Alex’s upper body had begun to droop down toward the table as he rested more and more weight on his elbows, and no wonder. He’d had an exceedingly long day, and another loomed ahead of him tomorrow.
“The only other main cast member left is Ian, the guy who plays Jupiter. But he’s probably off mainlining tuna somewhere. Besides, he’s a prick.” Alex pointed a forefinger at her. “I’d stay out of his way, if I were you. All that lean protein might have helped his muscles, but it hasn’t helped his mood. Or his smell, for that matter.”
Unless she was mistaken, that was a warning. Because he—the man who’d called her a ridiculous bird-woman—didn’t want either her feelings or her sense of smell to suffer.
Setting her own elbows on the table, she rubbed her forehead and considered what to do. What he and Ron both needed from her, and what they both deserved. What wasright,not simply what was convenient and safest.
He rapped his knuckles against the tabletop. “Hey, Nanny Clegg. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she told the crimson cloth covering the heavy wood surface. “Thank you.”
All day, she’d assumed his quest to fill any possible silences with endless verbiage was a strategic choice. An attempt to drive her to quit, despite Ron’s warnings. A ploy to gather information he could later use against her. A tactic to relax her guard.
And maybe it was all those things.
Or maybe it was a genuine attempt to be friendly.
Maybe he reallywasa delightful asshole, one who’d found himself injured and in trouble and virtually without friends in a foreign country. If so, no wonder he wanted her company. Until he returned to California, he didn’t have many other options available to him.
She raised her head, lowered her hands, and surrendered to the inevitable. “I propose a truce.”
His eyes were half lidded and hazy with exhaustion, the dark shadows under the left nearly a match for the bruises under the right. Still, he managed a cheeky smirk. “If you’re proposing a truce, that means I was winning the war, right?”
She nodded gravely. “Your anecdote about Whiskers turned the tide.”
“Carah Brown calls me a gossipy bitch.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, stifling a yawn. “But this gossipy bitch gets results.”
“Evidently.” She raised her hand to signal the server. “So here are my peace terms: If I promise to be more chatty, you promise to give me a few minutes of silence when I tell you I need quiet time. Also, no deliberate attempts to break Ron’s rules, because I really, really don’t want to call him.”
“No desire to talk to your cousin, huh?” When the server laid their check on the table, Alex wrote his room number on the slip and left a substantial tip. “If it’s any consolation, any right-thinking human would feel the same way.”
The amount of time she’d spent with her relative this week was enough to last her …
Well, forever. Longer than that, if possible.
But that wasn’t what she’d meant.
“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” she corrected. “And if you do, please don’t make me the means by which it happens.”
“Also, you don’t want to talk to him.” He grinned at her, tired eyes alight. “Admit it, Nanny Clegg. Admit it, and I’ll agree to your peace terms.”
She shouldn’t. Simple family loyalty should prevent her from saying it, and Alex could use the admission against her at some point.
Still, her cousin was such adick.
“Fine.” She sighed. “I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Victory!”Alex crowed, raising both fists in the air.
The couple at the bar turned to glare at them, and the kitchen staff peeked out of their doorway to see what was happening.
Her cheeks went hot, and she cast him a withering glare. “Are we done here?”
“Oh, Lauren, bless your naive little heart,” he said pityingly. “We’re just getting started.”
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