15. Dont Stop, Fleetwood Mac
"Don't Stop," Fleetwood Mac
Victoria
The dusk light through the windows cast long shadows over the abandoned mannequins and clothing racks as I unlocked the door again, letting Mallory lead the way. Kate meandered, running fingertips along dusty walls. Connor quietly explored the changing rooms and storage area.
I lingered in the reception area, expecting Mallory to flick on the lights, but she surprised me.
She removed her shoes, padding to the center of the proposed studio space. Planting her feet, her lids dropped closed. On a deep breath, her arms rose overhead, then her palms lowered in front of her chest on an exhale.
She stood almost motionless, aside from the rhythmic rise of her chest and the wiggle of her toes. Her face softened, lips parted and jaw relaxed. After a minute of slow breathing, her arms rose. She bent to press her palms to the floor, moving through a sun salutation. Her movements were graceful and smooth, unbothered by her small audience.
That’s when I realized: I’d underestimated Mallory Clarke.
She’d been seventeen at my law school graduation. I’d been living with Alexander for two years, and Nick had stayed with us during summer break, so I’d heard endless complaints about their immature, boy-crazy teenage sister. She’d shown up with a pink glitter sign at commencement pointing out his second-place rank, intended to piss him off.
But that was a decade ago.
This woman was confident and steady. She’d outgrown those teen behaviors, her sparkly fingernails the only hint of that past. She’d been in business for four years, meaning she started it when she was 23—more successful than I’d been at that age, starting over with nothing but a shattered heart and fierce determination.
She stood before me as a self-assured yoga teacher, ready to spread her wings, even if she didn’t see how far she’d come—or how high she could fly.
When she finished her sequence and her eyelids fluttered open, I straightened from my perch against the wall. “Do you know what I thought when I walked into your studio last December?”
Mallory broke out of her reverie. “Why the fuck is Alex in a yoga studio?”
I couldn’t hide my grin. Her smile widened with the pride of getting me to crack. “Yeah, that was out of character. Plus I’d flown for eight hours to come pick his ass up because he wouldn’t answer his phone.”
“Asshole,” she muttered. Connor laughed, returning from the back storage room.
“Even though I was so angry I could barely see straight, worried his mistakes would cost us both our promotions … I couldn’t ignore the studio’s obvious potential.”
There was a lot I couldn’t ignore, like the charismatic self-defense instructor demonstrating a bear hug escape. The lick of arousal across my skin as his biceps flexed, his body in complete control.
“The class was full on Sunday afternoon, a notoriously hard time to fill. I was surprised you weren’t there, but that was a point in your favor, too,” I explained. “Plenty of small businesses are reliant on the owner—without them, the whole operation falls apart. The class running without you is an indicator of smart hiring decisions and brand loyalty.”
“Really?” she said, her eyes brightening.
“I made your brother drive my rental car down to the City that night so I could research your studio,” I shared, intentionally omitting that I’d given him the silent treatment while scanning the website for the missing name and photo of the self-defense teacher.
“Do you know what the reviews said?” I asked, and she bit her lip nervously. “Almost all five stars, with two recurring complaints. One: You have to arrive early because classes sell out. Two: On-street parking is a nightmare.”
She winced, shoulders drawing up. My hand flinched, wanting to comfort her, but instead I ran my fingertips along the hem of my skirt.
“Before I decided to buy this building—before I even saw the third-floor offices—I imagined your studio here. I could picture the polished hardwoods, the soft lighting, the warm reception desk, the airy studios …”
“A sanctuary,” she murmured. Her word choice made my breath catch in my throat, fumbling for a reply and coming up empty.
Kate broke the silence. “You remember the current studio’s Grand Opening?”
Mallory smirked. “I taught four straight classes, each with 108 sun salutations.”
“You could barely lift your arms,” Kate laughed, her socks making almost no noise crossing the wood floor.
