Dirty Work - Regina Kyle Page 0,24

so short I almost plow into her. “Not so fast, Speed Racer. I’m under strict orders not to let you anywhere near Top Shelf.”

“Let me guess,” I drawl, sarcasm dripping from every word. “My sister?”

She shakes her head, whipping her loose ponytail from side to side, and the scent of her shampoo wafts over me. Summery, like coconut and fruit salad and sunshine. And so damn tempting. I want to rip out her hair band and bury my face in her sweet-smelling curls.

Christ. What the hell is wrong with me? This woman is turning me into a hair-sniffing horn dog.

“Nope.” She turns to face me. The smirk is gone, replaced by a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. “Connor.”

A shard of white-hot jealousy pierces my midsection. What the hell is my best friend and business partner doing with my dog walk—er, executive concierge? How do they even know each other? Unless they met the other night at the club. I’m almost positive Ainsley stayed with me until the ambulance came. Somewhere in the dim recesses of my mind are fuzzy memories of her squeezing my hand—the one at the end of my uninjured arm, of course—and murmuring faint but firm reassurances in my ear as I lay on the edge of the dance floor. But I don’t remember Connor being there until later, at the hospital.

But who knows? Anything’s possible. I was in too much pain to pay much attention to what was going on around me. And once the EMTs got there, they drugged me up so good I was practically comatose.

My grip on the handle of her suitcase tightens. I know if I look down I’ll see the whites of my knuckles, but my eyes are locked on hers. “Since when are you and Connor having heart-to-heart chats?”

“Since Brie gave him my number. He figured you might try something like this.”

“Like what?”

“Ignoring doctor’s orders. I have it on good authority you’re not supposed to go back to work until he clears you.”

“I manage a nightclub. Ninety-nine percent of what I do is talk on the phone and push paper. It’s not particularly physically demanding.”

She eyeballs my sling. “It’s the other one percent that’s the problem. Connor says this isn’t the first time you’ve thrown yourself in the path of danger. He thinks you have a hero complex.”

Another stab of jealousy claws at my gut. “Oh yeah? What else did my ex–best friend have to say about me?”

“Just that he felt a lot better knowing I’d be staying with you.”

“So that’s what this is. You’re supposed to babysit me. Keep me away from Top Shelf and out of trouble.”

She traps her bottom lip between her teeth and looks up at me, her wide, storm-cloud eyes laced with amusement. “Think of me as more of a roommate than a babysitter. Someone to bake cookies and binge-watch Game of Thrones with.”

Not the activities I have in mind. But they’ll do. For a start.

“Fine. No club.” Lots of people work from home. I’ll keep tabs on things remotely, after she’s gone to bed. She’s got to sleep sometime, right?

I head for the bedroom closest to mine. Because I’m a glutton for punishment, obviously. Ainsley trails after me and deposits her suitcase and purse on the bed, looking at me like I’ve sprouted a second head. Or like she can read my mind.

“That was way easier than I expected. What gives?”

“I know a losing battle when I see one,” I lie, hoping it’s convincing.

I set the bag I’m carrying down next to hers. She unzips it and starts pulling out clothes and organizing them on the bed. Tiny tank tops. The shortest of shorts. I catch a glimpse of something pink and lacy, and she slams the suitcase shut before I can see more.

“I can unpack later. I’m starving. Why don’t we go grab something to eat? I’d offer to cook, but I’ve been known to burn water.”

“Don’t you have other clients to take care of?”

“Not today.” She snags a pale gray Yankees cap from one of the piles on the bed and plunks it on her head, pulling her ponytail through the opening at the back. “Today I’m all yours.”

All yours. Her words have my cock pressing against the zipper of the jeans it took me an hour to get into one-handed, but my brain’s stuck on something else.

“If you’re here with me, who’s minding the store?” I ask, curious. One entrepreneur to another.

“Aaron and Erin. The grad students who run errands for me. They’ve got