He smirks. “But I bet he wanted it to be.”
“It was strictly professional.” Even as I say it, I remember the awkward hug Malcolm gave me. I’ve never had a professional meeting where a potential client hugged me before. I decide to keep that tidbit to myself.
“He asked you out for drinks after business hours,” Oliver says. “Are you sure it was supposed to be professional? Or did you just assume it was, and he went along with it?”
I chew on my lip, thinking about it. “Why is it so surprising to you that someone would want to do business with me?”
“It’s not surprising,” he says. “I just think he likes you.”
“Why do you have to minimize what I do? Just because we’re opposite sexes doesn’t mean we can’t have a strictly professional relationship.”
“I’m not trying to minimize what you do. Believe me, I’ve seen you in action. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as dedicated as you are. I just don’t see how anyone could meet you and not be totally smitten.”
I look up at him. His head is leaning against the wall behind him, tilted so that his face is angled toward me. His mouth is curved up in a half smile. It’s clear now that he’s just messing with me. He’s saying these things to get a rise out of me. I jab him in the side with my elbow.
“Hey,” he warns me. “That hurt.”
“No, it didn’t.” I jab him again.
He grabs my elbow this time, then wraps his other arm around the back of my neck, pulling me into a headlock and squishing my face against his chest. His very firm chest. He actually smells pretty nice. I know that fighting back will be futile, so I decide to get comfortable instead. I suck in a deep breath and wrap my arms around him.
He loosens his grip on me, and then his chest starts shaking. I look up at him. He’s laughing.
“I have to admit, this wasn’t the reaction I expected,” he says.
“Good. Never let your guard down with the enemy,” I tell him.
“Huh?”
Before he can defend himself, I dig my fingers into his ribcage, tickling him. He gasps and flails, then falls sideways out of his stool, dragging me down with him. There’s a loud clatter as both of our stools crash to the ground next to us.
Everyone in the room stops what they’re doing to turn around and stare at us. Oliver is on his back on the floor, and I’m halfway on top of him where he pulled me down. Lana shakes her head disapprovingly, her hands on her hips. A few of Oliver’s students start to laugh. My face feels hot as I scramble to get off of him.
“Nothing to see here,” I say as I stand up, brushing off my pants.
Oliver stands up too, putting the stools back up as he does so.
Lana clears her throat. “I think that’s about enough for today anyway,” she says. “We’ll continue next week and figure out how to incorporate the instruments in then.” She claps her hands as if to dismiss the class.
While most of the dancers head for the door, a few of Oliver’s students approach us.
“Hi, Mr. Edison,” one of the girls says.
“Hi, Kayla,” he says. Then, addressing her friends, “Hannah. Ricky. How did it go?”
“Pretty good,” Kayla says. “I don’t think it’s going to be too hard. Is Ms. Cain your girlfriend?”
I snort out a laugh. Oliver frowns at me, then turns back to the three teenagers. “Yes, she is,” he says. I whip my head in his direction.
“I told you!” Hannah whispers loudly to Kayla.
“That’s all you need to know about that,” Oliver says.
“Is your last name really Cain?” Kayla asks me. “Like a candy cane?”
“Spelled differently, but yeah,” I say with a nod.
“That’s so cool,” she says. “You should call your company Candy Cain Events.” She holds her hands out in front of her like she’s picturing it on a billboard. I am, too.
