him the Wingmen Inc. business card and nodded. “We’ll be in touch?”
“Absolutely.” His grin was huge. “I’ll call you later.”
“I look forward to it.”
The minute I walked off, I heard Stella utter, “Who the hell was that?”
By the time I made it back to Lex’s table, he was already gathering our stuff and leading me out the door.
Adrenaline surged through me as we walked to our cars.
Slow clapping had me turning around.
Lex leaned against his Benz. “You’re hired.”
“Hmm, rich evil genius tells innocent girl she’s hired while standing in a dark parking lot? Should I be suspicious?”
“Hah!” Lex barked out a laugh, and the moonlight just made him look that much more sexy, dangerous. “I’m a put-it-all-out-there type of guy, no secrets.”
“Bullshit!” I laughed. “Don’t treat me like one of your whores, you have more secrets than the NSA!”
“Nice people, the NSA.”
“My point exactly.” I rummaged for my keys. “I gotta run, Lex. I’ll see you later.”
“Studying?” he guessed.
“Nope.” New job, new scary job that was only hiring a young girl for nights.
“Date?”
“Nope.” I forced my smile. “See ya, Lex.”
His smile fell. “Where are you going?”
“None of your business.” I slammed the door and drove off, hating that when I looked in the rearview mirror it was like leaving a magazine photo shoot. He really needed to stop being so good-looking.
Chapter Eleven
Lex
The week went by in a complete blur of boredom. There was nothing pressing going on with my classes, and since Gabs had aced my little test with flying colors, I was no longer needed as a trainer. But because Ian was still nervous about her handling male clients all by herself, I’d been promoted—or demoted, depending on how I looked at it—to her glorified babysitter. Though I’d like to think of myself as the Muscle.
Steve had signed up—and their second date was set for the following evening.
The drone of the TV was a welcome distraction from all things Gabi. My typical MO wasn’t to sit around on the weekend, but going out just seemed exhausting, and, as if to prove a point, I yawned. Holy shit, what was wrong with me?
I clicked through the channels and was finally settling on The Godfather when Ian walked in the door with Blake. It was still hard to believe that this was the girl whose daily wardrobe used to consist of giant dude sweats and tube socks. Looking at her now you’d think she just stepped off the runway. She rarely wore makeup, but something about the midriff shirts and low-slung jeans she wore did something to a guy. Not me. Clearly, athletes weren’t my thing. But Ian? Well, I think we discovered his kryptonite: tomboys who could challenge him to a pizza-eating contest and come out the victor while still being able to run a half marathon the next day. Funny that he’d broken one of his own rules by dating a client—then again, he was part owner and could do whatever the hell he wanted . . . within reason.
“Lex?” she called in typical loud Blake manner.
“Yup.” I didn’t look away from the TV.
“Are you sick?” She plopped down next to me on the couch.
“Blake, remember the rules: if your ass touches the couch, you aren’t allowed to speak . . .”
She stood and then repeated the question. “Are you sick?”
I turned up the volume. “Can’t a guy watch TV?”
I felt an itchy sensation spread from the middle of my chest out to my fingertips, like if I didn’t go for a run or do something stupid I was going to lose my mind. But nothing sounded fun or entertaining; even hacking into Gabi’s bank accounts seemed boring.
Besides, now she had money. I’d cut her first paycheck, a bonus, actually; it would be enough for her to get by for a few weeks.
“Dude.” Ian sat on the other side of me. “It’s Friday.”
“Is it? Really?” I said in fake shock. “Cool, guys, we all have calendars and know what day it is.”
Ian was quiet and then, “Are you sick?”
I looked up toward the ceiling. “Why the hell are you guys asking if I’m sick? Do I look sick?”
Suddenly self-conscious, I wondered if I really was coming down with something. That would explain the weird moods! Maybe I had a fever?
Ian’s eyes narrowed again. “Lex, it’s Friday.”
“WHY THE HELL does it matter?”
“You’re home,” Blake said from my other side. “On a Friday night.”
“Guys, if you can’t respect couch rules, I’m going to have to kick you