10. Alina
10
ALINA
T rue to his word, Marcelo shows up at closing time with two of his guys. I feel guilty about them working through the night, so the next morning, I bring them a giant thermos of coffee.
I’m more than a little grouchy about being here. I don’t normally work on Tuesdays—it’s my only day off, and I guard it with ferocity. But Tomas wanted to get started on the books right away, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him prowl around my gym unsupervised.
“Thank you, Signorina,” Marcelo says gratefully, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “It’s very kind of you.”
“It’s the least I can do,” I reply, meaning every word. Marcelo’s helpers are hanging back, so I take it upon myself to pour the coffee into paper cups. “I also brought some pastries, so help yourself, please.”
The three guys have made a ton of progress in just one night. The old tiles have been removed, as have the old rotten subfloor and drywall, and it looks like they’re almost done installing a new subfloor. And that’s only the visible changes. “This looks really good.”
“It’s coming along,” Marcelo says, looking around with satisfaction. “Everything’s on schedule. We’re going to break for a couple of hours while things dry, and then we’ll be back at noon to start laying tile.”
“Okay.”
Tomas walks into the gym just then. I glance at my phone. Ten exactly. Gah. “There you are,” I say without enthusiasm.
His lips quirk. “Good morning to you too, Alina,” he says, sounding as if he’s trying not to laugh. He greets Marcelo and his men with a polite nod before turning back to me. “Don’t stop what you’re doing; I can get started without you.”
“No, you can’t,” I retort. “I always leave the office door locked, and only Simon and I have keys. Unless he gave you his copy?” I don’t know why I’m being bitchy. Maybe because he’s a little too good-looking. He’s wearing another bespoke suit today. His face is cleanly shaved, his hair is perfectly ruffled, and his eyes dance with laughter, and the combined effect makes my stomach do a flip. River’s voice sounds in my ears. I’d like to grapple with Mr. Sex-on-a-Stick. I can picture it already. He’ll be all hot and bothered as we wrestle, and then, oops, his crotch ends up in my face. Don’t know how that happened, but hey, it’s right there…
“Unfortunately, he didn’t,” Tomas replies calmly. “He wasn’t exactly thinking about the details when I went to see him.”
No, he was probably freaking out about the danger he was in. Richly deserved danger.
“Until I get a copy made, I’m at your mercy,” he continues with a disarming smile. “But you don’t have to stay once you let me in.” He lifts the now-empty thermos. “No coffee for me? I’m crushed.”
That smile should be illegal. When he smiles, he looks cocky, charming and impossibly sexy. He looks like the bad boy your mother warned you away from, one that would charm you into bed and give you the best sex of your life.
Except Tomas isn’t a boy. He’s a man. And judging from his choice of employers and the fear Marcelo seems to display around him, he’s a man with seriously dubious morals. That stuff is only sexy on TV.
“Don’t worry,” I reply. “I can always make a special cup for you.”
He laughs out loud. “Poison does tend to be the weapon of choice for women. I thought you’d be more creative, though.”
Marcelo’s team decides now would be a great time to get the hell out of the gym. Smart. They gulp down their coffees and flee. I wait until they’re gone before replying. “Sorry to disappoint you,” I say sweetly. “But don’t worry, Signor Aguilar. Before I increase the dosage to lethal amounts, I need to do some research on partnership laws. It would be a shame to kill you if your share of the business didn’t come to me.”
“It’s always important to pay attention to the details,” he agrees solemnly. His eyes are still laughing as he gestures for me to go ahead of him. “Signor Aguilar sounds so formal. Please, call me Tomas.”
Tomas and I work in silence for an hour. It’s excruciating. The two desks in the tiny office are arranged in the shape of an L, and the backs of our chairs touch each other. I go through my emails as best as I can, but I’m intensely aware of his every movement, and it’s difficult to focus. At some point, I lean back to stretch, and my hands hit his shoulders. The accidental contact sends a frisson through me. I make a week of social media content, pulling up photos of myself from my phone, and even though he doesn’t stop typing, I imagine I feel his eyes on my screen.
Finally, I need a break. I jump up and collide with the back of his chair again. “I’m going to get another cup of coffee. You want one?”
He’s frowning at the screen. “No, thank you.”
Huh. No quips about attempting to poison him. Something must be wrong. “How’s it going?”
“Your ex is a criminal, and your bookkeeper is so bad at her job that it’s offensive. This is the worst record-keeping I’ve seen in a while.”
“I wouldn’t call Simon an ex.” My brain catches up with my mouth. “Wait a second, how do you know Simon and I dated?”
“I do my research.”
“And this research involves looking into a vacation fling that happened two years ago?”
“I’m very thorough.”
“Thorough? I believe the word you’re looking for is nosy. What else do you know about me?”
“Very little, unfortunately,” he replies. “My usual source is busy with other, more pressing projects. I’ve had to do my own research.”
My traitorous brain conjures up an image of a naked Tomas settling himself between my legs, ready to do his own research. I’m very thorough, he says, and then brings me to several screaming orgasms.
He’s your partner, you idiot, I tell myself sternly, making myself quell the stab of desire that runs through me. Stop picturing him naked.
“Well, Simon wasn’t my ex. Ex suggests… feelings.” I don’t know why I’m even telling Tomas this. “My mother died a few days before Christmas a couple of years ago. I needed something to take my mind off things, and Simon was there.” I shrug. “I don’t hate myself for sleeping with him, but I do hate myself for going into business with him.”
I look up to find him surveying me with those maddening gray eyes. “Your mother died,” he says softly. “You were grieving, and Groff took advantage of you. Don’t hate yourself, Alina. Save that emotion for him.”
All the air seems to have left the room. I stare at Tomas for a long moment. Have his lips always been this full? This inviting? There’s a tiny scar just under his lower lip—one I’ve never noticed before. I wonder how he got it. My fingers itch to touch it, and I clench my hand into a fist.
This is madness. I need to snap out of this insanity. Now, before I do something I’ll regret forever.
“I’m happy to hate Simon,” I agree, taking a step back to widen the distance between us. Of course, the room is so small that my ass hits my chair. I stumble and nearly fall face-first into Tomas’s lap. “After all, he saddled me with you.” I smile to rob the words of their sting. “Still, the money seems real, and Marcelo is finally fixing the showers, so maybe it isn’t all bad. As long as you don’t blatantly come onto every woman in the gym, you’ll be an improvement.”
“You just paid me a compliment.” His lips curl up at the corners. “It was grudging, yes, but it was still a compliment. I’ll treasure this moment forever.”
Competent as hell, plus a sense of humor?
I’m in so much trouble.