Page 16 of Ten Day Affair
“Tempting,” I say, flashing back to my neighbor.
I pick up the glass. “But no. Still alive. Still disgustingly un-retired. Still prefer my penthouse in the city.”
He nods toward my phone. “You closing that medical deal yet? Or just screwing around with real estate?”
I shrug. “Bit of both. You know I like to multitask.”
He smirks. “Palm Beach is full of sugar daddies and trust fund geriatrics. What’s the draw for you?”
I swirl the bourbon. “I follow the money, brother. Bought the place because I'll be going down a lot with the board until we get through this reorganization. It's waterfront and quiet, and I have a full staff taking care of it, so it's better than the Ritz. Plus, it's down the street from the hospital, which is convenient.”
“For tax write-offs or bikini season?”
I glance sideways. “Funny you should say that. I bought it for the write-off, but you won't believe what happened."
Dorian barks a laugh. “Tell me you didn’t break into a blue-haired’s breakfast nook.”
“Not exactly.” I take a sip. “Turns out my neighbor’s asurgical resident. Loose robe, tight ass. And not a blue hair in sight.”
He raises a brow. “And?”
“Have you ever accidentally walked onto the wrong deck?”
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"I went for a walk on the beach after I got in. Those houses all look remarkably similar, especially at night. I walked onto my neighbor's instead of mine. And let me just tell you, she's one hell of a welcoming committee."
"Shut the fuck up. You didn't."
“She insisted I have a glass of wine with her, and then things went horizontal quickly.”
“You’re serious.”
I shrug. “Caught me off guard, too. One kiss turned into two. You can do the math.”
He whistles low. “Jesus. You’d been in town, what, five minutes?”
“Something like that. I was only there a total of forty-eight hours.”
He chuckles. “You’re the only guy I know who closes real estate and gets laid in the same hour.”
“I'm not going to lie. It makes me want to spend more time in Florida.”
We fall quiet for a beat. I take a long sip of whiskey. He stirs the salad in his cocktail, pushing the lime wedge and mint around like he’s deep in thought.
“And what,” he finally says, “you just said, ‘Thanks for the hospitality’’and peaced out?”
“Pretty much.”
Dorian leans back, grinning as he clinks his glass against mine. “To the unexpected perks of board appointments.”
“Exactly.”
The empty conferencetable to my left glows under the recessed lighting. Six of my division heads stare back at me from the wall screen. They make up neat little boxes of tension and excuses.
An Excel sheet is open on my laptop. Mirrored on the big screen.
“These numbers were due three days ago.” My voice cuts through the air.
