Chapter 18
HOLLIS
“Sun salutations,” the instructor said.
I leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. My brothers thought I was crazy. If they would ever give yoga a try, they would see I wasn’t so crazy.
It felt good to stretch. Not a cardio workout but I got plenty of that with my runs on the beach.
I had started attending yoga classes because a lot of my client base came from this world.
No way would I miss out on the networking opportunities.
My brothers could poke fun at me for doing yoga but I appreciated how challenging it actually was.
I would put my core strength against theirs any day of the week.
And a good core meant I had total control over my body. I’d been told more than once I was good in bed because of it.
I was in the middle of downward dog when my phone chimed. Loud.
In the silent, supposedly sacred space of the yoga studio.
Every head in the room turned toward me. Serene, centered people who five seconds ago had been breathing in peace and light now glared at me like I’d just kicked a puppy.
“Sorry,” I whispered, holding up one hand in apology while trying to maintain the pose. “So sorry.”
The instructor, a woman named Sage, gave me a look that could have curdled milk. I broke the pose and crawled over to where I’d left my bag by the door. I reached in to silence my phone but saw Juno’s name on the screen.
My heart jumped into my throat.
I grabbed the phone and practically ran out of the studio. Out in the hallway, I pulled up her message.
We need to talk. Can we meet?
I stared at the words, not entirely sure I wasn’t hallucinating. She wanted to meet. That was good. Much better than radio silence.
I typed back immediately: I’m at yoga. Want to join me?
The reply came almost instantly. A middle finger emoji.
I laughed out loud. God, she was fun. Prickly and difficult and absolutely fun.
I typed: Somewhere else then. Your elevator or mine?
That time, I got two middle fingers in response.
I grinned like an idiot now, leaning against the wall with my phone. This was better. This felt like we might actually be able to talk without her treating me like I had the plague. My phone buzzed again.
Your office. One hour.
I typed back: See you then.
Then I stuck my head back into the studio. Sage guided everyone through a warrior pose, her voice low and soothing. She saw me in the doorway and her eyes narrowed.
“I have to go,” I mouthed. “Emergency.”
She nodded once, probably glad I wouldn’t disturb her class again. I grabbed my mat and water bottle and headed for the exit. The drive home was a blur. Was she going to end the partnership? Had I shot myself in the foot?
I pulled into my driveway and jogged up the stairs to my house. I needed a shower. Fast.
Twenty minutes later I was clean, dressed in jeans and a shirt, and driving toward my office. I cranked up the radio. My hands drummed on the steering wheel at every red light.
The B Well office wasn’t in some sleek high-rise downtown. It was a converted warehouse space in Culver City. The kind of place guys like me trying to start a small business set up shop. I’d chosen it because the rent was reasonable and it had enough space for our small-scale bottling operation.
I pulled into the lot and parked near the entrance. The building was quiet this time of day. Most of the other tenants were either gone or holed up in their spaces working.
I unlocked the front door and stepped inside. The main area was taken up by our bottling equipment. Nothing fancy but it had been enough to get started. Fortunately, the demand for my drinks is high. Unfortunately, I couldn’t keep up with the orders with my current facilities.
Shelves lined the walls, stocked with ingredients and supplies.
It smelled like bananas and the faint lemon scent of the natural cleaning solution we used.
My office was in the back corner. I’d furnished it with a desk I’d bought secondhand, a couple of chairs, and a whiteboard covered in scribbled notes about recipes and marketing strategies.
I checked the time. She would be here in about ten minutes.
I paced the warehouse. The quiet felt strange. I’d paused operations while I figured out the Young at Heart deal. I knew it wasn’t much, nothing compared to the operations she ran. But it was mine. I had been damn proud of that first run bottled all by myself.
I heard the front door open. My heart kicked into overdrive.
I walked over to greet her. “Hey,” I said, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. I shoved them in my pockets.
She stepped in and scanned the area. “So this is B Well headquarters.”
“This is it. Not as impressive as Young at Heart, but I’ll get there.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes still taking in the space. The silence stretched between us like a rubber band pulled too tight. It would snap eventually if one of us didn’t take the plunge.
“So,” I said finally, gesturing toward my office. “You want to talk in there?”
“Sure.”
I led her back to my office, acutely aware of her following behind me. I could smell that strawberry scent again. Very distracting. I held the door open and she walked past me. Her shoulder brushed mine for just a second. That brief contact sent electricity through my entire body.
This is why I make bad decisions around her.
