Dirty Work - Regina Kyle Page 0,55

AINSLEY.” Erin reaches across the desk and taps my head with the eraser end of her pencil. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Of course I am,” I lie. “You were saying something about the Bartons’ grocery order.”

“That was so five minutes ago,” Aaron says with an impressive eye roll. “We’ve moved on to Mrs. Vincent and her Mercedes. Which I still don’t want to drive.”

I tap my keyboard, and a tick appears in the appropriate box of my trusty computerized spreadsheet. “Noted.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Erin sits back and studies me from across my desk with a worried frown. “You haven’t been yourself since—”

“Can we stick to business, please,” I say a little too harshly.

The problem is Erin’s right. I haven’t been myself lately. It’s been two weeks since I walked out on Jake, and I swear I’m barely functioning. Without him, everything feels empty. Blah. Beige. It’s like I’m moving through a thick fog of melancholy that I can’t shake, no matter how hard I try.

I wasn’t half this bad when Dale pulled his disappearing fiancé act. I felt betrayed, sure. And abandoned. After years of being part of a twosome, I was alone.

But I didn’t ache for Dale like I do for Jake. Losing Dale was like giving up Diet Coke. Once I kicked the habit cold turkey, I didn’t really miss it. Losing Jake is like having a limb cut off. The pain may ebb and flow, but it never fully goes away.

What makes it hurt even more is that I thought we were really connecting. And not just in the bedroom, although that part was pretty spectacular. That thing Jake did with his tongue on my clit...

Nope. Not going there. What was I thinking before my mind went down dirty memory lane? Oh, right. Connecting. Outside the bedroom.

It seemed like Jake was starting to relax and loosen up with me. Having fun with the drag queens at the diner. Filling a penis piñata. Screaming his head off on the Cyclone at Coney Island.

But one phone call from the office, and he was back to Mr. All-Work-No-Play. The angry words he hurled at me ping-pong in my head, fresh pain stabbing my gut with each ping, ripping at my heart with each pong.

A mistake that cost me the Miami deal.

I was off playing carnival games and screwing the dog walker.

I blink back tears—it’s bad for office morale to let your employees see you cry—and do the same thing I’ve been doing for the past fourteen days—tell myself no matter how much it hurts, it’s for the best. If there’s one thing I learned from my last breakup—and from Ferris Bueller—it’s that life is short, and spending it worrying about work is a waste of valuable time. I can’t be with someone who’s not down with that philosophy.

No matter how occasionally fun and always fuckable he is.

“Uh, boss?” Aaron says softly, nudging me out of my depressing daydream. “The schedule?”

I clear my throat and focus on my computer screen.

“Right. So Erin—” I point to her. “Will take care of Mrs. Vincent’s Mercedes. And Aaron—”

I point to him. “You’ve got the Bartons’ groceries. Okay?”

They both nod, and I make another tick in the spreadsheet.

“Good. Now which one of you wants to feed and walk Roscoe today?”

“That’s another thing.” Erin tucks her pencil behind her ear and eyes me again. She’s way too suspicious. Then again, she’s the only one of my assistants who’s met Jake. No doubt she suspects he’s the tall, dark and handsome cause for my mood swings. “Why don’t you walk him anymore?”

“Yeah,” Aaron chimes in, depositing his long, lanky frame into the seat next to her. “You’re the one who insisted we break our no pets policy. Besides, I thought you liked the hairy beast.”

“I do.” And his temporary caretaker. A little too much. “But my schedule’s full today.”

“With what?” Erin asks.

With whatever keeps me far, far away from Jake’s apartment. I’m not ready to go back there. I may never be ready. Too many memories, good and bad. It’s hard enough having to answer his daily texts about Roscoe.

“I’ll take the morning shift,” Aaron jumps in, rescuing me. Bless his clueless little heart. “If she’ll do the dinner run.”

I turn to Erin. “That okay with you?”

She shrugs. “Sure.”

I send them on their respective ways, grab my I Drink Coffee Because Adulting Is Hard mug, and head into the kitchen for my third cup of dark roast. It’s shaping up to be another