Dirty Work - Regina Kyle Page 0,16
thing. We’re going to have our hands full with the New York renovations. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to hold off on any other big projects until they’re done.”
“You worry about the renovations, and I’ll handle Miami. The market’s the softest it’s ever been in South Beach. Trust me, now’s the time to jump in.”
“I’ve trusted you since we were in Garanimals.”
“You were the one in Garanimals, dude. I was perfectly capable of matching my own clothes without the help of jungle creatures.”
“Right. Like that puke green and florescent orange striped shirt you liked to wear with those hideous plaid pants.”
“Stripes go with everything.”
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, Tommy Hilfiger. Just keep me up to date on Miami. And let me know if you need anything on my end.”
“Will do.”
I tap a key to check one last live feed before I go down to the club floor and swear under my breath, my mouth going as dry as Central Park’s Great Lawn in August. Two women stand just inside the entrance, but it’s the petite blonde with the killer curves who has my undivided attention. She’s traded her normally casual attire for a flimsy little cocktail dress that hugs those curves like a jealous lover and a pair of spiky heels that make her legs look like they go on for miles.
Fuck me sixty-nine ways to Sunday.
“What’s wrong?” Connor’s hand drops from my shoulder and he swivels his head to study the monitors. “Trouble brewing?”
You can say that again.
“Nah.” Liar. “Just see a familiar face.”
His eyes stop on the screen with Ainsley and her gal pal. One quick keystroke and they’re gone, but it’s too late. He flashes a superior, knowing, smile. “The blonde or the brunette?”
I stand and stretch. The sooner I get out of here, the sooner this conversation can end. “What makes you think it’s one of them? There’s like six computer screens. It could be anyone, anywhere.”
“I don’t know.” He hauls his ass off my desk and follows me out the door and into the hallway. “Maybe because that’s the screen you practically fell all over yourself to change so I wouldn’t see it.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Not.”
“Too.”
We’re at the elevator, and I punch the down button. “What are you, seven?”
He nudges me in the ribs with his elbow. “If I was, I’d be doing your homework.”
He’s half right. He may not have done my homework for me, but there’s no way my sorry academic self would have graduated high school without a lot of help from Connor. The day Mrs. Nielson paired us together for the second grade science fair was the luckiest damn day of my young life. Of course, I didn’t know then that I was dyslexic. No one did. That diagnosis wouldn’t come for another year, after a boatload of questions and tests.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open for me to step inside. Connor starts to come in after me, but I stick an arm out, blocking him and preventing the door from closing in one fell swoop. “Don’t you have some tax forms to deliver?”
He stares at the folder still clutched in his hand. “Right. Damn.”
“I guess this discussion will have to keep until tomorrow, then. Unless you want to join me on the floor when you’re done dropping those off.”
Connor flinches like he’s been struck and steps back. “Thanks, but I’d rather eat a shit sandwich.”
No surprise there. Crowds aren’t his scene. That’s why he’s the quiet genius behind Top Shelf and I’m the pretty boy front man. It’s like high school all over again. Connor the shy, studious bookworm. Me the cocky jock who loved the spotlight. We’ve always been an odd pair. Like Felix and Oscar on that old sitcom my dad loves to watch in reruns. But it works.
“That’s what I figured.” I lower my arm and the elevator doors start to close. “Don’t forget, we’re meeting with the architect to go over the plans for the renovations at nine.”
“I’ll be there.”
He touches two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. It’s the last thing I see before the doors come together and the elevator starts to move.
Alone, my thoughts turn to the woman waiting downstairs. Ainsley doesn’t strike me as the club rat type. So why tonight? And why Top Shelf? Did she come here looking for fun? Or looking for me?
The elevator bumps to a stop, and I know I’ll have my answer in a few minutes. But when I step