Page 67 of Dirty Boss

Deena bumped me with her shoulder. “Good job.”

“Should’ve done that before handing my phone over to you.”

“But then you wouldn’t have the satisfaction of having the last word.” She beamed at me, then tilted her head. “So, more importantly, are you going to do it?”

My heart was still racing, so I couldn’t follow her thoughts. “Do what?”

“Go to that charity event?”

“The Noble Foundation Gala?”

Her eyes glimmered. “Sure. Why not?”

“Um, I can think of about ten thousand reasons right off the bat. Like for example all the people that will be there who know exactly what happened to me this past year.”

“And wouldn’t it feel so good to throw it in their faces?”

I crossed my legs and leaned back, not caring that the pose made me slouch against the busted-up back of the velvet sofa. Then I blinked at my friend. “Have I ever told you what a terrible influence you are?”

Deena smiled, looking decidedly evil. “I know. Isn’t it great?”

TWENTY-TWO

VAUGHN

The Midtown jobwas hanging on by a thread, but walking around the site and talking to the site superintendent didn’t fill me with the kind of dread it had a month ago. I went to the office and talked to Jim about the dire straits our company would be in if I didn’t find an investor and wriggle out of the legal battle that seemed almost inevitable at this point.

And I hardly cared.

All I wanted to do was get back to Alba. Lock myself in my house and spend time with her. Watch that genuine smile spread over her face. Kiss every inch of her body. Get to know all her secrets.

I made sure she was free for dinner, but even the few hours that we were apart seemed too long. I threw myself into work to distract myself.

I called Charlotte at the usual time when I was still in the office, smiling when she answered, the video shook, and her gap-toothed smile came onscreen. I’d called her daily when Alba had been at my house, ducking into my office to make the call. It would be just over a week until she was back with me.

“Hey, turkey.”

“Hi. Me and mom and Dale”—that was Tiffany’s new husband—“had a snowball fight and I got snow all down my back, but I got Dale good.”

“I didn’t think there was enough snow for a snowball fight,” I said, glancing out my office windows. This high up, I felt disconnected from the world.

“Duh,” Charlotte said, smiling. “Maybe you and me can have one! I’m good at making snowballs and Dale said I have a pitcher’s arm.”

“Did he?” I forced a smile, something like disquiet slithering through me. We spoke for a while longer, Charlotte telling me all about her day. Then I said, “All right turkey, put your mom on. I need to talk to her about something.”

“Okay. Love you!”

“Love you too. See you soon.”

“For a snowball fight!”

“For a snowball fight,” I confirmed. The phone shuffled, and a new face came on. “Hi, Tiff.”

“Still at work, I see,” she said, seeing my background. Her brows arched; she wasn’t surprised.

“It’s a busy period,” I said defensively, heat rising up the back of my neck.

“I thought winters were the slow time for you?”