Page 12 of Hercules

As in, are you really going to make me sign something as someone I’m not? Something for which Natasha’s pretty new legal team would readily convict me of fraud for?

“Come on,” she persisted. “You do already know who I am, right? Your little friend Mira can vouch for me too. You know her, yes? Adorbs as hell in an LBD? She’s been taking cocktail orders and stowing purses for us all night?” Though by the time they called Mira out and retrieved Lo’s purse, she’d have no need to actually pull out her ID. She’d have either won over the watchful beauty behind the table, or she’d been royally ready to get out of here.

The second option gained more appeal by the second.

Until the air itself changed.

Until she was changed by it.

Her every blood cell was a sudden isotope of awareness, quickened and alert. Her nerves were a billion points of light, punching at her skin. She couldn’t find her breath but was achingly aware of its every resonance in her chest at the exact same time.

In the same moments, she somehow turned—

And beheld him.

The newest arrival to the happening place, though Lois had no idea how he’d come down the stairs in her wake without her knowledge. Because she would have known he was there. Not that the guy, at least a foot taller than her, looked to care about it one way or the other.

Until he moved around, closing in on her left side, and their gazes met.

Met?

“Meeting” was a term for pitch meetings and job interviews and—

Well…

Blind dates.

But this was nothing closing to meeting.

This was Lois vaguely aware of his presence pulling on her head, compelling it to swivel his way. Then her stare taking flight, called by his like a phoenix to its sun. Then her mind fighting for sense while her body clamored for balance, as if she’d touched down on that sun and only felt the burn now.

Too late.

She was incinerated—and the insouciance across his face didn’t bring a degree of relief to the inferno.

Oh God…his face.

She blinked hard, fighting for freedom from a gawk that must’ve looked like a kid at their first rock concert. What is wrong with you? You’ve seen faces like this before. A hundred of them. A thousand! Features that checked off most of the boxes, at least. The firm, determined forehead. The long European nose, flaring just slightly at the bottom. The chin so formidable it nearly formed a point, supporting a jaw sharp enough to slice the softest fruit. No. Seven or eight of them flayed then layered into a parfait—like the one all her insides was swiftly turning into.

Good God.

She wasn’t a parfait girl.

She was a serious creator, damn it. Someone who was going to see their name on screens at Sundance and Cannes, not in frilly fonts at fangirl festivals. She didn’t have time or room for emotional parfaits.

Judging from the stern set of this giant’s—errr, gentleman’s—features, neither did he.

“Oh, my.” The other woman’s husky rasp should’ve come as a necessary—and welcome—interjection, but Lo endured an inner squirm through both syllables of the blonde’s playful interjection. “It’s been a seriously hot minute, big broha.”

Okay, she probably should’ve tried harder to hide her grin from the greeter’s cute dig, in light of the stress it stretched across her sibling’s broad shoulders. But how else would she have gotten an equal gift in just as many minutes: the view of those huge slabs pushing so perfectly against the confines of his sleekly styled suit? She was already giving credit to a handful of leading designers for the trendy but comfortable proportions, their names flowing in her head like an Italian dessert menu.

All too quickly, he subdued the tension with a pair of purposeful rolls. The charcoal gray jacket fell back into its original—and flawless—lines.

“Not a minute at all,” he replied to his sister. “But nice to see you too, adelfi.”

“So what are you doing—” Her eyes saucered bigger, intensifying their cobalt layers. “Wait. Why are you so dressed up? Is that your suit? You never w—” And those rich blues got, to Lo’s shock, even wider. “Are you here for speed dating?”

Suddenly Lois was as interested in his answer as her new friend. But the big guy only hiked his head a little higher, shaking his hair back from his newly stubborn expression. Lo bit the inside of her bottom lip to keep from giggling about it. Did he realize she was now oblivious to his intent because of the yearning to bury a hand in those amber and umber waves? Maybe both hands, just to check if his hair felt as lustrous as it looked?