She flushed and slapped superficially at my chest. “That was your fault too!”
I smiled and waggled my eyebrows in triumph. She tried to resist, but in the end, she couldn’t contain her smile either.
“Kline!”
“He’s your boss, but trust me, this isn’t Wes, your boss. This is Wes, my friend, and he’s sitting back in New York merrily watching as he fucks with me. Let me call him.”
“Kline.”
“That means yes. That’s the same way you say my name during sex, and I know that means yes.”
I grabbed her phone from the bed and scrolled through the numbers until I found Wes’s office. She struggled to reach, but even on the tips of her toes, my outstretched arm kept her a good foot out of range of my ear.
It rang twice before his assistant answered. “Wes Lancaster’s office.”
I raised my voice an octave and did my best impression of my wife. “Hey, Gail, it’s Georgia. Can you put me through?”
“Kline Brooks!” Georgia shrieked in the background.
I laughed and jogged out of the bedroom and onto the terrace, shutting the all-glass door behind me and holding it closed. My little Benny waved frantically on the other side.
“Georgia?” Gail questioned. She had to have been going through some fucking head trip. I didn’t sound like Georgia, but it was sure as shit her number on the caller ID.
“That’s me,” I responded.
“Oh. Okay. I’ll put you through,” Gail muttered, mystified. I winked at Georgia through the glass and her eyes narrowed.
“Thanks!”
Wes’s voice came over the line less than five seconds later. “Georgia?”
“Close,” I said in my normal voice.
“Kline. Hey, buddy. How’s the honeymoon?”
“Fucking fantastic,” I said, telling him the truth but making sure my words had a little extra bite.
“Good, good,” he murmured in response.
“Look. I know my wife is fucking essential to your operation,” I started, diving right into the heart of it and turning to face the ocean so Georgia couldn’t read my lips.
“Kline—”
“I handed her over on a silver fucking platter, so I know.” He sighed, and I heard the door burst open behind me.
I kept talking anyway. “I don’t know if you really needed her or if you just wanted to mess with me, but she’s officially off duty for the rest of our trip.”
“Yeah, I get it,” he agreed, “and it was both. Messing with you and needing her.”
I closed my eyes and forced myself to make an offer I really didn’t want to extend. “You need to talk to her before you cut off all communication?”
“Yes!” Georgia demanded behind me. “Give me the phone.”
“Yeah,” Wes replied. “But it’s not for work shit. I owe you, and I have a strong feeling you’re in hot water.”
I laughed. “Does your feeling have anything to do with the fact that you can hear my wife in the background?”
“It might,” he said through a chuckle.
“Fine. Fix this, and we’re even.”
“Done.”
Done. Because that was how problems between men got resolved.
Well, it was either that or hit each other in the face, and right now, neither of us was interested in making the trip.
New York, Monday April 24th, Early Afternoon
“He’s been missing for four nights,” Cassie said in my ear through the phone. Unable to avoid the office for more than a day, I’d given her my work number in case of an emergency or breakthrough. Apparently, she took those parameters very lightly. This was her tenth call today.
Yeah, I hear you. Yet again, I am the one answering her calls. Therefore, I’m still the idiot here.
“I know, honey. But I’m sure he’s fine. He’s scrappy. A real street cat. His assholishness might actually be coming in handy.”
I’d gotten in touch with Kline’s dad, and ever efficient, Bob had the vet on the hunt. But four long nights without an actual capture, and even I was starting to miss the little bastard. Or maybe I wasn’t, but I was visualizing the pain in sweet Georgie’s eyes when she heard the news and listening to near hysteria from her best friend at that very moment. Their pain was feeling very much like my pain.
“You think he’s falling in line with the right cats, though?” she asked ridiculously. “Georgie’ll be so pissed if she comes home to find him in a gang of runaways.”
I rubbed at the tension in my forehead and turned my chair to face the floor-to-ceiling windows in my office.
“Well, if he does, we’ll be here to force him into rehabilitation through intervention.”