Page 3 of Stuck-Up Big Shot
A feeling of panic surges from the depths of my stomach, filling me with more fear than I have ever felt in my entire life.
Oh my God, I’ve just lost the Morgan’s dog.
I am the worst dog sitter in the world.
And I am so going to be fired.
3
Miles
What a clusterfuck.I’m tired, stressed, and now I’m dealing with this crazy shit in the middle of the night.
I’ve barely slept yet tonight, and now this?
The minute we get outside, I’m swallowed up within the crowd, and the girl and the dog that were in Graham’s apartment are nowhere to be found. Just as well. I don’t need to babysit anyone tonight. But I am curious as to who she is. She seems vaguely familiar to me.
Standing in an alleyway in the back of the building, safe for the time being, I type out a message to Graham to find out who the young woman is in his apartment.
Me: Strange night. Who the hell is in your apartment?
I know he said he’d be out of the office for a while, something about a family vacation. But, aside from the additional workload he gave me, I didn’t pay it much attention or ask him questions about where he was going. At the time, I was in the middle of a curating a lucrative investment deal and had just given Graham and the board members the pitch, which was unanimously approved, by the way.
It’s one of my bigger accomplishments in my fourth year with the firm, and the most lucrative so far this year, and I am pretty damn proud of that.
In fact, Graham, being the head of Morgan Financial Holdings, where I am a senior investment advisor, asked me to fill in for him during his absence. Not only do he and I work together, but we’re also good friends, former college classmates from Wharton, and now neighbors. I initially worked for a different firm after graduation and a brief overseas trip out of the country to clear my head, but was soon recruited by Graham, where I’ve been the past four years. Graham’s the real deal, a great guy and a good friend.
That’s why I’m doing my due diligence out of loyalty and friendship to find out who the hot chick is that opened their front door. She is most definitely not their usual house and dog sitter. Far from it. The lady that typically manages things in their absence scares the shit out of me. I think she might be a fire-breathing dragon and enjoys cutting the balls off men.
I was more than a bit surprised to find such a sexy creature in their doorway tonight. In the heat of the moment—all right, yes, I took a quick perusal of her appearance and skimpy attire— I didn’t care who she was, only that I wanted to get her out of the building in the event it was burning to the ground.
However, the minute we got outside, I lost sight of the pretty young thing as we wound up getting separated in the crowd. And since then, I’ve been busy helping some of my elderly neighbors and trying to get in touch with Graham. She seemed to have gone the opposite direction, and I haven’t tracked her down yet.
My phone pings with a response from Graham.
G: She’s Ben Schilling’s cousin. Watching things while we’re gone.
And then a moment later. . .
G: Wait, why? She didn’t burn the place down, did she? Or are you looking to get in her pants?
I clear my throat and wince. I may have a reputation, especially with Graham, who has known me for years, for sleeping around. Call it a hobby of mine. Lately, I’ve been too invested in building my career and portfolio to want anything serious from a woman. I’ve had a friends-with-benefits situation going on over the past six-months with Margo, a former colleague, but after tonight, I’m not sure it’s worth pursuing any further.
As I glance around and then up at the building, I ponder his other question. While I know the FDNY is on the premises investigating the cause of the alarm, I will not aid in his suspicions about his house sitter or make any assumptions she’s to blame. But it is a weird coincidence, right?
I type out a quick reply.
Me: Funny you should ask. . . there’s been a building evacuation. FDNY is here. I’m fairly certain it wasn’t her doing.
G: WTF? A fire? Where is she now? Is my dog okay?
Oh Jesus, I think I’ve gotten him panicked over nothing.
Me: G, it’s fine. There’s no smoke or fire that I can tell. And I’m sure she’s fine. She carried Blackie down in her arms. Now go back to having fun wherever you are.
Someone bumps into my back, and I’m about to let them have it when I turn to find Mr. Collins, a retired and renowned journalist for theNew York Times, standing in his bathrobe and house shoes, looking more than a little bewildered. He’s confused, searching for his dead wife, who he talks about like she’s still living.
I reign in my temper and place a hand on his bony shoulder. “You okay, Mr. Collins?”
