Lost in LA Page 22

  "It’s not a joke,” Antonia said.

  Jack sneered. “Bitch. Go back to West Hollywood to hang out with your new friends.”

  Nolan took a step toward the man and inhaled, crossing his arms likely trying to avoid a physical resolution. “Your lease is up. Consider this your first and last notice of eviction.”

  “I have rights.”

  “Leave,” Nolan said, his voice no longer full of the good humor that indulged hungry customers and Wylie’s waffling advances.

  Jack stared at him then swore and turned, upending the poolside table holding their drinks and phones. Glass shattered as the metal rim of the table bounced against the concrete, but nobody moved.

  Wylie swallowed. The strength of character behind Nolan’s hip street aesthetic had never been more obvious to her. Rusty’s bravado and Jack’s menace paled against Nolan’s disciplined control. Even as her cracked phone swam in a pool of sugar-laced liquor, she smiled and acknowledged the power lurking beneath her lover’s sweat-stained shirt. Doesn’t Jack realize Nolan’s trimmed beard and meticulous sideburns require the kind of dedication that goes above and beyond writing a business plan? She shook her head and dismissed the ousted roommate’s protests, knowing Nolan had the situation under control and the other roommates stood ready to continue the offense.

  Nolan raised his eyebrow when Jack remained on the balcony. “I don’t think the police would be interested in defending your rights. We’ve got a room full of witnesses and I hear they’ve got more pressing problems to solve.”

  “You’re an entitled asshole.”

  Nolan laughed. “Yeah, what of it?”

  Wylie smiled as Jack departed. He might be entitled, but at least he’s doing something good.

  * * * *

  “Egg and black bean burritos. Ham, white beans and cornbread. Chili with pinto beans.”

  Nolan laughed. “What is it with you and beans?”

  She looked up from her new phone. “Beans?”

  Nolan had insisted on replacing the device, but she had insisted on a like-for-like model without considering the tradeoffs. Outdated smartphones should have been a dime a dozen, but so many of them ended up recycled, underground or sold on gray markets that legitimate vendors had no interest in carrying outdated stock. The phone in her hand worked, but the off-brand replacement screen flickered and she worried about battery life.

  “Beans are great,” she said. “They’re cheap protein sources. They’re rich in iron and fiber. What’s not to love? They’re like glorified nuts and seeds.”

  He pulled her close and rested his chin on top of her head. “That’s cute. Have you considered the effect of upset stomachs and flatulence in a camp environment?”

  Wylie winced and dropped the phone on the bed. “Okay, so people might want to temper their consumption, but this article says the longer beans soak, the fewer lectins and phytates remain to cause problems. Don’t put them on your menu every single day and people won’t eat them every single day. God, just imagine the institutional outrage if students had a healthy, cheap alternative to the cafeteria plan.”

  “Um, they’d still choose fried chicken. Hangovers demand comfort food.”

  “Well, I mean, Modesto could be the bridge between a cafeteria and a soup kitchen. Somewhere people want and accept in their neighborhood.”

  “You’re getting it,” he whispered.

  “Besides, we’re meeting the needs of half the population, but just the ones who are down on their luck. Beans are full of fiber and protein, Nolan. Everyone needs them.”

  He smiled. “That’s the thing I like about you, Wylie. You see problems and find solutions. You’re all in.”

  She tried not to stiffen at his soft tone. Had she gone too far and co-opted his ideas before he felt ready to share them? She reminded herself that fake relationships came with real limits. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you tackled your crap eviction by finding a new job and sleeping in your car. You’re googling cheap protein sources for a menu you have no stake in selling. Most people would temper their response with a little moderation, but you? It’s pure enthusiasm.”

  “I have a stake it in,” she whispered, thinking of Penny Lane and the nameless man who had sparked Nolan’s quest. “Shouldn’t we all have a stake in this?”

  He shook his head. “I just wanted to revolutionize diners and give people an easy way to eat and earn a living. You’ve brought the personal perspective back to it. You’ve reminded me why I started this fight.”

