“It’s called professionalism, wanker.” Ty took great pleasure in tossing one of Chance’s favorite words at him. “Look it up sometime.”
“Our charges are people. Yeah, some of them are assholes but a lot of them, like Vicki, are perfectly agreeable. Showing them a bit of humanity now and then, won’t harm anyone.”
“Don’t fucking tell me how to do my job, Chance.”
“Fine! I won’t. But you were a dick to her tonight. And I think you should apologize.”
“I know! And I will!”
The wind abruptly left both their sails, and they exchanged wry glances before backing off.
“Want a beer?” Ty asked. He remained troubled by his exchange with Vicki, but tried to shove his disquiet to the back of his mind.
“Sure. Happy birthday, dickhead. Fair warning, Colby and some of the guys will be showing up in half an hour. Since you apparently hate like hell to be surprised, I think it’s better to give you time to prepare for that. Don’t want you getting all arseholey on them and alienating every fucking person in your life now, do we?”
Ty winced, not only at the prospect of having guests, but also because of Chance’s not-so-subtle jab.
After a restless night of tossing and turning, Vicki seriously considered canceling her lunch date with Teddy the following day. In the end, she decided that was exactly the wrong thing to do. Moping around the apartment and canceling appointments gave the events of last night a gravity that was unwarranted and inappropriate.
The best thing to do was carry on as if nothing was wrong. Because nothing was wrong. Everything was exactly as it should be. As it had always been.
The first thing she did after dragging herself out of bed that morning—and pouring herself a massive mug of coffee—was text Hugh.
Did you know that Brand EPS owns part of this building and that some of their CPOs live here?
She waited for about five minutes, but the message remained unread. It was only six-thirty, Hugh was undoubtedly having a lie-in with Stephen.
She sipped her coffee and glared at the phone, restlessly tapping her fingernail against the granite kitchen countertop.
She snatched the device up when it pinged, and Hugh’s response flashed onto the screen: Yeah. So?
Ugh, of course he didn’t care. He wasn’t the one with massive bodyguards trailing him everywhere.
“Fine,” she muttered, swiping through her contacts until she found Miles’s name. She pushed the call button and waited and waited…until the call was dropped.
“Butthole.” She tried again. A couple of rings before it was dropped again. “Uh-uh. You’d better answer me!”
She called again. This time it was answered on the first ring, and her brother’s exasperated face appeared on screen. His hair was messy, his eyes a little wild…and his lips were swollen. That, combined with his bare chest and the fact he was sitting up in bed, left little doubt as to what she had interrupted.
“What, goddamnit?” he snapped.
Vicki raised her brow at him in what she hoped was a fair imitation of his own supercilious expression.
“Miles, be nice.” Vicki heard the mild reprove in the familiar feminine voice coming from beside her brother. There was some movement next to Miles before Charity’s face appeared on screen. Thankfully, she appeared to be wearing a nightgown, but her lips were swollen as well, her short black hair was rumpled, and a flush of pink stained her lovely brown skin. But she was smiling. “Morning, Vicki. How are you?”
“Hi, Charity, I’m mostly good thanks. You okay?”
“Uh-huh. I’m guessing you need to talk to Miles about why you’re only mostly good and not all good?”
“I do.”
Charity laughed. “I’ll leave you to it then.” She kissed Miles on his stubbled jaw before sliding out of sight again. Vicki heard her tell Miles she was going to make breakfast, and her brother shifted his focus to the woman, moving the phone so that all Vicki could see was the bedcover.
His voice was muffled when he spoke, but the words were clear. “You know that I’m not hungry for food, sweetheart. Stay…and we’ll finish what we started when I’m done with my call.”
Oh, ew.
Charity laughed and said something Vicki didn’t quite catch, and Miles groaned. The phone lifted again seconds later.
“What’s so important you couldn’t wait until a more decent hour of the day?”
“How was I supposed to know you’d still be lounging around in bed at seven-thirty in the morning? You’re usually up at the crack of dawn.”
Miles yawned, before replying. “It’s winter. This is the crack of dawn. It’s also Sunday. I’m as entitled to a lie-in as the next person.”
“Whatever. I want to know why you never mentioned that this building was partly owned by Brand EPS.”
There was a brief flicker of guilt in his gray eyes, before he shifted his shoulders. “Because it doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does. Did you buy this apartment because the place is teeming with Brand’s people?”