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“You finally get your lazy ass up?” Conner deadpanned in lieu of a greeting.
“Wouldn’t have overslept if you hadn’t left me with such a mess to clean up last night. You know
how hard it is to get blood out of white grout?” I’d cleaned up the remains of a dead Albanian after
Conner had gone on the warpath. I was glad he got the fucker, but the cleanup had been a b***h.
“That asshole was lucky I needed to get home. Should have drawn it out for days,” he muttered.
I grunted in understanding. Those ruthless Albanian fuckers had been after us for weeks and had
even killed Conner’s uncle. I couldn’t deny his right to be pissed. I just wished he'd let out his anger
in a plastic-lined cell where I didn’t have to spend all damn night drawing blood out of concrete.
“You call to argue with me or what?” Conner asked. His brevity didn’t bother me. I’d known him
since we were kids. I was closer to him than I was my own brother, which meant we gave each other
shit regularly.
“You wish. I need Pippa’s phone number.”
Silence filled the air.
“Why?” The single-word response was filled with wariness.
I measured my words carefully, knowing my answer wouldn’t go over well, no matter what words
I used. “We didn’t exactly make it to her parents’ place.”
“The f**k?” he roared.
I held the phone away from my ear and grimaced. “She’s an adult, man. Practically begged to
come back to my place.”
“Doesn’t mean you take her up on it. What the f**k have you done?”
If he only knew how bad it was, I’d probably need a surgeon after he got ahold of me.
“It’s fine,” I tried to assure him, “but I sort of passed out and need to make sure she got home
safely.”
“Jesus Christ, it just gets better.”
“Yeah, yeah. If I’d wanted a lecture, I would have called my damn father. Just give me the fucking
number.”
Every silent second that ticked by was dripping with his disapproval.
“I’ll text you,” he bit out before the line went dead. Seconds later, my phone dinged with the
number.
Taking a deep breath, I dialed Pippa and waited.
“Hello?” The sound of her sexy, vibrant voice eased the vise that had clamped tight around my
chest the second I realized she had disappeared. That was, until I heard a man’s voice in the
background.
“Let’s go back to the bedroom. I’ve got something special to show you.”
Every muscle in my goddamn body threatened to snap with strain. Who the f**k was with her?
“It’s me,” I forced past clenched teeth.
“Oh!” she said with genuine surprise. “I didn’t know you had my number.”
“Am I interrupting something?” My voice was as sharp as a blade. It was a little much, but I
couldn’t help myself. The thought of her already off with someone else had me itching for a fight. “It’s
only been a few hours since it was my bedroom you were checking out. Seems awfully quick to do
more exploring.”
“Excuse me?” Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “Are you seriously upset with me?”
“Not crazy about you running out after everything that happened.” I could hear how crazy my
words sounded, but there was no stopping them. Emotion got the better of me.
Pippa sighed. “Listen, it’s not a big deal, okay? I’m sorry that I misled you, but you don’t have
anything to worry about. I’m not expecting anything from you.”
I didn’t think she could have said anything that would have pissed me off more. Like she thought
I’d be relieved to cut and run.
I took in a slow, deep breath to calm myself.
“You and I need to talk,” I managed to say in a civil tone just as the man’s voice in the background
spoke again, rattling my newfound control. “Who the f**k is that?” I demanded.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s my real estate agent. No need to get your panties in a
wad. I’m looking for an apartment, and one unexpectedly came on the market. Now, I don’t want to
waste his time, so I need to go.”
“I need his name,” I demanded.
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re alone with this guy, and I want to know where to look should anything happen to
you.”
Another sigh. “You’re being ridiculous, but I don’t want to argue. His name is Clint McAllister.
Happy?”
“Hardly,” I shot back dryly.
“Bye, Bishop,” she sang before the line went dead.
“THIS IS TOM PRUITT. I’m a lending agent at First National. We’re trying to close on the Central Park
South property and have some big problems here. I’ve tried to call Clint McAllister, who is listed as
the buyer’s agent, but he’s not answering his phone.” I infused as much authoritarian urgency in my
voice as possible. People are innately followers. Present yourself with sufficient confidence, and you
can get people to do just about anything.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, sir. He’s with a client at a property right now.” The receptionist’s voice was
wrought with worry. As I’d planned, she had no desire to be pinned with the responsibility of a sale
falling through.
“This twenty-million-dollar deal is in jeopardy of not closing if I can’t get to him. Do you know
the address where he’s at? I could send someone to get him a message in person.”
“Yes, of course. Let me get that for you.” Not bothering to check my name or credentials, the
woman read off an address located not five minutes from my place.
Perfect. I should be able to get there in time.
“Thanks for your help.” I hung up and rushed from my apartment.
Ten minutes later, I was stationed in the lobby of a swanky apartment building when Pippa and her
real estate agent stepped off the elevator. She’d changed her outfit into a baby-blue sheath dress that
brought out the golden color of her skin. The look was striking but professional, and I hated that she
might have wanted to look nice for the asshole at her side. Clint McAllister was close to my age,
maybe a couple of years older. He was fit, reasonably attractive, and standing ten inches too close to
my woman.
- Writer