  “You would have remembered,” she said, looking up at his profile. Just like you’ll remember me one day when I move out. She closed her eyes and focused on the Modesto menu ideas occupying her imagination and distracting her from memories of Jack’s eviction. Was Nolan reacting to Jack or to the threat he posed to me and Antonia? Did he measure his roommate’s worth by the man’s actions or the value of his victims? “You see problems and try to fix them too,” she said.

  Nolan nodded and shifted on the outdoor couch. “So why don’t you make this partnership a full-time gig? Keep your beachside classes but work for Modesto full-time? You’d get all the benefits of your pro bono work.”

  But would I get you? She thought of Esther and the measured banter between Nolan and his employee. Dottie’s lease position had given her a similar measure of authority and the power to enforce her whims. She struggled to envision a scenario where her work at Modesto ended but her relations with Nolan continued. “I’d rather not mix business and pleasure. I’m going to get my accreditation hours transferred or maybe switch to a general fitness certification if I have to save my money and start all over again. Either way, Nolan, I like helping you out, but I don’t want to clock in to do it.”

  “I get it,’ he said, but his gaze remained focused on the distance. “The commercial kitchen’s a big step, but it will bring my vision for Modesto one step closer to fruition.” He turned and lifted a strand of blonde hair. “I just thought you might want to chip in.”

  Because all I have to offer is my time and my body. She stood. And in your world, neither of those currencies will get me very far. Rikard’s intervention loomed in her mind. ‘You’re not among peers, Wylie.’ The memory tempered her enthusiasm for Nolan’s heroics, but she trusted him. “I do want to chip in. I want to help you do something for the community that will have a lasting impact.”

  He inhaled and turned to face the city. “That’s all?”

  She stretched her hands above her head and yawned, trying not to notice the way his eyes followed her every move. “That’s all for tonight. Honestly, I’m beat and thinking of turning in.”

  “You can stay with me,” he offered, but the city had reclaimed his concentration.

  “That’s all right. It’ll do me good to get some sleep.”

  He smiled. “We sleep.”

  Wylie nodded. But tomorrow, we’ve got to do more. “Let’s talk in the morning. You can come to my beach session.”

  “Do I get a discount?”

  She smiled and searched for the easy banter they shared before she had realized his net worth. “Only if you carry my gear and earn it.”

  “Deal.” He stood and pulled her close for a kiss that warmed her lips but terrified her heart. “Goodnight, Wylie.”

  “Goodnight, Nolan.”

  She punched in the code to open the house and blinked as Antonia slipped into Rikard’s room. Good for them. Shaking her head, she faced the white particleboard furniture filling her rented bedroom. It’s a few steps above the SUV, but I pay the rent for this room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wylie stared at Nolan, standing shirtless near the refrigerator and looking as tempting as the cold glass of orange juice he held in his hand. I could have spent the night squeezing him. She smiled and walked toward him. “Well, good morning to you too.”

  He grinned. “I thought I’d get a head start and meet you down there.”

  “What happened to working off your
discount?” He bent and brushed his lips across hers, the taste of fresh orange juice a sweet reminder of where she should have spent the night. “I’m confident you can handle it.”

  “I can.”

  Antonia strolled through the kitchen wearing a long T-shirt.

  She made eye contact and Wylie grinned. “Walk of shame?”

  The woman winked en route to the lower level. “It’s only shameful if you can’t handle the consequences.”

  Wylie exhaled and looked at the infinity pool, remembering the pleasure of having Nolan to herself and the bitter reminder of her place in the household when he’d evicted Jack with a single word. “I can handle it.”

  She grabbed a protein bag and filled her water bottle before inventorying the foam blocks and extra beach towels in the back of her SUV. They needed to be washed, but the roster for this morning’s class had stayed at seven participants. Last time I had twelve. I’m sure the other regulars will make it to my class.

