Page 18 of Reptile Dysfunction (Harmony Glen #11)

Chapter Sixteen

T had

I arrive at the Y via taxi two hours after Sloane left. Even after a long, hot shower and a couple more pain relievers, my better judgment overruled my pride, and I left my motorcycle at home.

The Y lobby fills with whispers. Not the usual “scary Gorgon” ones—these are different, tinged with something worse than fear. Sympathy.

“Poor dear,” Mrs. Blessing stage-whispers to her friend as I pass. “Did you hear? Taken down by one of those exercise contraptions. Dorothy told me all about it.”

My snakes bristle with embarrassment. Several try to maintain their intimidating sway, but the effect is somewhat ruined by the way they wince when my back twinges.

“Mr. Fangborn!” Tommy’s voice carries across the lobby. “Are you really not teaching us today? Your brother says he’s filling in, but he makes us wear waterproof bowties!”

“Just for today, kid.” I try not to let them see me wince, though my pride still stings. “Doctor’s orders.”

A lie, since I haven’t actually seen a doctor. But it sounds better than, “I tried to show off for a pretty journalist and now my snakes cry if I bend over.” Although, if Sloane’s shouts of pleasure were any measure, I managed to perform well enough last night.

“Remember our bet?” Sloane appears beside me as I make my way through the lobby, eyes dancing with amusement. “You were going to show everyone how easy Pilates is.”

“I don’t recall the exact wording,” I mutter, straightening carefully to avoid another spasm.

“You promised to make it through a full class without complaining,” she reminds me cheerfully. “Instead, you attempted an advanced move against explicit instructions, and now you’re stuck filing paperwork in the Y office.”

“So I lost,” I admit grudgingly. “When do you join my advanced swim class?”

She grins. “Nice try, but according to our terms, you now have to volunteer as the Silver Swimmers’ special guest for their water aerobics exhibition during the Revelation Day celebration.”

My snakes all gasp in unified horror as realization dawns.

“So that’s why the Silver Swimmers are huddled in the corner of the lobby whispering and giving me Cheshire cat grins over their shoulders.” I groan. “They heard our deal and now they’re planning something.”

“Oh yes,” she confirms with undisguised delight. “Something involving choreography and possibly sequins. They’re very excited about having a Gorgon performer.”

“I hate you right now.” Even though I’m griping, my traitorous snakes are trying to ease closer to her despite their distress.

“No, you don’t,” she says confidently. “Besides, think how good this will be for your community image. The intimidating enforcer embracing community performance art? It could completely change how people see you.”

She has a point, which makes it even more annoying.

“I’m glad this forced office work will make you take care of your big, bad self for once.” She leads the way to the cramped admin office. “Besides, I brought reinforcements.”

On the desk sits a container of muscle cream infused with healing herbs. Next to it, a steaming cup that smells suspiciously like the premium coffee from my kitchen this morning and a box with Cara Ming’s logo on the top. I can smell honey cakes.

“You’re spoiling me,” I mutter, but settle into the chair gratefully.

“Someone has to.” She sorts through a stack of forms with practiced efficiency. “Your snakes certainly aren’t going to make you rest.”

Before I can protest, the office door opens. Bradley Harrington III stands in the doorway, looking as out of place in the Y as his imported Italian loafers. His timing is no coincidence—he’s been watching, waiting for the most opportune moment to strike.

“Sloane.” His cultured tone carries just enough edge to make my snakes rise defensively. “Your father’s been trying to reach you.”

“I’ve been working.” She doesn’t look up from her papers. “As you can see.”

“Yes, I can see exactly what you’re doing.” His gaze flicks to me dismissively. “Though I doubt this is what Charles had in mind for the anniversary piece.”

My snakes hiss softly, picking up on my rising irritation. Sterling actually bares his fangs, which would be more intimidating if he hadn’t spent the morning trying to convince me to make heart-shaped pancakes.

“What I write is my business.” Sloane’s voice could freeze water. “And absolutely none of yours.”

“Your father—”

“Isn’t here.” Finally looking up, she fixes him with a stare that would make any enforcer proud. “Was there something else?”

The silence stretches, charged with old money and new resentments. Then Bradley smiles, all gleaming teeth and calculated charm.

“Just looking out for your best interests, darling. We wouldn’t want people getting the wrong idea about your…

professional relationships.” He pulls out his phone, scrolling deliberately.

“Physical limitations can be quite telling about someone’s actual capabilities.

What was it—a Pilates injury? That must be embarrassing for someone who’s supposed to be intimidating. ”

Every snake on my head rises, creating a crown of angry serpents. The familiar prickle of my intimidation aura activates before I can stop it, making the temperature in the room drop.

Bradley takes an instinctive step back, his expensive shoes squeaking on the linoleum.

“Careful, Bradley.” Hmm, Sloane just displayed a tone I’ve never heard before. Her voice is almost as dismissive as Bradley’s. “That sounds dangerously close to harassment. And discrimination.”

“Just expressing legitimate business concerns,” he says, but takes another instinctive step back. “After all, if an instructor can’t handle basic exercise classes, what does that say about their teaching abilities?”

My snakes form an increasingly agitated wall. Before I can stop myself, my intimidation aura activates, dropping the temperature in the room by several degrees. “I think,” I say quietly, letting my eyes shift to full amber, “you were just leaving.”

“Is that a threat, Gorgon?”

“No.” Sloane’s steps closer and places her hand possessively on my shoulder. “That’s a dismissal. Goodbye, Bradley.”

He leaves, but the tension lingers. My snakes remain alert, tracking his departure with suspicious eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I start, but she cuts me off with a kiss that makes every snake on my head absolutely useless at maintaining their defensive posture.

“Don’t be.” She smiles against my lips. “That was actually kind of hot.”

“The intimidation thing?”

“The protective thing.” Her fingers find my scalp, and my snakes immediately forget about Bradley in favor of more pleasant sensations.

Sterling reaches toward her, just a few inches too far away to be able to wrap around her throat, while other snakes attempt to look as non-threatening as possible.

Somehow, doing paperwork while my snakes shamelessly flirt with the woman who chose me over country club expectations doesn’t feel like defeat at all.

It feels like victory.

Even if I have to sit with my back against an ice pack while I file.