Dirty Work - Regina Kyle Page 0,61
have,” Connor says, surprising me. “And do you know what he told me? He said that as hard as it was to watch the company he built from scratch go down the tubes, it taught him that what’s really important isn’t money or status or success, whatever the hell that means. It’s the people who stick with you through the ups and downs.”
I force myself to think back on the months after my dad’s heart attack. Not just the shit parts, like I usually do. The together times. Like our family game nights. Watching movies borrowed from the library on the worn secondhand couch my mom found at the Salvation Army. Stringing microwave popcorn and making salt dough ornaments to decorate the Charlie Brown Christmas tree my dad brought home from the local hardware store.
We may have had to sell most of our belongings and downsize to an apartment not even one-quarter the size of our house, but my parents made sure we found ways to laugh. To love.
“Yeah.” I swallow the lump that’s suddenly lodged in my throat. “That sounds like something my dad would say. But what was I supposed to do? I had to come down here. I screwed up. I had to fix it. And being here was the best way I knew how to do that.”
“Christ, you’re a stubborn son of a bitch.” Connor sighs. “I’ve been telling you all along, but you just won’t listen. Miami isn’t make or break for us. Hell, I’m still not convinced it’s a good idea for us to be expanding with renovations set to start in New York. There will be other clubs. Other cities. Other opportunities.”
Other opportunities. It’s almost exactly what Ainsley said. Right before she walked out.
I tip my head back and stare at a water stain on the ceiling, quietly cursing my own stupidity. “I think I screwed up. Again.”
“You think?” Connor jibes at me.
“Fine. I know.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” he asks.
“I don’t know, man.” I stand and pace the room. I think better when I’m in motion. And I need all my brain cells firing at full capacity to come up with a way to win Ainsley back. “She was pretty pissed at me.”
“Understandable, given her last breakup.”
His words stop me in my tracks. “What about her last breakup? And how do you know more about her love life than I do?”
“Brie,” he explains simply.
“You’ve been talking to my sister?” No. Not going there. I can’t worry about why my best friend and my baby sister are suddenly getting all chummy when I’ve got my own shit to straighten out. “Never mind. Just tell me what you know.”
“Her fiancé dumped her right before their wedding.”
Her what? “She never mentioned that she was engaged.”
“Yeah, and the guy was a total dick. Left her for his secretary. Said Ainsley was already married to her work.”
Ouch. “Let me guess. That was when she quit her job at the law firm.”
“Yep. She started her errand—uh, executive concierge business a few months later.”
Holy shit. It all makes sense now. Ainsley’s laid-back attitude toward work. Daring me to go a whole day without electronics. Her admiration for Ferris Bueller and his life-moves-fast-and-if-you-don’t-stop-and-look-around-you’ll-miss-it mantra.
I start pacing again, my synapses firing at warp speed as a plan begins to take shape. An outrageous, impracticable, so-over-the-top-it-just-might-work plan.
“You still there?” Connor asks. “Or did you finally grow a pair and hang up so you could get your ass on a plane to New York and grovel in person?”
“I’m here,” I say, ignoring his put-down. I’m a man on a mission, and petty insults aren’t going to distract me from my game plan. “Do you have a pen and paper handy? Or better yet, boot up your computer.”
“Why?”
“Because I have an idea. And I’m going to need your help to make it happen.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ainsley
IT TAKES ALMOST a week for Dale to respond to my email. Not that that surprises me. He always did things at his own, leisurely, the-world-will-wait-for-me pace.
What surprises me is that I’ve been staring at my computer screen for ten minutes without opening the damn thing.
I’m not sure what I’m more afraid of. That he’ll give me the answer I’m hoping for. Or that he won’t.
Before I can overthink this anymore, I pull up my big girl panties and click on the email. It’s another minute before I work up the nerve to focus on the screen and read what he’s written.
Ainsley,
Sorry it’s taken so long for