Dirty Work - Regina Kyle Page 0,44

Ferris, and he doesn’t get me, either. Just like my parents, judging me for jumping off the white-collar hamster wheel and redefining success on my own terms.

We’re at the intersection of West Houston Street. And there’s a subway station a few blocks away. Just like that, a plan takes shape.

“I need some space.” The traffic light’s red, so I start to cross.

“Wait,” Jake calls after me. “Where are you going?”

“I’m hopping on the 1 train. You can keep walking or take an Uber, I couldn’t care less.”

And with that not-so-original parting shot, I’m gone.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Jake

IT’S QUIET AND dark when Roscoe and I get back to my place, and my first thought is that somehow we beat Ainsley there. Or worse, she’s not coming back except to pick up her stuff, probably when I’m not here. I mean, she does have a key.

I bend down to unhook Roscoe’s leash. That’s when I see it. A sliver of light coming from under her door.

She’s here. Thank fuck.

A sense of relief floods through me like a glacial thaw. And while I’m reassured, I’m also scared shitless. The former because, well, she’s here. The latter because I care so damn much about the whereabouts of a woman I’ve known less than a month.

But fear’s never stopped me before, and it’s not going to stop me now. There’s something about this woman that calls to me on virtually every level. Not just physically, although—duh—it’s no secret what she does to me in that department, thanks to my disobedient dick. What I feel for her goes deeper than that. How much deeper, I don’t have a clue. Yet. That’s something I plan on figuring out.

If she’ll talk to me.

I give Roscoe a pat on the back, hang up his leash and head for Ainsley’s room, leaving custody of the couch to the dog. Her door’s open a hair, but I knock anyway. I’m already on thin ice with her, although I’m not completely sure why. I was just trying to get to know her better. Figure out what makes her tick. We’re obviously cut from different cloth. But that’s not a deal breaker. At least, not for me.

Still, now is not the time to risk poking the bear.

“Ainsley,” I call softly, knocking again. “You in there?”

Stupid question. Of course she’s in there. Her or an extremely efficient burglar.

“You can come in,” she answers after a beat. “I won’t bite your head off. Much.”

She sounds defeated. Resigned. Broken. My heart breaks a little for her, too. And for me, knowing I’m responsible for her bad mood, even if I’m not exactly sure how.

I push the door open, and the crack in my heart widens. She’s sitting on the bed, surrounded by piles of clothes, her open suitcase on the floor at her feet.

“Going somewhere?” I ask, pushing aside a stack of her frilly underthings and sitting next to her.

“It’s not like you need me here anymore.” She picks up a T-shirt and drops it into her bag. “As long as you don’t try to play hero again, you should be fine.”

“What if I need to lift something heavy? Or change a lightbulb? Or just get lonely?”

“You’ve got my number. Feel free to use it. Except for the lonely part. You’ll have to find someone else for that. I’m an errand girl. Not a call girl.”

She picks up another T-shirt, but I pluck it from her fingers before she can add it to the suitcase and toss it back onto the bed.

“There you go again, putting words in my mouth. I never called you an errand girl.” Or a call girl, but I don’t go there.

“You didn’t have to. You made your opinion of my change of career perfectly clear. And if you think I haven’t heard it all before, you’re dead wrong. I just didn’t think I’d hear it from you.”

She grabs a pair of shorts and throws them into her bag before I can stop her.

“Heard what all before?”

“You were so close to making partner at one of Manhattan’s top law firms,” she says, her tone mocking. “And you threw it all away. For what? So you could do other people’s dirty work? What kind of career is that?”

Shit. Is that what I sounded like? A judgmental prick?

She reaches for a pile of socks, and I grab her wrist, stopping her. “If I sounded like that—”

“You did.”

I flinch and let go of her wrist, her confirmation that I was a complete jackhole as painful as if