Page 16 of The Best Worst Mistake (Off-Limits #2)

“Sit down to do that before you end up in the ER,” she calls out over my grunts.

I manage to balance myself against the edge of the bed, panting a little harder as I push my toes through the second tiny leg hole.

She begins laughing all over again.

“Why would people wear these things?” I ask.

“To do yoga. You know, exercise. Relax. Something you used to have time for. Selma has a whole yoga room looking out over the valley, which you’re going to need to take advantage of, if you’re not going to be taking advantage of Dax’s massages while there.”

“Are you sure your in-laws aren’t weirded out that I’ll be crashing at their place while I’m there?”

“Are you kidding? When I told Dom you had to stay in L.A. for the next few weeks, he practically jumped over the top of me to call Quinton. Both Quinton and Selma offered their house up for you to use before Dom could get the full story out. They’ll be in France over the next few months filming, so the timing is perfect. ”

“I still can’t believe Dom’s brother is a mega-famous film director.”

“You should see their house. It’s nearly as beautiful as Selma herself, and considering she’s the most sought-after supermodel of all time, that should give you an idea of what to expect,” she says, still sounding a bit dreamy herself. “Remember the first time I ever met them?”

I laugh, picturing sweet, ambitious Liv trying to sell her first film script idea to Quinton at Dom’s urging.

“My brother- and sister-in-law are a bit . . .” She trails off, trying to find the right words to describe them.

“Wonderfully unique?” I ask, smiling.

“Wonderful. And unique,” she agrees, laughing. “But yes, they’re also wildly generous and are stoked to have you there. They briefed Starry about your food allergies too, so expect a thoroughly stocked, peanut-free kitchen when you arrive.”

“Who’s Starry again?”

“The house manager.”

“Well, that was fast. It’s only been, what, three hours since we made this arrangement?” I say, glancing at the clock on my nightstand, half-hidden beneath the branch of a fiddle-leaf fig tree.

I only have another forty-five minutes until I need to get an Uber to the airport.

“These people are next-level organized, Abs. They have to be. They run a Hollywood empire and spend their lives in houses all over the globe. I wouldn’t be surprised if Quinton secretly employed an assistant whose only job was to eavesdrop on all his phone calls, just so they can anticipate whatever he’ll need next. ”

I take a steady inhale, wondering if it’s the intensity of these control-top Lululemons or the dizzying thought of spending the next few weeks living under Quinton and Selma’s roof while attempting to pull off a deal that could change my life — in the city that has very much changed my life once already — that’s making me feel a bit lightheaded. Maybe it’s all of the above.

“This whole arrangement sure as hell beats you staying in long-term corporate housing next to Brett, though. We couldn’t have you doing that. The gardener will also be there, by the way. Maybe a pool guy, too.”

House manager . Gardener. Pool guy?

Good grief.

The only pictures of their sprawling estate I’ve seen are the few Liv sent earlier while trying to get me excited for at least one part of this trip — and it worked.

Their place looks like paradise on earth — a collection of buildings nestled in the Hollywood Hills, perched on top of a mountain overlooking the entire valley, with a deck and a huge infinity pool that looks like it could be as long as one of our city blocks here.

I still can’t believe that’s going to be my home away from home while we get this deal done.

It’s a far cry from my living arrangements the last time I was in that city.

The whole idea makes my stomach swirl like a whirlpool.

“Didn’t they scare the shit out of you the first time you met them?” I ask, wondering what type of reception I might get if they happen to pop in.

“Absolutely. Yes.”

I laugh at the way her head starts bobbing dramatically, as if she’s remembering the exact moment they met.

“Which is why reconnecting with Dax might prove to be a nice little form of stress relief while there. Take the edge off. Stay sharp. Ain’t nothing wrong with that,” she tells me.

“You should have seen the way he looked at me that night.” I squeeze the words out as if it pains me to remember, but inside, something inside me pulls apart, just conjuring up the way he held me, touched me in ways that couldn’t be possible if we’d agreed to make everything meaningless.

“You know,” she starts, “if sleeping with Dax is out of the question because he’s only into emotional connections now, and you still believe that’s something you aren’t capable of — which is incorrect — then you’re going to have to get on board with yoga. L.A. is the yoga capital of the world.”

“I thought that was India?”

“If you think it’s India, then you’ve never been to L.A.

,” she says, widening her eyes with a laugh.

“Get ready to get your socks knocked off. Literally. The whole city likes to talk about yoga while sucking green juice through paper straws. Considering the way you hate that kind of thing, I’m legit concerned for you. ”

I laugh. Olivia has spent a lot of time in L.A., since that’s where Dom is originally from, even though they’ve made their permanent home at his estate on the North Shore of Oahu.

“L.A. sounds like another planet compared to New York,” I tell her.

“Just start with yoga, and if that doesn’t work — which it won’t, because I know you — then go for stress relief à la Dax Harper,” she tells me, smiling wickedly. “I always liked him, Abs. A lot. I really, really liked him for you.”

I shake my head. “We’re not even going there.”

“Fine. Text me once you land, and again when you decide to call him. We get to be a whole three hours closer in time difference while you’re there.”

“Promise,” I tell her.

“And Abs . . . she says, pausing. “Permission to say something you might not like?”

“Lay it on me.” I know from the way she’s looking at me that she’s about to impart some best-friend wisdom that, in my world, only Olivia can get away with dishing out.

“Quit being such a killjoy to your own happiness.”

I wince, nodding at my own expense, but only because it’s so true. “I wish I knew how.” I laugh, shrugging. “I’m the worst, apparently.”

“Give him a chance. Tell him you’re coming to town.

Let it play out while you’re in the same city again.

I don’t have any intention of being a lonely old lady with you later in life.

You’re welcome to third wheel it with Dom and I someday, but I can’t have you growing old alone in an office while we’re over here surrounded by babies and grandkids. ”

A sharp pain of jealousy hits the middle of my chest. I shove it away, then force out a smile, matching Olivia’s on the screen.

I wish I was capable of the type of love she and Dom have for each other, but I’m not.

It’s just not in my DNA. If history has repeatedly shown me anything about myself, it’s that.

Self-sabotage may as well be my middle name at this point.

“I need to get a day or two of negotiations under my belt before I even consider adding more complications to my time in L.A. I’m feeling too jittery as it is.”

“Fine. But at least get yourself a few more pairs of those yoga pants right after you land, then. If sex is off the table, you’re gonna need ’em.”

I laugh, and she joins in.

“Thanks for your honesty,” I tell her.

“You always do the same for me. Now, go finish packing that beigey wardrobe of yours, Abs — you have a plane to catch.”