She settled into one of the chairs across from my desk. I took my seat, putting the desk between us like a barrier. A safety zone.
“Okay,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “We need to establish some ground rules.”
“Ground rules,” I repeated.
“Yes. About what happened in New York.” Her cheeks flushed slightly, but she maintained eye contact. “That can’t happen again.”
My jaw tightened. “Agreed. It was a mistake.”
She nodded. “We have to keep this professional. My father put me in charge of vetting your business. If he finds out? If he thinks there’s something personal happening? It could compromise everything.”
“I said I agree.”
She looked stunned. Did she expect me to argue?
“Oh,” she murmured.
“This deal is important to my business. I’ve worked too hard to screw it up now because I can’t control myself around you.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Can’t control yourself?”
Shit. That had come out wrong.
“That’s not what I meant.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Look, I’m not going to pretend that kiss didn’t happen. But I understand the position it puts you in. Puts both of us in. So yeah, we keep it professional from here on out.”
She nodded. “Okay. Good.”
“Good.”
“Now that we’ve handled that, would you like to see my little operation?”
“Sure.”
I led her back out into the main warehouse space. The bottling equipment sat quiet in the center of the room.
“This is where the magic happens,” I said, gesturing to the line.
Juno walked over to the equipment, running her hand along one of the conveyor belts. “You do all the bottling yourself?”
“Me and a couple of part-time workers. It’s not efficient for large scale, obviously. But it got me started.”
She moved down the line, examining each station. The filling machine. The capping station. The labeling setup. I watched her take it all in.
“I have to admit, I’m impressed.”
I blinked. “Was that a compliment?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” She turned to face me. “I knew you had your operation going, but I didn’t realize how hands-on you were. Most people in your position would have just hired someone to handle all this.”
“That’s not how I want to do it.” I leaned against one of the workstations. “I need to understand every part of the process. From formulation to production to distribution. Otherwise, how could I know if I was actually selling what I created?”
“That’s actually really smart.”
“Thanks. I think.”
She smiled. “I mean it.”
I walked toward her. “I will want to be hands-on with the larger operation as well. Something we’ll need to figure out. I won’t be bottling everything, but I care about quality control.”
We were standing close again. Too close, probably. I could count her eyelashes if I wanted to.
“Your turn to be honest,” I said quietly. “Do you still think I’m a trust fund baby playing entrepreneur?”
She bit her lower lip, and I nearly groaned. Why did she have to do that?
“No,” she admitted. “I don’t think that anymore.”
“You believe I’m not just some nepo baby on a side quest?”
“I think you’re more complicated than I gave you credit for.”
“Complicated good or complicated bad?”
“I’m still figuring that out.”
The air between us felt charged. Same as the elevator multiplied by a million. I knew I should step back. We’d just agreed to keep things professional. I’d literally just promised her I could control myself.
But she wasn’t moving either.
“Juno,” I said, my voice raspy.
“Yeah?”
“I’m about to break the rule we just made.”
“I know.”
Neither of us moved. We just stood there, inches apart, the tension so thick I could barely breathe.
“Fuck it,” she whispered.
Then she grabbed my shirt and pulled me down to her.
This kiss was different from the elevator. That one had been impulsive, surprising. This one was full of intention. She knew exactly what she was doing, and so did I.
I cupped her face with both hands, angling her head so I could kiss her deeper. A soft little moan escaped her lips. Her hands slid up my chest to my shoulders, her fingers digging in like she was afraid I might pull away.
Not a chance.
I walked her backward until her back hit the wall next to the bottling line. She gasped against my mouth. I took advantage, sweeping my tongue against hers. She tasted like coffee and the fruity lip gloss she’d been wearing. I wore it now.
“This is such a bad idea,” she breathed against my lips.
“The worst,” I agreed, kissing along her jaw.
I claimed her mouth again, harder this time. More demanding. Her back arched off the wall, pressing her body against mine. Every curve fit perfectly against me, like we were made for this.
My hands moved to her waist, pulling her body against mine. She shivered and tangled her fingers in my hair.
“Hollis,” she gasped when I broke away to breathe.
“Yeah?”
“Your office. Now.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the back of the warehouse. We stumbled through the door, our mouths finding each other again before it even closed behind us.
I stopped and stepped back. I could separate work from pleasure, but could she?
She stared at me.
“I’m not pressuring you,” I said.
“Maybe you could stop talking. I’m not interested in overthinking.”
I grinned. “Works for me.”