  The regular short-term parking lot on Barnard Way felt like an indulgence and Wylie wondered what had happened to the musician in the park. Penny Lane’s empathy had secured her identity amid the crowd, but Wylie wondered what would happen as Nolan and his employees began to recognize the faces and stories of the needy. Will they be able to stick to their mission statement and let other agencies and nonprofits take care of housing and treatment? He’s got to recognize the danger of stretching himself too thin.

  The sand beneath her toes felt refreshingly cool as she set down her supplies and waited for her regulars to report to the beach. Nolan’s presence might distract her, but she assured herself that she had the patience and experience to handle it. The first pair of women arrived and waved their phones in the air to acknowledge that they’d transferred funds. Wylie greeted Isabella and her friend by name, but she left them to their chatter and scanned the beach for familiar faces.

  Price smiled as he walked up, but he glanced north. “Have you heard about your competition?”

  Wylie shrugged, noting how he chose his words. As an approved commercial fitness trainer, she had the right to conduct classes on the sand near Palisades Park, but she valued the loyalty of her customers as much as she valued her permit. “I trust the city of Santa Monica to enforce their permit system. A few rogue classes won’t hurt my long-term revenue.”

  The man scanned her meager assembly. “Are you sure about that?”

  She nodded and checked the time. With a minute to spare, an older couple joined their group and brought the total to five paying participants. Wylie pulled up the sign-up sheet and shrugged. Her missing regulars had paid their fees, but nothing could compel them to come. She took up her position near the front of the group and smiled. “We’ve got a small group today, but I’m glad you could join us.”

  Nolan jogged toward them and swiped a beach towel from her stack. He dried the sweat from his bare chest and winked as he took up the flank, bringing them to six.

  “Allow your eyes to softly close,” Wylie said. “If it’s comfortable, breathe in and out through your nose or breathe with your mouth when needed.” Price snorted and she struggled not to smile. “Listen to the rhythm of the waves, then begin to bring your awareness inward, to the muscles controlling your breath. Notice how your breath feels and begin to open your senses.”

  She watched one of the women sneak a peek at Nolan’s shirtless form and contained a grin. Good luck, Isabella. That one’s all mine…for now.

  For the next hour and a half, the group of six participants worked up a sweat as they followed Wylie through a series of poses. At the end of the class, she folded her hands. “Namaste.”

  The older couple waved and departed before Wylie approached Price, Nolan and the two women.

  Nolan’s forehead wrinkled and he toyed with his beard as she surveyed the empty sand. “Small class today,” he said.

  Isabella grinned and rubbed her lips together, her immaculate lip gloss capturing grains of windblown sand. “They don’t know what they’re missing!”

  Price cleared his throat. “I got a direct message this morning about a competing class farther up the beach. The instructor said she wanted to revolutionize my beachside practice and offered the class based on a donation.”

  “Oh, I have plenty of ideas about how to revolutionize my practice,” Isabella said. She stepped toward Nolan. “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new in town?”

  He stepped toward Wylie.

  She tried not to smile, but the show of allegiance warmed her heart.

  “I watched Wylie’s last practice. It seemed like a good way to start my morning.”

  “I’m Isabella,” the woman said, refusing to take a hint.

  Price leaned close to Wylie and dropped his voice to a whisper. “She’s trying to poach your breakfast date. Does Nolan Wilson know about him?”

  Wylie narrowed her eyes. Five breath cycles aren’t going to be enough to return my heart rate to a normal and comfortable pace. Nolan’s shirtless, glistening torso and black running shorts had tested the limits of her professionalism for the entire class. She shook her head, knowing there would be time to replay her fantasies back at the house. She looked at Price and smiled. “That is Nolan Wilson.”

  The man’s eyebrows shot up as he reevaluated Nolan’s presence. “Rich and good looking. Honey, you do your best to hold onto that.”

  Or what? Wylie asked herself. You’ll never find anyone better?

  Nolan continued to fight off Isabella’s advances, evading her questions and redirecting her interest in yoga to Wylie’s skillset.

  Undeterred, the woman showed no signs of backing down.

