Then, like he’s sliding pieces across a board only he can see, he continues, “Next question. How long will Miss Alvarez take to get ready?”
Uh-oh.
“Miss Al—what?” I sputter. “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me. There’s no time. The two of you were probably… canoodling till the cows came home.”
What the ever-loving fuck?
Of course, he knows Pix is in the building. It’s his building. But that we’re in the same room? Canoodling? That word feels wildly unprepared for the truth.
I sweep my gaze around the room, half-expecting James Bond surveillance shit hidden in every light fixture and vent.
I inhale slowly, reach for a robe, and secure it around my bare-naked ass.
Just in case.
“How long, Harrison?” he repeats.
I shrug. “I don’t know, Mark,” I say dryly. “She’s a major motion picture star, and at some point—probably mid-sentence while I’m admitting that my boss is a surveillance freak with keen interest in her morning rituals—she’s going to want to know what the fuck is going on.”
“She’ll need an hour,” he murmurs to himself. “Maybe two.”
“Two?” I repeat. The woman is flawless with zero makeup and her hair in a ponytail.
“Glam,” he says decisively. “I’m sending a team.”
The fact that he has a glam team is deeply concerning.
I stare at the phone, genuinely unsure if he’s still talking to me or just thinking aloud to the voices in his head.
He clears his throat. “New plan,” he announces.
“I’m not sure I was ever briefed on the old plan…”
“Clothes are being delivered to you shortly, along with a glam team. Travis will be there in two hours.”
Mark doesn’t wait for confirmation.
“Gotta go. I’ll explain when you get here,” he adds. “We’ll have breakfast waiting. Just… don’t be late. Or early. Be… on time.”
The line goes dead.
Too bad, since I was going to recommend about a dozen shrinks.
I lower the phone, still trying to piece together what just happened.
But he’s my boss and one of my closest friends. Which means this is happening whether I like it or not.
So, I guess we’re all getting up. Getting dressed.
And apparently, getting glam.
I head back to the bed, fully aware that the kids will be up any minute, and I need to be gone.
I slip under the covers and wrap my arms around Pix’s waist.
“What do you think you’re doing, Lumberjack?” she asks, affronted.
