The Schemer (Harbor City 3)

Chapter Thirteen

Sitting at his desk, Tyler stared out at the other high-rises from the window of his corner office in one of Harbor City’s most exclusive business towers. He shared the eightieth floor with two other companies, a high-end independent realtor and an attorney whose boutique firm’s client roster was long with bold names. He could afford the entire floor, but he didn’t need it, and not all lessons from his childhood were negative—like the one extolling the virtues of waste not, want not.

With the exception of his assistant, Jason, Tyler was usually alone in the office, preferring to meet clients on their territory in order to get a better sense of who they were and what motivated them. Today, however, was the exception. It wasn’t a client lounging on his leather couch with his size-sixteen work boots on the glass coffee table, it was one of the few men who could get away with it—his best friend since his family had moved in next door to the wild Hartigan clan, Frankie Hartigan.

Frankie was in the middle of a story about the firehouse groupie he’d met up with at the Barnaby Pub, a neighborhood dive and local hangout for firefighters and cops alike, when a notification popped up on Tyler’s laptop screen letting him know that he had less than two weeks to put the finishing touches on the hotel proposal or risk losing out to the other sharks circling the Italian. Too bad he hadn’t been able to spend more than twenty minutes focusing on it today instead of the woman who’d fucked him dumb and then strutted away like it hadn’t been the best sex of their lives. He let out a groan and hit snooze on the reminder with a little more force than normal.

“Why are you so damn growly?” Frankie asked, dropping his feet to the ground with a thunk and leaning forward, propping his elbows on his knees.

Whether it was the Irish in Frankie, the fact that he’d grown up in a hive of neighborhood talk, or the fact that firefighters gossiped like old women on wine and paint night, the fact was the giant ginger could smell good dirt from five miles away.

“Because I finally got an in with Alberto Ferranti, and I need to get my presentation together but my concentration has been for shit.”

“And who is Albert Ferranti?”

“Alberto,” he corrected gruffly.

Frankie rolled his eyes. “I heard ya the first time; I’m just busting chops, man.”

Fuck, he knew that. Anyone else and the name swap would have been accidental, but with Frankie and his near photographic memory, it was just another attempt—just like his outrageous story of banging the firehouse groupie in Barnaby’s bathroom—to get Tyler to loosen up and relax. They didn’t have a touchy-feely friendship, thank God, but it was a real one, and friends helped where and how they could. Going over to the Hartigans’ house where nine people shared three bathrooms had been chaos, but of the good kind, not the simmering ugly at his house next door.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He rammed his fingers through his hair. “I’m a little on edge, that’s all.”

“Really? I never woulda guessed.” He c

huckled, the sound deep and booming. “What you need is a guys’ night. Come on home. We’ll go out to Barnaby’s, have a few beers, and make nice with the ladies.”

The beer sounded good, but the mention of ladies only made him think of the one woman he couldn’t get out of his head. “No time.”

“There’s always time to get laid,” Frankie said, ever the man for subtlety. “And that’s exactly what you need. Trust me. I’m related to Ford, and if there’s one thing that actually gets the stick out of my baby brother’s cop ass, it’s finding heaven between a pair of long, smooth legs.”

“Trust me, that’s not my problem.” No. It was the fact that he’d found it and lost it without a clue as to why.

Frankie leaned farther forward. “Details, man.”

Shit. Why in the hell had he said that? “None of your business.”

“She blew you off, didn’t she?” Frankie relaxed back against the couch, a smug look on his face. “Damn, she did.” He laughed, one giant hand slapping his knee. “You have got to tell me this woman’s name because I’m already in love with her.”

That wasn’t going to happen. “You don’t know her.”

“It’s true,” he said with a shrug. “But there are a few women in the Harbor City metro area whom I’ve yet to charm the panties off.”

Now that was about as close to the truth as it got. One of these days, though, that fact was going to kick Frankie right in the teeth. “You need professional help.”

“That’s what the department said when I told them there was no way I was taking time off just because I had a shit-ton of leave accrued.”

Play hard, work hard. That was the Frankie Hartigan way.

“What did your lieutenant say?” Tyler asked.

“Oh, she huffed and puffed, but as long as we’re shorthanded at the house, then I’m golden.”

“You know most people want to take a vacation.”

“Really, and when was the last time you had one?” Frankie asked, nailing him with a don’t-even-bother-to-try-to-lie glare.

“I’m going to Key West this weekend.” While it wasn’t technically a vacation, it sure would be a definite side benefit. All he had to do to make it worthwhile was keep his blood supply going to his brain instead of his dick—something that was bound to be a challenge around Everly.