Dirty Work - Regina Kyle Page 0,53

who’s lying in front of his food bowl looking mournful. I give him a quick scoop of kibble and some fresh water so he’ll stop mooning like a sick calf and yank open the subzero fridge.

My initial plan was to start my actions-speak-louder campaign by cooking her breakfast—you know, the whole way-to-the-heart-is-through-the stomach thing. But one look inside my empty refrigerator—my housekeeper’s on vacation, and Ainsley and I have been too busy fucking like sailors on shore leave and ordering takeout to food shop—kills that not-so-brilliant idea.

Good thing I can think fast on my feet, a skill I’ve honed at Top Shelf. You can’t own a business and not have to make split-second decisions when things don’t go according to plan.

I close the fridge and do a quick pivot to the counter, where my cell phone’s charging. I can call Bubby’s and have sourdough pancakes, cheddar grits and crab cakes Benedict at our door in less than an hour.

But when I power up my phone, the damn thing goes crazy with email, text messages and voicemail alerts, most of them from Connor and Alex, my contact in Miami. My heart drops to my stomach as I click on the most recent voicemail and hear a clearly panic-stricken Connor.

“Hey, man. I don’t know where the fuck you are or what the fuck you’re doing, but you need to call Alex ASAP. He’s been trying to get in touch with you. The landlord on that property you’ve been looking at in South Beach is ready to pull the trigger, but he wants an answer by end of day or he’ll go to the next highest bidder. And when you’re done with Alex, call me, asshole. As your friend, not your business partner. It’s not like you to fall off the face of the earth like this. I’m worried about you.”

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

I don’t even bother to listen to the rest of the voicemails or read any of the text messages. Instead, I hit Alex’s number on my speed dial.

“Finally,” he says when he picks up, not even waiting for me to identify myself. “Where the fuck have you been?”

I skip the niceties and cut right to the chase. “Is it too late? Did we lose the property in South Beach?”

“Gone with the wind, pal. Sorry. That’s what happens when you don’t answer your phone. Or respond to your messages. I must have left you twenty voicemails and at least as many texts and emails.”

“Shit,” I say, out loud this time. It’s no use making excuses. “This is on me. I’m sorry.”

“It’s your loss. Just let me know how you want to proceed. I can start looking for another location. But I don’t know how long it will take to find something that meets all your specifications. You’re a tough man to please.”

I slump onto a stool, resting my elbows on the hard cold marble of my kitchen island. “Yeah, I know.”

“And you have to promise me you won’t go AWOL again.”

“I promise.”

He signs off, and I take a deep breath before making the next call. When Connor picks up, I fall on my sword before he can chew me out.

“I fucked up. Big time. We lost the Miami property.”

“I figured as much. What happened to you? Did you lose your phone or something?”

My phone? No. My mind? Yes.

“Temporary insanity,” I mumble, eyeing the Keurig enviously. I could use a cup of coffee. Or something stronger. Like lighter fluid.

“What?” Connor asks.

“Never mind. I’ll tell you about it later. Right now, my priority is straightening out this mess I’ve gotten us into.”

“How? The landlord’s rented the property to someone else. You said so yourself. We’ve got a lot of time and money invested in this already. This could set us back months, if not more.”

He isn’t saying anything I haven’t told myself in the past five minutes, but that doesn’t make his words any easier to hear. He’s had my back since we were seven, and this is how I repay him. What kind of a dick does that?

My kind, apparently.

“I know.” A heavy weight lands on my thigh, and I look down to see Roscoe’s head resting there, his soulful brown eyes looking back at me pityingly. Great. Even the damn dog feels sorry for me. “Like I said, I fucked up. You trusted me with this project, and I let you down.”

I’d let us both down. Lost focus. Taken my eye off the ball. The one thing I’d sworn never