“You manned the front desk all day,” Mallory said.
Kate shrugged. “Better than waiting tables.”
“Didn’t pay as well,” Mallory said, leaning into her friend’s shoulder.
“We drank so much champagne—”
“I was so dehydrated, I accidentally got wasted,” Mallory grinned.
“Shitfaced,” Kate confirmed. “You made me promise that we’d figure it out together because you couldn’t go back to another shitty job with a sleazy boss who hit on you.”
Mallory burst into laughter. “True. I’m completely unemployable.”
“You didn’t have Grace then, babe. Neither of us knew what we were doing, yet you convinced me to open the gallery. We both made a million mistakes and worked way more hours than we should have.”
“Better than waiting tables,” Mallory repeated.
“And didn’t pay as well,” Kate replied, before reaching for Mallory’s hand. “We were terrified but we figured it out, because we’re scrappy bitches. It got easier when you hired Grace, but it was still your studio. Even without Grace, you still have me. And now?” Kate surprised me by pointing a finger at me. “Now, you’ve got her. The scrappiest bitch of them all.”
Mallory’s hopeful face cautiously turned to me.
I hadn’t wanted to get this involved with her business. I’d intended to placate Alexander’s need to be close to his family. I’d wanted a tenant who would pay her rent on time so that when I walked away, this building wouldn’t become a financial liability.
But in the past hour, something inside me had shifted. I could blame it on the tequila, but that wasn’t it, not entirely. Mallory had rallied to my side instead of backing up her brother. I’d never expected that.
Then again, my only relevant experience was Beverly always validating Spencer’s behavior, no matter how foul.
Mallory’s lighthearted approach to life sometimes came off as flaky, but she was kind, fierce, and loyal. I recognized her latent ambition, just like I’d seen in her brother ten years ago. Maybe his had gone dormant, but seeing his sister’s success—or her exceeding his low expectations, growing beyond his reach—might wake him up.
Resolved, I held out my hand. “This isn’t a favor, Mallory, it’s a business transaction. I wouldn’t offer you space in my building if I didn’t believe you deserved it.”
She cursed under her breath and looked to Kate for a reassuring nod. Her small hand slid into mine and pumped firmly, triggering an electric current up my arm. “Ok, where do I sign?”
“I’ll have the paperwork ready tomorrow,” Connor said, walking up beside me and nudging my shoulder with the foil of the unopened champagne bottle. Because he’s the best goddamn assistant I could ask for, and worth every penny of his increased salary and relocation stipend.
“Now somebody’s definitely going to have to drive me home,” Mallory laughed as I smoothly popped the cork and Connor caught the overflow in a cheap champagne flute.
“To new beginnings,” I said, holding up the glass in a toast.
Mallory downed hers and held it out for a refill. “Never would have expected when you barged into the studio right before Christmas that it would turn into this. God, I was so pissed later when Kate told me I missed you.”
I hid my surprise that she remembered me at all—let alone that she was disappointed to not see me.
“You were there?” I asked Kate. I’d only come to collect Alexander, I hadn’t paid attention to the two dozen students. “You recognized me?”
“From that graduation photo in the Clarkes’ house,” Kate said with a playful smirk, taking the flute from Connor. "Also when we were seventeen Mallory was obsessed with you."
“Not obsessed. Impressed she could shut Alex up with a glare. Wish I could have seen it in December …”
“I wish I’d seen you, too,” I said, surprising myself by realizing that it was true. “You could have grabbed his other ear to set him straight.”
She released a melodious laugh. “I got the next best thing, though. Kate reenacted it for me.” Mallory said, nudging her friend. “Come on, Kate, show her.”
Kate nervously spun her engagement ring. “Nah, she doesn’t want to see—”
“Show her, show her!” Mallory said, plunking herself cross-legged in the center of the floor, dust bunnies fluttering beside her.
