Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“You should not. You’ll sleep better at your place, and you know it.” Ambrose made his voice firmer, pulling himself up so he was taller than her. They both had shorter compact builds, but he looked commanding despite all his bumps and bruises. “I’ve had enough bossy big sister for one day.”
“I’m not that bad.” She gave a tired smile and rubbed Ambrose’s arm.
“No, you’re not bad. You’re the best.” Ambrose’s tone was fond as he gave her a one-armed hug, still holding the dog with his other hand. “But you’re also falling over tired. Are you even safe to drive?”
“There’s a coffee place near the highway.” She adjusted her purse over one shoulder. “Some caffeine, a good podcast, and I’ll be all right to get back home. I feel guilty abandoning you though.”
“Don’t. I’ll be fine.” Ambrose kissed her cheek and gently steered her toward the sidewalk. “And you’ll get the security check of my place you wanted.”
“Yup.” I nodded, liking this plan. “My business partner is meeting us there to look over your existing security system and make a note of any upgrades needed.”
I liked Cressida fine, but she was standoffish and, like Ambrose said, a typical bossy sister. I had one of those, so I could relate to Ambrose wanting a break from her hovering. I’d chatted with Duncan earlier while waiting, and I was confident he and I could handle the security needs
“Well, all right.” Cressida gave Ambrose a last fussing over and had a few more instructions for me on security at Ambrose’s Hollywood Hills home before finally departing.
“Thank goodness.” Ambrose slumped against a pillar as soon as she walked away. Ah. Should have known he was putting on an act for his sister’s benefit and actually hurting more than he let on. I’d been there.
“You want the chair to get to my truck? I’m in the back of the lot.” I gestured at the wide parking area in front of us. I’d purposefully parked in the rear for the dog’s benefit—closer to grass and away from other cars, but now I regretted not moving closer. “Might be more of a hike than you’re up to.”
“I can walk.” He straightened back up, but I was careful to slow my pace to a plodding crawl to not tire him as we made our way to the truck.
I drove an older Chevy, nothing luxury about it, but I didn’t make apologies as I unlocked the passenger side for him. If he wanted to ride with me, this was what he got. My ride was in tip-top shape, clean, and had several good years remaining.
“I’m…” He yawned as soon as he had the dog settled on his lap and himself buckled. “I’m more exhausted than I thought.”
“I bet.” I probably should have insisted on wheeling him to the truck, but I also understood stubborn pride better than most. “You rest, boss. I’ve already put your address into my GPS.”
“Sorry.” Yawning again, he tipped his head back against the seat, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m usually better company than this.”
“You’re fine. Let me get you back to your bed.”
Ambrose made a choking noise that ended in a nervous laugh.
“I just meant I always sleep better at my own place.” Skin heating, I tried to focus on backing out of the parking spot and pointing the truck toward the exit. “Figured you would too.”
“I will. You’re a nice guy.” Opening his sleepy eyes halfway, he gave me a soft smile that didn’t do anything to help the hot, itchy feeling on the back of my neck.
“Sometimes.”
“You are,” he insisted. I’d seen it before—people we rescued from tight spots could be overly grateful, putting their rescuers on a pedestal, but hero worship always made me uncomfortable. I was just doing a job. I didn’t need praise, and being good at the job didn’t make me a better person.
“Go to sleep, boss,” I said gently before he could heap on more compliments. And luckily, he and the dog both obeyed. Their little huffy snores as the distant suburbs turned to close-in commuter towns turned to glitzy LA neighborhoods.
I flipped my music on low, and there was something peaceful about driving in the evening light, making my way through rush hour while my passengers dozed. Sleep softened his features, made him seem more vulnerable, and every time I glanced over at him, my chest did this bizarre clenching thing.
As we passed Sunset strip and all the hustle of Hollywood Boulevard, Ambrose blinked awake.
“That was a nice nap.” He stretched big, then winced, undoubtedly reminded of his rib injury. The dog mirrored his stretch, which made me chuckle.
“Good. Traffic was a bear, but we’ll have you home soon.” We wound our way into the hills where seven- and eight-figure listings jockeyed for space. Plenty of our clients lived in various Hollywood Hills neighborhoods, and palatial real estate didn’t impress me much. Though I did like the older area Ambrose lived in that was less chrome and glass, more bricks and stucco and ivy-covered fences. The early- and mid-1900s mansions in this area of Runyon Canyon had real character.