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“About what?” I ask, still distracted by memories of Callie, and that cute little smile she’d give me, right before she—
“The spa, idiot,” Austin smacks me on the shoulder. “This place is getting a lot of buzz. It could be real competition for me when I open my place.”
“Oh. Right. Uhhh, it’s fine,” I say, looking around.
“Give me a little more feedback,” he urges. “This launch is a huge deal for me.”
He’s right. Austin spent a long time figuring his next move, after retiring from professional baseball. He’s opening his first luxury spa in a few months and the least I can do is help scope the competition.
“Well, the new age thing, it’s been done before,” I say, “I don’t know about you, but I want my massage without a side of crystal bullshit. Science, not woo-woo vibes. And the design… All that organic wood and greenery, it’s not very stylish. Not for the high-end clientele you’re going after.”
Austin nods, looking pleased. “My thoughts exactly.”
“And the food options?” I take a gulp of my green smoothie and grimace. “If I’m kicking back, I want indulgence, not rabbit food.”
“Check, and check,” Austin replies. “Seb’s hooking me up with some contacts of his, adaptogenic cocktails, next-level shit.”
“Then if this is the competition, you’ll crush it,” I reassure him.
Austin downs his drink and shoots me a look. “Now that business is out the way, you want to tell me what’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Let me rephrase, what’s going on with you… and Callie.”
I tense. “There is no me and Callie. We had a business arrangement and it went down in flames, end of story. You were there, she practically left a hole in the wall bolting.”
“And you haven’t heard from her?”
“Nope.”
“And you haven’t tried to talk to her?”
“Nope.” I glare, bracing myself for his motivational pep talk, but instead, Austin just shrugs.
“OK then. Because those two women over there are checking us out. Want to go say ‘hi’?”
I turn. Two gorgeous, willowy blondes are hanging out on the other side of the smoothie bar, sipping juices in their skin-tight yoga gear. One of them makes eye contact and flutters a wave. Austin smiles back, and they make their way over.
“I’m sorry, but do I recognize you?” one of them asks him with a faint European accent.
Austin’s smile grows. “The depends, do you like baseball?”
And he’s off, flirting up a storm the way he always does. I turn to the other woman, and make conversation, even though my heart’s not in it.
“You know, you look familiar, too,” she muses, propping her chin on her hand in an exaggerated pose. “I’ve seen you somewhere, I’m sure of it.”
“I get around,” I say, and she trills a laugh.
“Wait, I think you know my cousin, Georgia?”
“Oh. Yeah,” I say, “In Palm Beach, right?”
“Yes!” she lights up. “You’re the Dashford guy, oh my gosh, I went to a party at your grandmother’s place last year. It’s stunning.”
The mention of Zelda makes me wince with guilt. “She’s got great taste in designers,” I deadpan.
Another trill. “You are just so funny!” she says, pushing me lightly. “You’re the big-shot investment guy, I read an article about that start-up you’re running. They’re going through the roof. That’s amazing,”
