Page 55 of The Knockout Rule

“Our furnace broke at home,” he found himself telling Preston. Not the topic at hand, but an important one. “Rosa just called.”

He winced. “Shit, man. That sucks. You need another loan?”

Preston’s instant kindness reaffirmed he was a solid guy. Never one to latch onto Eric’s shame and make him feel like more of a mooch for needing cash. Preston may spend his money on ridiculous things, but he’d be good to Isla. He wouldn’t cause her to have panic attacks.

“The cash is needed and appreciated. It’ll come back to you with interest. And sure, I’ll be your wingman with Isla. But if you can’t fly solo after that, you two aren’t right for each other.”

Preston gave his shoulder a hard slap. “You’re the best, man.”

Or the worst. He no longer knew.

17

Eric sat in his hotel room, feeling like a disgruntled cop on a painful stakeout. Preston’s plan had gone beyond a simple microphone. He’d shown up with a laptop, explaining that a fancy pin on his lapel would video his date, so Eric could better follow the conversational flow and read visual cues. Eric would rather read his own obituary.

“I’m an idiot,” he told Whit.

He should have backed out when Preston arrived. Made an excuse. Apologized and washed his hands of this absurd situation. Preston may have gone above and beyond to help Eric’s family, but this was durast. Insensé. Insipiens. Unsinnig. Whatever language popped into his head, the results were the same: this situation was foolish.

He picked up his phone, ready to text Preston, explain he had to bail. But the screen came to life, with Isla front and center. She wore a sexy purple dress that had thin straps over her shoulders and hugged her lithe form. Her makeup was subtle but pretty, highlighting her dark eyes. Her lips looked full and shiny, her shoulder-length hair loose with its usual wave. The dim lighting emphasized the old-Hollywood look he loved about her: the smooth roundness of her cheeks, the elegance of her long neck.

“Flowers would follow you,” he said, gruff. Only to remember the listening device was on.

A second later, Preston’s voice said, “Flowers would follow you.”

Isla tipped her head slightly. “What?”

Eric said, “Shit.”

Preston parroted the curse.

Isla scrunched her face in that cute way of hers, and Eric muffled another curse. This was more insane than he’d thought. Completely ridiculous, with Preston mimicking every sound Eric made. Was his manager really this nervous with Isla? Whatever the guy’s deal, it wasn’t Eric’s problem. He couldn’t go through with this charade. Even Whit snorted and gave Eric a dubious look.

Done with this nonsense, Eric leaned forward to switch off the program, but Isla reached to touch her hair, then lowered her hand below the table, probably placed it on her lap to twine her fingers. Her nervous tics. When she nibbled on her bottom lip, Eric’s stomach tightened. He couldn’t see much of the dark bar. Judging by the leather couch and crooner music, it was the hotel’s throwback lounge, where people schmoozed and flirted under low-hanging lights. She was there, feeling awkward and nervous, and he had the power to put her at ease.

Hating himself, he muffled his rising sigh and said, “Flowers lift their heads to the sun, because it’s the brightest light in the sky. Everyone you pass does the same.”

At least she had that effect on Eric. A magnetic draw.

Preston repeated Eric’s words.

Isla smiled. “The poet returns.”

“You inspire poetry,” Eric said, like they were on a date, just the two of them. A total sham, but Eric was suddenly hooked. He didn’t care that Preston was repeating his words, or that Isla wasn’t looking into his eyes. This was a stolen moment, a night to admit his feelings without hurting this beautiful woman.

“There’s no phone on the table,” she said, smirking.

“I don’t need a phone when I can spend a night talking with you.” Preston’s words flowed after Eric’s prompt.

She ducked her head, a sweet move he hadn’t seen her do before. “If you don’t start spending money recklessly, I might think someone’s taken over your body.”

Eric waited, wasn’t sure if Preston would interject, speak on his own. The lingering pause felt like a poke for Eric to keep talking. “Money is necessary,” Eric said. “It drives a lot of my choices in life, but at the end of the day, it’s not what truly matters.”

Isla’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t agree more. So what matters to you?”

“The people I care about.” It was an easy answer. His family’s health and happiness had driven every decision of his teen and adult life. If given the chance, he’d have added Isla to that selective group. Actually, she was already there. He was keeping away from her so she’d be healthy and happy.

“You’re close with your family?” she asked.