Page 31 of Saving the Last Heir
“What?” he said, lifting an eyebrow.
I glanced down at my wrinkled work pants and stained shirt. I could feel the dirt on my face and in my hair, and my teeth felt fuzzy from not brushing the night before.
Great.A hot guy is making me breakfast, and I look like a panhandler.
“Nothing.” I sighed and sat at the table, picking up a fork.
The plate held three slices of bacon, a pile of eggs, and a buttered piece of toast. I eyed it, then glanced up at him.
“Was all this in the fridge last night?”
He looked uncomfortable, then shrugged. “I made a detour on the way back from getting your phone.”
“Jesus, did you sleep at all?” I said, biting into a strip of bacon.
“It’s fine,” he said, waving the question away. “I’ve operated on less sleep before.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes, then he brought up the most-pressing issue at hand.
“When do we call this guy?”
Setting my fork down, I reached for my phone. “No time like the present, right?”
Jackson nodded, but he had a haunted, worried look in his eyes. There was a lot riding on this, and Ineededto make it happen. My stomach twisted as I listened to the phone ringing on the other end.
When he answered, Dusty Millew had that same cocky used-car-salesman tone he used every time I spoke to him.
“Shy? Is that you?” he said. “To what do I owe this call at such an early hour? Wait, let me guess, you woke up from a dream? Was I there? How good was I? Was it everything you hoped it would be? I can assure you, it’s most likely bigger in person.”
Stifling a groan of disgust, I ignored his poor attempt at flirting and got to business.
“Good morning, Dusty. I need to talk to you about something.”
“I bet you do,” he said, lowering his voice. “How about dinner atLe Jardinier? A few bottles of wine, some caviar, maybe we go back to my place? You know how much I love that pretty dark skin of yours. I love that forever-tanned look you’ve always got going on. I’ve been wanting to see all of it for years now.”
I shuddered. I always forgot what a horny piece of shit Dusty was until I talked to him. It made me think he had some weird fetish for darker girls like me. He always talked about me like I was some dessert toeat. If he’d been the last man on earth, I’d simply become celibate.
“Cut the shit,” I snapped, and Jackson blinked in surprise. “We need to talk about my shop.”
His slimy pick-up artist persona vanished in an instant. “You’re thinking of selling? After all this time? I’d given up hope. Come over now, we can hash it out real quick.”
“Uh, no, that, won’t work. It needs to be tonight.” I glanced at Jackson. “After hours.”
Dusty was quiet for a beat, then said, “I suppose I could do that. Why so late?”
“I’ve got a lot of work to do, we’re swamped at the shop,” I said.
“Ha, you and I both know that’s a lie. Ever since that big whale moved away, you guys have been struggling. Listen, come on over at lunch today, we can discuss a good sale price, I can maybe give you a shoulder rub and?—”
“Seven o’clock,” I said. “Either be there, or you’ll never get another chance. Got it?”
He sighed, and I could almosthearhim rolling his eyes. “Okay. Fine. Seven. I’ll be there. Jesus, you’re so uptight about?—”
I hung up.
“God, he’s a dick,” I said as I took another bite of eggs.
“I kinda got that idea,” he said.
