“I’d ask for three weeks but even I know you can’t put Elle off that long.”
“True.”
Spence shook his head and strode back into his apartment. He stared at the computer screens he was getting nowhere on and left again, hitting the stairwell too, needing to clear his head.
This drone project was really weighing on him. Work always did, since he put it first. But there’d been bonuses to that. He’d been able to take care of his family, for one. His mom had never had a penny to her name, so she hadn’t wanted anything from him when he’d sold the start-up, but he’d bought her a house on the coast anyway. It was about an hour south of here, the perfect distance for the both of them, and she felt like she’d won the lottery.
Spence got to the courtyard and turned to look down the alley. The homeless man who lived in it was called Old Man Eddie by all. Too many times to count, Spence had tried to get him a safe, dry, warm place to live, and too many times to count, Eddie had told him where to shove it. The old man liked the alley as much as he liked the special brownies he’d learned to bake way back in the early seventies, and no one could tell him otherwise. He looked like Doc Brown from the Back to the Future movies—if Doc Brown had baked his brain at Woodstock—and was currently sitting on an upside-down crate twirling several coins between his fingers like a magician.
Or probably more accurately, like a con artist getting ready to find a new mark. His favorite were ladies of a certain age, several of whom lived in the building, and all of whom had crushes on him.
“I didn’t do it,” Eddie said at the sight of Spence.
“Do what?”
“Whatever you’re going to bitch at me about.”
Spence blew out a sigh. Last year Eddie had been caught selling mistletoe that had turned out to be weed. Last week he’d had to warn Eddie it wouldn’t be tolerated this year.
It hadn’t gone well. “I’m not here to bitch at you,” he said.
“Well that’s a change. Wanna play a game?”
The last time Spence had played cards with Eddie, he’d actually lost a hundred bucks because Eddie could count cards. “Do I look stupid, Grandpa?”
Eddie’s smile widened. He was Spence’s only other living relative besides his mom, except his grandpa wasn’t nearly as easy to take care of. The man was nontraditional, incorrigible, and mischievous to say the least, and he couldn’t be reined in.
Spence did the best he could to always have the old man’s back, but Eddie made it more difficult than getting medical care to countries in need via his drones.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re warm enough,” Spence said. “The nights are getting cold.”
“I’m good.”
Not really an answer, which didn’t make Spence feel any better. Eddie was a good guy, a smart guy, but he was also good at putting distance between himself and any sort of emotional attachment. He’d always said he was meant to be alone for the rest of his life, and Spence knew he believed it.
Spence knew the same thing about himself, which was ironically also his biggest fear—ending up alone. So far he’d made that a self-fulfilling prophecy.
But he knew without a doubt that he didn’t have the ability to love someone and give her everything she needed. He was an all-or-nothing kind of man and work came first because, well, that’s who he was. “You know how to get ahold of me if you need anything.”
“That I do,” Eddie said. “And right back atcha.”
Spence let out a low laugh.
Eddie’s good-natured expression faded. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” Eddie said. “You’re saying this is a one-way street, that you help me but I don’t do shit for you.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
Eddie stared at him and then blew out a breath. “You don’t have to,” he muttered. “Because it’s true.”
“Grandpa—”
“Go away, boy.” And then instead, Eddie walked out the alley to the street and vanished.
Spence shook his head, went to the coffee shop, bought two cups to go, and two bags of mini muffins. He left one of the coffees and bags on Eddie’s crate and took his breakfast back to the stairwell. He went straight up.
To the roof.
There, he strode across the rooftop to the far corner of the building. He hoisted himself up on the ledge and, as he’d been doing since he first bought this building, swung his legs over the side, leaned back, and then did what he had a hard time doing anywhere else.
Relaxed.
He let out a long breath and waited for calm to come over him.
But it didn’t. Not this time.
He’d long ago learned how to compartmentalize each section of his life. But at the moment he had so much going on that his brain raced over each problem, touching down and bouncing back up, unable to settle on any one thing. Part of this was his ADD. He had some serious attention deficit problems, always had. He’d gotten pretty good at managing it.
Mostly.
But not today. Today his brain felt like he had a full dozen massive flat-screens on, each set to a different channel, all at full volume. It actually physically hurt and he rubbed his temples.
“Headache?” asked the soft female voice that had seduced him in his dreams last night. A new voice that belonged to the woman he’d seen wet more times than dry.
Colbie.
Chapter 8
#HolyChickenNuggets
Colbie had spent the day happily wandering the city. She’d written some pages while sitting with her laptop in the Castro District, loving the rainbow sidewalks and relaxed atmosphere. She’d bought a pretty LBD and a pair of killer heels in Pacific Heights and was wearing it all now because she wanted to break in the shoes. And okay, because she felt like she looked amazing for the first time in . . . well, recent memory.
She’d located the roof access to the Pacific Pier Building by accident but got excited at the prospect of watching the city as the sun went down. She could hardly believe her luck when she’d found that the stairwell went all the way to the top.
The sign on the door had given her a second’s pause though. NO TRESPASSING. WE’RE TIRED OF HIDING THE BODIES . . .
Not that it’d stopped her. Truth was, not much did. She’d been sitting on the roof in the far corner, staring down at the incredible world she was so happy to be a part of for a little while, when Spence had stormed through the stairwell door.
His long legs had easily eaten up the space as he crossed to the far corner away from her and perched—to her near heart failure—on the ledge, legs over the side as he stared pensively out into the early evening.
She was trying to decide which was better, to remain quiet and give him time to himself, which he clearly seemed to need, or to announce her presence. In the end, her curiosity won. She’d made it to his side and asked him if he had a headache when from inside her purse, her phone went off with a call.
With a sigh, she gave Spence an apologetic smile, turned away, and dug out her phone, answering to one of her brothers.
“What’s for dinner?” Kent asked.
She had to laugh. “I texted you. Yesterday. I had Janeen text you as well. And you’ve texted me. Why in the world don’t you read my texts? I’m not home.”
Home being the place she’d bought for them all to stay, a place that was meant to be a real home but instead felt like a burden, as she’d become the housekeeper, chef, and prison warden all in one.
There was a silence while Kent clearly, finally, read her texts. “You’re on vacay?” he asked, sounding butthurt. “Without us? That sucks.”
“Not a vacation . . . exactly. I’m working.”
“You said you’re on a break.”
“Yes,” she said. “From New York. From being in charge of you all. I’ll be back on Christmas Eve.”
“That’s like three weeks away. I’ll starve to death.”
She would’ve laughed but he wasn’t kidding. Tough love, she told herself. You’re tough on yourself—it’s time to be just as tough on the people in your life. “You’re twenty-three, not five,” she said. “You’ll figure it out.” When she disconnected, Spence was watching her.