Page 36 of Recklessly Rogue

I pull the phone away from my ear and look at the screen. Yes, it’s Ruby. “Did you mean to call me?” I ask her. Then another thought occurs to me. “Are you upstairs?” Did she dial me in her sleep or something?

“Henry,” she says with a sigh. “Of course I meant to call you. No, I’m not upstairs. I need those cinnamon rolls. Like right now.”

“Cinnamon rolls? What cinnamon rolls?” I look around the kitchen. Then I frown again. “What do you mean you’re not upstairs?”

“Wow, you are agreatbodyguard,” she says dryly. “We left forty-five minutes ago.”

While I was running. I’m off the stool and stomping to the front window. Sure enough, her car is gone.

So is the car I assumed was April’s.

Ruby saidweleft forty-five minutes ago. What thefuck?

“Is April with you?” I ask.

“Yes. Actually,I’mhere withher. I heard her get up and I couldn’t come down here instead of her because I don’t know how to operate the stupid espresso machine either, but I assumed that you wouldn’t want them to come down here alone.”

“You have Elliot with you too?”

“Of course. We weren’t going to leave him at the house alone. Andyouweren’t there.”

“I was just out for a run. You could have waited.”

“We couldn’t. They were all calling both of our phones!”

“Who was?”

“Allof them.”

“Who is?—”

“Just a minute, Ben! I’m coming!” she calls to someone.

I frown. Who the hell is Ben? “Where the hell are you?” I head for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“The bar.”

I stop outside her bedroom where my boots are. “The bar? Big Dick’s?”

“Of course Big Dick’s!” she snaps. “Just asecond, Will. If you want your milk frothed, you’ll have to wait for April. I only do cold flat milk!”

I scowl. “The bar I own and told you not to go to today?”

She sighs heavily. “Yes.”

“That bar is not open today.” I grab my boots and shove one foot into the first one.

“Well, the thing is, you can’t buy a business at midnight and then nottellanyone that is used to showing up at said business at seven a.m. that there’s been a change in management and hours,” she says.

I hear a bang behind her, then a hissing sound.

“There are people there?” I ask. “Bloody hell! It’s seven-thirty in the morning!”

“It’s seven forty-eight in the morning and yes, there are people here!” she snaps. “And they’re annoyed they had to wait forty-five minutes past their usual time for coffee and breakfast.Pleasebring the rolls down here.”

I stomp back down the stairs. “I don’t know what fucking rolls you’re talking about. I?—”

The doorbell rings.

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