Page 162 of Almost Pretend

He glances at me, offering his hand. “I apologize. I shouldn’t be taking my temper out on you. We can discuss your idea another time.”

“It’s hereditary,” Clara mutters.

August rolls his eyes, but when I place my hand in his, he gives it a squeeze.

“I’ll think about it, all right? I’ll need to do a little market research. Retro is in. There may be a way to spin it to make the idea viable. It’s a good one. We just need to find an angle and crunch the numbers.”

That we warms me a bit. Making me a part of it, telling me he’s taking it seriously. I squeeze his hand back, but that apology isn’t enough for me.

“I don’t think so,” I say. “You want an angle? I’m going to give you one firsthand.”

He blinks blankly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Block some time off tomorrow,” I say with a smirk, “and I’ll show you.”

XVIII

STORM OF DESIRE

(AUGUST)

Hell is a real place, and I am in it.

I stand frozen in the doorway of a kindergarten classroom—Elle on one side of me, hot as hell in a red paisley print pair of capris and a sleeveless pink blouse with her hair in a ponytail with a matching paisley scarf, Miss Joly on my other, wearing an almost sadistic smirk.

When Elle said she would show me, I had no idea she meant this.

A room full of screaming kindergarteners, their teacher calling for them to calm down because Miss Joly has brought new friends to see them.

Surprise: they don’t calm down.

They erupt into pure chaos, screeching, The puppy lady! I wanna pet the puppies! Where are the doggos?

They swarm the door.

I immediately duck out of the room, stepping back into the hall and flattening myself against the wall like there’s a raging river bearing down on me.

Snickering, Lena Joly steps through the door to hold back the wave while I stare at Elle with my nostrils flared.

“What is this insanity?” I demand. “Have I mentioned I’m not good with children?”

“Isn’t that part of the problem with Little Key?” Elle smiles.

Miss Joly leans back out the door, giving me a skeptical look. “Dude. How are you bad with kids? You publish children’s books, don’t you?”

“I do no such thing,” I bite off. “I’m the temporary executive of a children’s publisher. I’m focused on business strategy and long-term market planning—not audience engagement. My aunt enjoys those squirming little things. I do not.”

That just makes Elle grin wider, and now I understand why she and Miss Joly get along like bandits.

Because behind that sweet, pretty smile, there’s definitely a sadistic streak.

“You’d better learn faaast,” Elle teases, catching my hand.

She pulls me along after her as she turns to walk into the room.

“Elle—Elle, no—”

Too late.