The line hummed. “Crystal.”
Then she hung up.
Nick cursed, grabbed the nearest stack of papers from the last board meeting, and got to work. The woman actually bothered him at his job about a fish.
He pushed the image of her out of his mind and resumed his work.
…
“He’s gonna be mad.”
Alexa bit down on her lower lip and wondered why Maggie’s words caused a chill to run down her spine. After all, Nick Ryan was no alpha male. Sure, he’d be a little put out from the situation, but he always remained rational.
She surveyed the living room filled with dogs. Lots of dogs. Puppies and mutts and purebreds and hound dogs. Some crowded the kitchen, bumping into tables as they ate their food and slurped water. Others kept up a furious pace as they explored their new home, sniffing in corners and moving from room to room. The wire-haired terrier chewed on a throw pillow. The black poodle jumped on the couch and settled down for a nap. The mutt looked about ready to lift his leg by the speaker, but Maggie grabbed him and threw him into the back yard before he did serious damage.
The worry blossomed into a full-fledged panic attack.
Maggie was right.
Nick might kill her.
She turned toward her friend. “What should I do?”
Maggie shrugged. “Tell him the truth. You’re only taking them for a night or two until the shelter can make other arrangements. If you give them back, they’ll all be put to sleep.”
She winced. “What if he still makes me get rid of them?”
“Take them to your apartment.”
“Too small.”
Maggie threw up her hands when she spotted the look. “Hell, no, I’m not taking them to my place! I’ve got someone coming over and he’ll be a lot warmer than a puppy. You’re on your own.”
“But, Maggs—”
Maggie gave a wave. “Gotta go. Man, I’d love to see the show when my brother walks in. Call me on my cell.”
The door shut.
Alexa surveyed the room, now in puppy chaos, and decided she’d been a little too impulsive. She could have reasonably told the shelter she’d take a few, then brought them to her apartment. But no, she’d been mad at Nick for being a cold-hearted monster about the fish, and decided to teach him a lesson. Except now she was just plain scared.
The hound dog gnawed at the table leg. She pulled herself together and prepared her battle plan. She’d put them all in the spare room and maybe Nick wouldn’t notice. He never went in that room. She’d bring all their toys and food and sneak them out the back for their walks. She convinced herself the strategy would work, and herded the group down the hall. She dumped out a whole bag of play toys and made sure most of them ran after her. Then she shut the door, gathered up the sleeping puppies on the couch, the food and water bowls, and some spare newspapers. She raced out and got the last stray from the backyard, and set up the room so the dogs would be comfortable.
Alexa stared worriedly at the beautiful loveseat and chair in swirling patterns of silver and gray. Damn, why did Nick have to be rich? No one’s spare room looked this good, with slate carpeting, pewter tables with ornate scrolling, and throws that cost more than her whole comforter set at home. She ran her fingers over the soft, precise stitches of an afghan. She needed some old blankets, and she bet her husband didn’t have one. She decided to go on a hunt upstairs but she heard the key in the lock.
Panicked, she threw the afghan over the chair and shut the door behind her. Then she hurled herself down the hallway and skidded to a stop in front of him. “Hi.”
He looked suspicious already. Blond locks slipped over his forehead and his eyes narrowed, as if he didn’t trust her to be nice. Guilt squirmed within, but she ignored the emotion.
“Hi.” He looked around the house and she held her breath. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I was just about to cook dinner. Unless you’re tired and want to go to bed right now.”
One brow shot up at her hopeful tone. “It’s six o’clock.”
“Right. Well, I bet you have a lot of work to do, huh? I’ll bring your food upstairs to your office if you want.”
Now, he looked plain irritated. “I did enough work today. I want to relax with a glass of wine and watch the ball game.”
“Are the Mets on?”
“Don’t know. They’re not in the playoffs anyway and they didn’t make the Wild Card. The Yanks still have a chance.”
She squirmed with pent up annoyance. “They’re too far back—it’ll never happen. New York won’t be getting in the series this year.”
He let out an impatient breath. “Why don’t you watch the Mets upstairs?”
“I want the big TV.”
“So do I.”
Crankiness hit her hard. Alexa grabbed onto the emotion, grateful the fear had melted away. She turned her back and stalked into the kitchen. “Fine, I’m calling in my favor.”
He hung his black wool coat in the closet, then stood in the doorway. She took out ingredients for the salad she wouldn’t eat and cut up vegetables for a stir-fry. He grabbed a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and poured her a glass. “What did you say?”
“I’m calling in my favor. I want to watch the Mets game downstairs on the big TV. I want you to stay upstairs and watch the Yankees game, and I don’t want to hear a sound. Not a cheer, or a yell, or a ‘Go Yankees’ rally. Got it?”
When she looked back, he gaped at her in sheer amazement, as if she’d sprouted horns. She tried to ignore how adorable he looked, with his mouth slightly open, and those incredible shoulders stretched against the pale gray down shirt. Why did he have to be so damn attractive? The shirt sleeves and collar were still crisp after hours of wear. His charcoal pants still held the crease down the middle. He had unfastened the buttons by the wrist and rolled the material up in his usual fashion. Light-colored hair sprinkled over his forearms and strong fingers gripped the delicate wine glass with a power that made her fidget when she thought of the other things he could touch. She tried not to ogle him like a teenager and focused on chopping.
“You’re insane.” He actually took a few moments to gather his powers of speech before continuing. “These favors are supposed to be used for important things.”
“My choice. My favor.”