behind him and stepped toward me. I noticed his eyes flicker to my chest, which caused a flush to creep up my neck. Maybe just enough cleavage. “Foot’s okay,” he said, brow furrowed. “Where are you off to?”
Out of habit, I moved to cross my arms over my chest, but no. I was owning this look. I was a sassy yoga-going woman who was secure in her body. Fake it ’til you make it, right? “Um…yoga.” So sassy, so secure. “You going running?” I mentally kicked myself for saying that. “Of course you’re not going running. Your foot.”
“Yeah, but thanks to your quick work this morning, I probably won’t have to have it amputated because of gangrene,” he said, grinning. “It’s not ideal, though, because running has been my way to blow off steam while trying to hit my deadline. I hate missing a day.”
“I totally get it,” I said. “You’ve got to take care of yourself.” I lifted up my gym bag. “That’s what I’m attempting to do today.”
“Um…yoga?” he said, smiling as he mimicked me.
“Yes, yoga.”
“Hey, is this the Christmas yoga Jane’s always talking about?”
“It is. Jane is one of Una’s devoted followers. The Unites, they call themselves.” I chuckled. “Una plays plinky-plunky instrumental versions of Christmas songs, and she has us do ‘ho ho ho’ breathing exercises.”
“No, she doesn’t.” He threw his head back in a laugh. “Oh my god, that sounds amazing.”
I felt my entire face crinkle into one big grin. I couldn’t stop it. “It is kind of amazing,” I said. “I thought it’d be a big joke, but it’s real yoga, and I always feel so relaxed during the class and for, like, the whole day afterward.”
His face slipped into a frown.
Ugh. Lost him. “Maybe you should try it,” I said. “Yoga, I mean. In general, since you can’t go running.” I flushed as I realized that sounded like me asking him personally to join the class with me. “It’s important to recharge every once in a while. You know, you have to put your oxygen mask on first—” Crap, I was starting to sound like Una now.
He leaned in closer. “I’m not…I’ve been avoiding crowded places.”
I nodded, feigning understanding.
He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s hard. People recognize me, and then things get awkward…”
“I get it,” I said. “It must be tough for you, going places where people know who you are.”
“You have no idea.” He frowned.
“It sucks that it keeps you from doing fun things…Oh!” I said grinning. “I have an idea. Hold on!”
I dashed into the nearest bedroom and grabbed something I’d found in the closet earlier while I’d been cleaning, then I ran back to Matt and plopped it on his head.
“A hat?” He pulled it off and examined it—a Chicago Cubs baseball cap.
“The simpler the better,” I told him. “People aren’t very observant, generally, and no one here expects to see M.C. Bradford setting up the yoga mat next to them. Keep it low on your head, and no one will even notice you,” I said. “Besides, yoga happens in a dark room, and I’ll text Una beforehand to be chill.”
He glanced at his office, where his open laptop sat on his desk.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t be pressuring you. You have work to do, and I know Jane wants you to keep writing.” She was the one who’d told me to steer clear of Matt, and here we were, three days in a row, chatting with each other.