Dirty Work - Regina Kyle Page 0,28

yet?” I gesture to the piñata.

“So that’s how you want to play it.” He finds the sticker marked Fill Here and peels it off. “Fine. I’ll let you off the hook for now. But don’t think the subject is closed.”

“What subject?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“You. Me. Trust me, Nightingale. This—” he waves a hand between us “—is happening, whether you want to admit it or not.”

Admit it? I’m counting on it.

“Just finish stuffing the piñata so we can hang it up.”

I scatter the last of the penis confetti, crumple up the empty package, and toss it into the heavy-duty garbage bag I mooched off housekeeping. Normally I’d bring one with me. We’ve got a no-mess-left-behind rule at Odds & Errands. Another way we try to stand out from the competition. But since I’m pinch hitting today, I’m not as prepared as I usually am.

Jake rips the bag of gummies open with his teeth, dumps them into the papier-mâché penis, then puts the sticker back on to seal it up. “There. All done. Where do you want it?”

“Hmm...” I scan the large, open loft, looking for a safe place to hang a piñata. Somewhere the ladies can swing away at it without fear of damaging any of the Soho Grand’s pricey decor. “How about over there?”

I point to the archway that separates the dining area from the living space. He nods and starts to pull a chair over.

I stand in his path, blocking him, hands balled on my hips. He may be bigger and stronger than me, but there’s no way he’s more determined. “Not. Gonna. Happen. Remember our deal. No heavy lifting. No climbing.”

He steps aside with an elaborate bow. “As you wish.”

“The Princess Bride. Impressive.”

“You can thank my sister for that, too. She made me watch it a least a hundred times. Even tried to get me to dress as the Dread Pirate Roberts one Halloween, but that’s where I drew the line.”

“Too bad,” I say, dragging the chair beneath the archway. “You would have made a cute Dread Pirate Roberts.”

“The Dread Pirate Roberts is not cute,” Jake huffs. “He’s feared across the seven seas for his ruthlessness and skill with a sword.”

“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you’d seen the movie a hundred times.” My eyes dart around the room until they spot what I’m looking for. “Can you bring me that box of tools on the couch?”

I’d had them delivered directly to the hotel along with the decorations. A tad more expensive, sure. But also way more efficient. And it’s not like my clients can’t afford to pay a little bit extra. They’re clearly not hurting for money. From the looks of this place, it’s costing them a pretty penny.

Jake crosses to the couch, picks up the box, and looks inside, but he doesn’t bring it to me. Instead, he just stands there and stares at me like I’m about to take a sledgehammer to the Venus de Milo. “The Soho Grand isn’t going to be too thrilled with you making holes in their ceiling.”

“Hole,” I correct him. “Singular. And I’ve already cleared it with the management. I’ve got someone coming in to patch it up after the bridal party checks out on Sunday.”

This isn’t my first rodeo. Or my first bachelorette party. I know how to grease the wheels and smooth things over to get my clients what they want, within reason. Just another perk of our personalized service.

He lets out a low whistle and crosses back to me with the box. “Now I’m the one who’s impressed.”

“I may not be a workaholic like some people—” I give him a pointed look over my shoulder as I climb up on the chair “—but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about doing my job and doing it well.”

“I can see that.”

I glance down at him, and I’m shook. Where’s the sarcastic smirk? Or disdainful frown? I mean, he’s got to be messing with me, right? I’m totally cool with how I run my business, but there’s no way it’s up to Mr. I-Live-At-The-Office’s impossibly high standards.

But he’s not messing with me. He’s standing there holding the stupid box to his stupid side with his stupid, uninjured arm, gazing up at me with an earnest expression and nothing but sincerity in his eyes.

My heart and stomach do a simultaneous flip-flop, like synchronized swimmers executing a perfectly choreographed routine. It’s ridiculous, I know, but this seems like a big moment somehow. Significant. Meaningful. It dawns on me that