  He dropped his subtle pretense and wrapped his arm around Wylie’s shoulders. “Oh, I agree. She’s the best. We’re dating, so I’m enjoying the private practice.”

  We’re dating?

  Isabella and her friend exchanged glances.

  Wylie smiled around the lump in her throat.

  “Well, I hope we see you around.” The guest saluted Wylie and winked at Nolan. “I always my enjoy yoga with a view.”

  “I’ll see you next week?” Wylie asked.

  Isabella and her sidekick looked at each other and nodded. “Of course! This class has helped me drop two pants sizes,” Isabella said. “There are only so many things in life I’m willing to give up.”

  Like pride? Wylie asked herself. She kept smiling while the women departed, then took a deep breath and introduced the two men left standing beside her. “Nolan, this is Price. Price, Nolan. You guys, uh, both know the Abramowitzes.”

  Price congratulated Nolan on the news of the commercial kitchen. “I think it’s going to be a positive change for Jonathan and Patricia. She’s losing her short-term memory and he wants to focus his energy on making her comfortable without managing a portfolio of properties. I guess they could hire a property manager”—he grinned—“but I guess you know all about that side of the business?”

  “More or less,” Nolan said. “Wylie, you ready to go?”

  “Yep, just a minute,” she answered him as she lifted the stack of beach towels. Then she looked at Price. “Just out of curiosity, what was the name of the account that messaged you this morning?”

  Price brushed the sand from his arm. “Um-hm. The woman we call ‘Silicon Cindy’? Her account mostly consists of sunlit selfies and over-filtered facial expressions. I almost deleted the message because I thought she got hacked or tried to send me porn.” He winked. “Not that I don’t have my favorites.”

  Wylie stared at the man. What are the chances?

  “I think she must have messaged everyone that had liked your previous posts. I passed Rex on the way down here and he said he was headed north to test drive the park’s newest offerings.”

  “That bitch,” Wylie said.

  Nolan laughed.

  She turned on him, disappointment erasing the familiarity between them. “It’s not funny.”

  “I told you Mini Mako was memorabl
e. C’mon, Wylie. They’re going to see right through Cynthia and come back to you. Fight fire with fire and offer a discount for established practitioners. Maybe they’ll bring a friend when they come back.”

  Wylie shook her head. “Not if she pulls in the regulars from her studio. Nobody likes participating in a six-person yoga class. They feel too exposed.”

  “Well, they don’t like sixty either,” Price said. “Who’s going to help them adjust their poses and help them when they face plant in the sand? You’re the best instructor I’ve ever had.”

  She let the praise wash over her sensitive feelings and took his hand. “Thanks, Price. I appreciate hearing that compliment.”

  Nolan rubbed a hand through his hair. “I guess that should have been my line.”

  Wylie heard him, but she stared at the silhouette of the distant lifeguard tower. “I’m going to report Cynthia.” A gull landed at her feet, startling her to draw a sharp breath. “Better yet, I’m going to confront her.”

  Nolan and Price exchanged looks. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  She nodded. “About as good as poaching your student’s prospects when you know she’s down. Cynthia’s not the mother hen. She’s the wolf.” She marched toward the next tower and left the men to guard her stuff, but her steps slowed as the distance grew. What if she’s not there? What if it’s someone else and I’ve made a complete fool of myself?

  As sure as the tides, Cynthia stood amid a crowd of people, the sun bouncing off her dyed bob like an impervious helmet. She held court amid her practitioners like someone who shirked social responsibilities and had long ago decided to get ahead, taxes be damned.

  Wylie shook her head and marched forward until they locked eyes. “Can I have a word with you, please?”

  Cynthia’s eyes widened, but she smiled and turned to the crowd. “An old friend of mine! I hope you don’t mind if I step away and say hello!”

  “So now I’m an old friend?”

  “Well, it sounded better than a disgruntled student.”

  Wylie widened her stance in the sand. “I feel like you owe me a few things. Cash, for one thing. You took my money without completing my certification. I doubt you have the funds, so I’ll settle for an apology and a vow to stop poaching my students.”