Page 39 of Bottles & Blades

Biting back a sigh, I explain the situation with Dave.

When I’m done, he chuckles. “How bad did you fuck the asshole up?”

“Enough,” I mutter. “And not nearly enough.” I jab at the button to turn off the ignition and yank my cell from the cradle, pinning it between my ear and shoulder. I grab my shit, pop open my door, and move to the front of the building, swiping my keycard to let myself in. “Which is why I need you to look into the asshole, work your scary security chief magic, and make sure he doesn’t so much as look in her direction again. Hell, maybe the fuckwad will realize that he’d be better off moving so that doesn’t accidentally happen. I don’t care, so long as he never breathes her air again.”

I scan my keycard at the elevator, punch the button to call the car.

“Got it,” he says.

“And if you can get someone out there tomorrow to change out her locks then I’ll owe you one.”

A dangerous marker for a dangerous man.

“Her locks aren’t good?” he asks, voice threaded with ice.

“They’re shit.”

And he proves that, yeah, he’s dangerous, but that he’s also one of the good ones by what he says next. “I’ll get someone there in the morning to change out the entire fucking door.”

The elevator doors open with a ding, and I step on.

“I’ll owe you another one if you can manage that.”

“It’s not smart owing me one favor, let alone two.”

“I pay my debts”—I hit the button that’ll take me up to my office—“always.”

“I know,” he says. “But Tiff isn’t a debt. She’s family. Which means that this one’s on the house.”

“I—”

He cuts off my protest by saying, “She has a class at eight-thirty. My boys will be there at eight.”

I flick my gaze to my watch, feel the weight of the decision I’ve just made sit heavy in my stomach.

And I’m still going to make the same damned one.

“I’ll meet them there.”

I hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Figured you might.”

The elevator doors close, and I hang up.

Then I haul my ass to my office.

I have work to do.

And it needs to be done before eight.

Thirteen

Tiff

I slowly peel backmy lids, the sound coming from a distance, nagging at the corners of my consciousness.

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

I groan and pull the pillow over my hand.

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