Page 5 of The Wrong Sister
“Alright.” I interlock my hands on the table in front of me. “Keep your ears open.”
“Will do. Today’s schedule is in your mailbox.” He points at my laptop on the edge of the table, then at the coffee cup I placed in front of me. Who the hell knows why I’m still carrying it. “What did she do today? Besides the obvious,” he giggles, as if he’s enjoying my misery.
“Salt,” I sigh.
“Well.” He sounds almost…admiring while heading to the bathroom. “I’ll get your pants dry-cleaned.”
I grunt in response, hoping Martin will take it as a thank you. “Can you send a hundred cash to the coffee shop?” I ask suddenly, making him pause mid step. It’s almost theatrical.
He slowly turns his body toward me. “Why would we need to do that? Wanna leave a nice tip for someone?” His face brightens like he’s just heard the best news.What is happening?
Glaring at him with a silent reminder that I’m the boss here, so my actions are not to be questioned, I say, “Just send a hundred bucksto Jerome.”
“That sleazebag.” Martin winces. “What did you do?” He looks at me like I’m a misbehaving toddler.
“Cash to Jerome, Martin,” I growl, ignoring his further smirks.
“Yes, sir!” He salutes and rushes off.
Glancing out the panoramic windows, I sigh, feeling a ping of jealousy toward my brother who doesn’t have to fight silent wars and sit in stuffy boardrooms performing staring contests. He is an architect, and a damn good one, so the majority of his time is spent anywhere he wants, which is usually at the next project.
I miss the time when I could do the same, when I was a free kid at our grandmother’s farm who liked building treehouses and running around barefoot.
Pushing intrusive thoughts to the back of my head, I open my laptop and dig into my emails. It’s going to be a long day.
3
Ezra
That was a long fucking day.
It’s past midnight. I’m wrapping a towel around my hips when my phone rings. An unknown number.
“Yes,” I bark.
“Is this Mr. King?”an ageless male voice asks.
“Who’s asking?”
“It’s NYPD. There’s been an accident.”
My blood freezes. Awful scenarios of my brother getting into a car crash flash through my mind.
I’m able to speak only on the second try. “What accident?”
“There was a fire in your building.”
Fucking hell. “How bad?”
“It’s the ground floor.”
Which can mean anything. If the damage is big, the whole building could be leveled by now.
“Is anyoneinjured?”
“You’d better come here.”
“Be there in a few.”
