Chapter 6
Wes
My brother’s bright voice bounces off the walls, announcing his arrival before I see him.
He bangs his fist against the door, opening it in dramatic fashion. Spence strolls into my office, still wearing his form-fitting black skating pants and a thick blue short-sleeved shirt.
“‘Helloooooo, brother.’” He spins ninety degrees to face Isla, pointing at her with a finger from each hand. “Name the show.”
I allow my gaze to land on Isla, who’s already looking at me.
The power of her stare kicks open the trap door to the bottom of my stomach.
I don’t fucking like the sensation in my gut when she’s in my vicinity.
At thirty-two, I should be able to not lose my shit like a fourteen-year-old kid seeing a boob for the first time.
Her eyes go comically wide as she realizes that her new partner’s brother is none other than the guy she yelled at repeatedly this morning. I wave one hand, waggling my fingers in a subtle tease. Her expression falls, brows pulling together and lips forming a supple line.
No, just a line, dammit.
Spencer snaps his fingers. “Please save whatever this”—he motions between us—“is for when I’m not in the room.”
I immediately drop my gaze to the papers on my desk, burning with annoyance for my little brother’s penchant for drama. Nothing is happening between Isla and me outside of mutual annoyance. But I can’t tell him that and complicate his relationship with her.
“I wasn’t—” Isla starts before abruptly cutting herself off and letting out a huff of breath.
Her discomfort eases my irritation; at least I’m not alone in my feelings of embarrassment.
“Spence,” I warn, eyes still glued to the stack of invoices, contracts, and other documents that I’m in no mood to review today.
I’ve been told more times than I can count that I need to enter this century and move to paperless. But extensive screen time triggers the tinnitus from unexplained hearing loss in my left ear. Caffeine and alcohol exacerbate the constant ringing, too. All I can do is try to reduce the triggers.
Unfortunately, I don’t have a coping mechanism for the trigger that has just walked into my office. Any bit of concentration I could’ve mustered this afternoon evaporates like cool rain hitting hot concrete.
Spencer’s disbelieving voice pitches an octave higher. “Really? You don’t know The Vampire Diaries?”
I look up from my desk, locking my eyes onto my brother. I refuse to give in to the overwhelming tug coming from the tension headache in human form whose stare burns into the side of my head.
Spencer blows out a long breath. “I would let Damon Salvatore do anything he wants to me. And Caroline, too, of course. Oh, and Klaus, or Elijah, or Ele—”
“Spencer,” I hiss louder, a practice from when we were kids that persists to this day. In a normal voice, I say, “Not everyone has seen every movie ever made like you have.”
He throws his hands into the air. “It is not a movie.”
Isla mumbles something that sounds like vezamos. It means nothing to me.
Spencer brightens, every ounce of annoyance melting off him. “Team Stefan or Damon?” he asks.
“Damon, obviously,” she replies, with a strong eye roll as if the question is offensive.
I’d forgotten that about her from the night we met. Isla can’t hide a single emotion from her face to save her life. It’s why I was so confused when I didn’t hear from her after that night. I’d thought we’d connected, at least as much as two teenagers could.
It was one night a lifetime ago, something I thought about when I caught glimpses of her competing on TV.
When Spence told me he was considering Isla as his new pairs partner, I had a moment where that old shame and heartbreak rushed back in.
A remnant of emotion that I’ve clearly never dealt with, having told no one in my life about meeting Isla.
My reaction to her now has nothing to do with our past and everything to do with the hurricane she blew in on this morning. And the fact that I can’t catch my breath around her. Both of which will subside. I’m sure of it.
“Okay, now I know this partnership will work.” Spencer strides over and hooks his arm in Isla’s. She stiffens for a millisecond before giving in to the contact. “I had you pegged as a Stefan girl. All that brooding you like to do.”
Her lips part, like she can’t believe what’s coming out of Spencer’s mouth, but he continues, oblivious to her reaction. “My brother is a total Klaus. He hasn’t met his Caroline yet, or at least that’s my prediction. Diana, his ex-wife, was more of a Katherine, if you ask me.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. My brother’s secret vampire show language means nothing to me, and I hate not being able to follow the conversation.
Usually, I only lose the thread of conversations in loud places, like bars or hockey games, when the background noise makes it too difficult to decipher words over the ringing in my ear.
It’s a hindrance I’ve learned to adapt to over the years, but despite having had a lifetime with my brother, I still haven’t learned how to interpret all his references.
“Really.” Isla tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, drawing every bit of my attention to her.
Her beauty bowls me over again like a punch to the gut. For days, I’d played out in my head the potential conversation where I set expectations with her, but our meeting this morning has complicated my plans.
“You’ll see,” Spencer says, smiling conspiratorially at her. Did I mention how I hate this situation? “Most people think he’s a moody little shit, but deep down, he just wants to be lov—”
“Okay!” I interrupt, shoving my seat out and clapping my hands together. Their heads snap toward me with the sound. “As much as I love hearing you talk about fictional people, I have a lot of work to do.” My hand lands on the mound of papers to emphasize my busyness. “Can we get to the point?”
