Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
He took a nervous glance over his shoulder and wondered, not for the first time, if the guys had sensed anything different about him. Logically, he knew, having a moment of strange attraction didn’t change who he was, but he didn’t deny the paranoia he’d dealt with all morning.
Kicking a rock, he tried to remember why he’d called.
“Honey? Did Meg have fun?”
“Oh, um, yeah, I’d say so. I had to drag her out of the place. She probably has a killer hangover today. So be sure to torture the crap out of her.”
His mother laughed.
“Anyway, I’m calling because there’s an issue with the remodel.”
“Oh?” Her tone immediately changed, and there was a rustle as though she were moving into another room.
“I think Pop really needs to get checked out. He forgot about a recent change to the plans. Even if I can somehow work it out with the client, we’ll still most likely end up paying for the fix out of pocket. I can’t keep him away from work, but whenever he’s around, there are always things that need cleaning up.”
“Oh, dear.” His mother sighed.
“I know it’s scary to think of, but it’s time he sees a doctor.”
“I know. I just didn’t want to face it.” He could hear her holding back worry now.
“It might be nothing, but we won’t know until he makes the appointment.”
“You know your dad, honey. He’s stubborn. He’s not going to like this at all.”
“Just promise me you’ll make the appointment.”
“I will, I’ll do it today.”
He didn’t feel any better when he hung up, but at least he’d accomplished something he’d been putting off for months. They needed to know what they were dealing with, even if it was Alzheimer’s or something worse. Now all he needed to do was convince the clients not to hire another team.
He got into his car and started the engine. The remodel was the project of a city developer whose main office was in Tribeca. He could be there and back in time for dinner. He was just exiting the Holland Tunnel when his cell phone rang.
“Hi, big bro.”
“How are you feeling this morning, lush?” He smiled at the sounds of agony coming through the phone.
“Jesus. Don’t shout.”
He laughed.
“Listen, I just talked to Ma and she said you’re going into the city for a work thing.”
“Yeah,” he replied, a little suspiciously because his sister’s voice held a tone he knew like the back of his hand. It was the I-need-a-favor voice and it made him roll his eyes.
“Tara left her purse at the club last night, and since you’re going to be in the city anyway, could you swing by and see if they have, I don’t know, like a lost and found or something?”
“Seriously?”
“I know it’s a long shot, but we’re hoping that since we left so late, no one had time to steal it. Maybe they found it when they were closing up.”
He sighed and scrubbed his jaw. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to the scene of the crime.
“Please, she had her wallet and phone in there and some really important class stuff.”
“I’m already at the client’s office.” He pulled into a parking garage and found an open spot. “I’ll do it after. What does it look like?”
Meg’s sigh of relief eased some of his annoyance. “It’s a bright blue clutch with a silver clasp. Thank you so much, you’re the best.”
“Yeah, I am. You better remember this because I will expect repayment.”
He hung up and slammed his head back against the headrest in frustration. Forced to go to the club again, damn it. His stomach knotted and he gripped the phone still in his hand. It was the middle of the day, there was slim chance the dancer would even be there.
He couldn’t figure out if that thought made it better or worse.
* * *
“Do it again, only this time, Ansel, you need to pop your hip on five and walk forward on seven. And make sure you don’t hit Z in the arm when you flick your wrist,” Tam instructed. “Ready? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Yes.” As he counted, Tam clapped out the beat.
They’d been putting together the new routine to Pink’s “Slut Like You” for the past hour, and Ansel got the sense his friend was upset.
“Can we take five? I need a drink,” Ansel asked.
“The last thing you need is another drop of alcohol,” Tam said, his usually calm and sweet voice gone cold and angry.
“Okay, I knew you were pissed. And I wasn’t talking about alcohol. I need water. Agua. H-2-fucking-O. Why are you mad?”
“You were an uber-bitch last night, babe,” Z put in while stretching his hamstring.
“I’m always a bitch. What’s the big deal?”
“Yeah, you’re usually bitchy to me or Z, but never to Tam.” Lirim straddled a chair and pulled his hair into a messy knot on the top of his head. “And we’re talking explosive bitchatude. Even I wanted to punch you.”