I covered my face, not wanting to see a dramatic reenactment of my frustration. “That’s ok, you don’t need—”
“Come on, please?” Connor sat with legs outstretched beside Mallory, tugging on my hand to join him. “I missed all of this, catch me up.”
Kate muttered a curse, holding out her hands in apology. “Let me state for the record that she’s making me do this. You know she won’t quit nagging, so it’s better to shut her up.”
“So noted,” I said, kneeling beside Connor on the cold wood floor, dreading the dust mites clinging to my skirt.
The dusk light shone a makeshift spotlight on Kate. She nervously looked down at her feet, exhaled a long breath, rolled her shoulders, then lifted her head. All the nerves were gone, her expression calm and focused.
“Ok, picture this: We’re in a self-defense class, paired up to practice wrist releases,” Kate said, throwing punching motions. “Everybody is yelling and laughing, music blaring loud and wild. All of a sudden … silence.” Kate snapped her fingers. Her body stilled. “We all whipped around to the speakers, where this sexy redhead was rocking a resting bitch face,” Kate crossed her arms and pursed her lips. Connor’s laughter burst out at her impression—even I felt a smile creep in. Kate lifted her chin, scanning the empty studio behind us, and spoke crisply, “I’m here for Alexander Clarke.”
“Incredible,” Connor murmured. I dropped my forehead into my hands. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and I buried my embarrassed cheek in his shirt.
“Connor, you should have seen Alex’s dumb face. He was so into Grace. When reality crashed in on him?” She brought her fingers to her lips for a chef’s kiss. “Then Victoria strolled out of there like she owned the place. Cruz’s tongue was hanging out of his head, panting after her.”
“Who’s Cruz?” Connor asked.
“The instructor,” Kate said, sitting down on Mallory’s other side and picking up her champagne flute. “And Victoria’s rebound.”
“What? A rebound?” Connor screeched, jolting upright and sending me reeling. “Who are you and where’d you put Victoria Blackstone?”
“It’s been three years, Connor. You think I’ve been celibate since Alexander moved out?” I asked, hiding my flushed cheeks behind my champagne flute. Even when we lived together, our sex life hadn’t exactly been scorching … but Connor didn’t need to know how pathetic my sex life was.
“Not just any guy,” Kate said, picking up her phone. “Picture young Jason Momoa without the eyebrow scar—”
“Stargate, not Baywatch,” Mallory said.
“But Dominican instead of Polynesian.”
Kate handed over her phone. “I took this for his sister’s Instagram.”
I glanced over at a grid filled mostly with women with flawless makeup. Connor zoomed in on a photo of Eric, his bicep tattoos on display while painting the wall, shooting the camera a sexy smirk.
Connor’s jaw dropped, tearing his gaze from Kate’s phone to smack my arm. “You hooked up with a guy with tattoos ? I don’t even know you anymore.”
“It’s not her fault,” Mallory said. “When he locks those eyes on you, it’s like a tractor beam. Your legs just fall open.”
“She held out longer than I’ve ever seen,” Kate said, admiration shining in her eyes. “At first it seemed like they were fighting on the dance floor, then suddenly they were making out.”
Jesus, I can’t believe they were watching that closely. I ran my hand over my mouth, ready to defend myself without knowing what I would say, but their conversation continued without me.
“So he’s a fuckboi?” Connor asked.
They both stilled, heads tilted in thought like dogs watching ducks take flight.
“No, he doesn’t let anybody believe they’re exclusive,” Mallory replied.
“And he’s upfront about his intentions,” Kate added. “He wouldn’t lie to get in your pants.”
“It’s honestly refreshing,” Mallory said. “When I took my night, I wish I—“
“You took a night?” I asked in surprise.
“Yeah, two years ago,” Mallory said as her gaze softened. “Top five best nights of my life.”
Kate’s face tinged with regret as she twisted her engagement ring.
“What do you mean, take your night?” Connor asked.
