Page 57 of Never To Be Mine

“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.