Spencer mutters something under his breath that twists Isla’s lips briefly before she catches me noticing. I’m grateful that her lips form a flat line again. I don’t know whether I’d survive the sight of her full smile.
“We’re here to talk about Isla’s coaching gig. She has years of experience, so she can finally replace that vacancy from Linda retiring, what, three years ago?”
A loud bumping song blasts into the room, the regrettably catchy ringtone of Spencer’s phone. It’s from some tennis movie he loves. He blasts it to hype himself up before he competes.
Spencer pulls his phone out of a pocket that I can’t imagine existing in those pants. His posture deflates at whatever he sees on the screen. “Shit, I gotta take this, but you two talk. I’ll be back.”
He walks out of the room, taking every last bit of oxygen with him and leaving me here alone with Isla Covington, who studies me like I’m a challenging puzzle. I actively fight the urge to squirm beneath her assessing gaze.
“So, you’re Spencer’s curmudgeon-y brother.” She holds her hands up in the universal sign for innocence. “His words.”
I collapse into my seat. “Comparing anyone to my brother makes them seem like a curmudgeon.”
“Sure, but in this case, I’m thinking it’s accurate.”
“And being accosted in a parking lot by a hysterical woman—”
She leans onto her heels, arms crossing over her chest. “‘Hysterical woman,’” she repeats with a scoff.
“—tends to get a person’s hackles up.”
“Your ‘hackles,’” she repeats my words again, a tinge of smugness in her tone.
Unlike me, Isla isn’t struggling with the situation.
She looks right at home in my office, in her distractingly form-fitting black leggings and tight blue tank top, matching me barb for barb.
“Right. Well, the problem with your little complaint is that I was the one accosted.”
“I’ve already said I’ll pay for the damage. The barely noticeable scuff on your door will be all patched up in no time. You need to move on.”
“That wasn’t a scuff, and you know it.”
I tip forward in my chair, forearms pushing onto my desk. “Arguing with you isn’t how I plan to spend my days, so if you’re going to work for me, you’re going to have to get over this.”
“I wouldn’t be working for you. You’d be contracting with me.”
My eyes narrow. “Same difference. You would answer to me.”
“But you wouldn’t be my boss,” she contends. “You’d be my client.”
I lean back in my chair, hands going behind my head, elbows out to the side. “And the client is always right.”
“That’s the customer.”
“Same difference,” I grit out. “This is my business, so anything that happens in this building has to go through me first. Call me a client, a boss, whatever…it doesn’t change that you would answer to me if you were to be giving figure skating lessons in the building I own for the business I founded. ”
Isla’s jaw tightens, and she trains her furious blue eyes on me. The color reminds me of the hottest part of a flame.
I know from experience that not taking a hard line with staff and addressing issues head-on leads to more long-term pain. I don’t have space to take on any additional amount of it.
“Is working here something you still want to do?”
The length of her pause speaks volumes. Eventually, she replies with a simple, “Yes,” like it’s all she could manage to say that wouldn’t send us careening toward a fight.
“Okay.” I gesture to the seat in front of me. “How about you sit and we figure out the specifics?”
“I’m good.” She shrugs, remaining stubbornly planted in her current position. After hours of working out, her legs must burn, and still, she won’t sit because I asked. “And I have some conditions.”
This fucking woman. Conditions for a job that I wasn’t hiring for? My brother has pulled some shit through the years, but bringing Isla fucking Covington into our lives takes the cake.
“Like what?”
She sashays to one of the chairs and sinks onto it, crossing one leg over the other.
Every movement screams of self-satisfaction.
“I want to do my bookings. Screen the clients. Set the schedule. And then refer them over to you to make it official. This will make sure that nothing gets scheduled when I’m unavailable and that you don’t book clients that won’t work out. ”
Her suggestion would result in less work for me. Between the business, my niece, and the frequent visits to my aging father’s home, I don’t have room for more. But if I give in without a fight, she’ll think she bested me, that she has more power in this situation, and I cannot let that stand.
“I’ll need the notes from your assessment of the customer before you schedule anyone, and I have a right of refusal.”
“Fine.” She rises from her seat, ready to be done with me like I am with her. Anger burns in my gut as she approaches my office door, taking control over the end of this conversation. Putting me in my place with an ease that I’d find impressive if it wasn’t so infuriating.
“If this arrangement causes any issues, I’ll end it,” I tell her. “I can’t add any more stress to my life.” Isla’s scrutinizing expression sends more words stumbling out of my mouth to make her forget my last ones. “You can email me or text me. I don’t talk on the phone.”
I don’t like the half-amused smile on her face, a signal that she knows I’m crumbling before her.
I hold my business card out to her. “Don’t bother me unless you have to.”
She strides toward me and reaches over the desk to snatch the card from my hand. Close like this, I admire a freckle on her bottom lip. Was that there before?
I turn away from her, too worried about getting caught studying her mouth. But I can’t stop myself from watching when I hear the sound of her footfalls retreating from me.
She pauses in the doorway, her mesmerizing ass in my eyeline as she looks over her shoulder. She gives me a salute, a sarcastic, haphazard gesture meant to irritate me. “You read my mind.”
Thank fuck she can’t read mine.