“Cruz has a one-night policy to prevent clinginess,” Kate explained.
Mallory grinned. “Women plan for months. Make sure they’re waxed and not on their period. They don’t take him home their first week in town … unless they don’t know they only get one night. But he told you before you left the club, right?”
I nodded as Kate leaned forward, chin on her palm. “So how was it?”
I considered coming clean, telling them nothing happened … but I was never going to sleep with him, so there was no harm in them thinking I was more adventurous than I was.
And more importantly: It would look pathetic if word got back to Alexander.
“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”
Mallory scooted closer, refilling my glass with liquid courage. “Good thing we’re not ladies.”
“Definitely not a lady,” Connor said with a nudge.
“I’ll just say …” I said, trailing my fingertip down the damp glass. “I have no regrets about going to his place.”
“He took you to his place?” Kate’s palm slapped the floor, her jaw unhinged. “We’ve been friends for years and I’ve never seen his apartment.”
“And he visited the next afternoon once my bed arrived.”
Their scandalized faces were worth the white lie about my furniture assembly.
“Damn, sounds like the perfect rebound," Kate said.
“And a great way to get my brother out of your system,” Mallory said.
“Though I can’t believe you dated Alex for seven years,” Kate said. “What did you see in him? Besides those broad shoulders, those stunning blue eyes, and that little bit of scruff …”
When Mallory shoved Kate, she raised her hands. “What, your brothers are hot!”
“Okay, besides those irresistible Clarke genetics …” Mallory rolled her eyes. “He was such an asshole. Even now he’s barely tolerable. How could you stand him for so long?”
I took a sip of champagne to gather my thoughts, but Connor explained for me. “You wouldn’t believe the egos around Hamilton & Houghton, Alex wasn’t even the worst of them. Dick measuring contests were the norm.”
“And having a vagina meant I had to have the biggest balls of all.”
“Sounds awful,” Mallory said.
“It was paradise compared to my previous job,” I said, taking in their sympathetic expressions. “After I left there, lawsuits revealed rampant sexual misconduct. Dozens of women came forward with accusations that bordered on criminal behavior, but nobody was fired.”
“Damn, hope those other women got help," Mallory said.
I paused. I’d been so deep in applying to law school, I hadn’t considered the women who risked their careers to share their stories. What happened to them?
“I hope so too,” I murmured.
“So, now that Alex is off the market and you’ve taken your night with Cruz, do you need introductions to Saratoga’s eligible bachelors?” Kate asked.
“Matchmaking!” Mallory perked up, clapping her hands. “What are you looking for in a partner? I introduced Kate to Paul, I’ll find you someone amazing.”
Maybe they were right. I didn’t need to marry Alexander to build a legal empire with him. When Richard needed a cash injection for The Sinclair Group, he hadn’t turned to my grandmother’s wealthy family—he’d approached Calvin Larsson, and now Sinclair Larsson was a billion-dollar company. Maybe I’d be better off with Alexander as just my business partner.
When he finally agreed to move to New York City, he could bring Grace and Ruby. Hell, I’d get Ruby a night in the Eloise room at the Plaza if it meant getting back to Manhattan, to show my family what I could accomplish without them.
Ideally in time for Richard’s 80th birthday party in May, only two months away. My family would expect me to bring home somebody handsome and successful, with an Ivy League education.
Alexander could keep Grace, and I’d find a replacement. Men tripped over themselves to date me, so I’d stop ignoring their advances. It was March, I had plenty of time before May to sculpt someone new into the other half of my power couple. Even faster if they worked in real estate and understood how much their career would benefit from a powerful alliance.
I visualized my Forbes cover again. The blurry gap held a new face … his gaze on my cleavage.
I waved off the matchmaking offer—restraining a full-body shudder at who Mallory Clarke would consider a good choice—and texted the real estate agent who’d shown me this property:
Lawrence, signed a new tenant. Still interested in that celebratory drink?