Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
ASPEN
I’m halfway back to the conference room when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it, hellbent on getting out of here before Jeremiah spots me again and forces the confrontation I’m avoiding.
Peeking through the conference room window, I’m relieved to see the coast is clear. Only a few staff members are still hanging around, and the cake is gone, save for crumbs and smears of frosting.
It takes a second to spot my keys right where I’d been cornered, and as I scoop them up, I consider going up to the admin offices to file a report while I head back for the door.
Then again, after my outburst and ditching him for Emmett maybe he’ll finally back off.
At least, I hope he will.
A glance down the hallway tells me I’m good.
Keys in hand, I head to the parking lot, unlocking my car and slipping inside. Inside the safety of my car, I fish out my phone and unlock my screen, checking the missed call from before.
A string of ridiculous memes in the group chat with my girlfriends takes the edge off my annoyance with the Jeremiah situation. The longer I scroll, the wider my smile stretches. I react to a few of them and tap out a quick reply to the last, before swiping to my other notifications.
Two missed calls and a text from my oldest brother.
Trace: Call me when you get this.
Anxiety tightens in my chest when I notice it’s not in the sibling group chat.
Trace never leaves Drake off the chain. My mind immediately jumps to the worst-case scenario.
Drake was racing today somewhere in South America.
I can’t remember where or when, but Tessa was racing there with him and she hasn’t called. That’s got to be a good sign.
Still, I hit the call button, my pulse pounding in my ears as I wait for him to pick up.
Three rings and then voicemail. Any patience I had left wanes as I wait for the beep.
“Sibling-on-sibling violence of this proportion is grounds for justifiable homicide in all fifty states.” I rub my forehead and then blow out a long exhale. “Sorry, it’s been a day. But if you’re going to send cryptic texts making me worry, you should answer your phone.”
Disconnecting the call, I grip the steering wheel. There’s nothing to be done, but I’m still wound up as I pull out of the hospital parking lot and head home.
At every stop sign, my eyes drop to the device, willing it to ring, but it doesn’t, not until I pull into my driveway and notice the light on in the loft above my garage.
That shouldn’t be on. I haven’t been up there in days.
Immediately, my suspicion shifts from something being wrong with Drake to Trace being guilty of something.
I glance at the street, expecting to see a car that confirms my theory, but the curb is empty.
Just as I unbuckle my seatbelt, my phone rings.
“What was it you told me when I agreed to let you take over the property management of the loft? Let me handle everything, Aspen. It’ll be so smooth,” I answer, not bothering with a greeting.
Smooth my ass.
“Shit. He’s there already?”
“Who’s already here?” Now that I’m certain this is business and not about Drake, my voice turns smug. Trace is always polished and composed, so there’s no greater joy than catching him in a screwup.
I can hear keys clicking in the background as he tries to come up with his defense.
“A prospective tenant reached out and agreed to rent the property without seeing the place. Paid upfront. It moved fast,” he says quickly. “It’s short term—eight weeks.”
“Trace.”
“Yeah?”
“You know I don’t work for you. You can drop all the corporate speak.”
He huffs. “Yeah, okay. You’ve got a tenant.”
“Interesting, and why, exactly, am I just hearing about this?”
My brother grumbles something on the other end of the line. Trace hates being wrong. He hates admitting it even more. As his little sister, it’s my birthright to enjoy this moment. And after the day I’ve had, like hell am I going to miss this opportunity.
“Sorry, couldn’t hear you,” I sing.
“I dropped the ball.”
His annoyed huff gives me life.
“Not you. Never.” God, I’m being a sarcastic brat, but I need this.
“There’s a flu bug going through the office, half the team is out and I’m buried. I fucked up.”
“Did that hurt?”
“In my defense, I thought it was too good to be true and couldn’t believe it when he passed the background check.” He pauses. “If he’s even a little creepy, I want you to call me right away.”
If I’m the family fixer, Trace is our protector. And I love him for it, even if it’s a bit much at times.
I take the stairs to the loft, checking again for a car. It’s odd not to have one in a place like Timberline Peak.
“Are you even listening to me?” Trace asks.
“Of course I am.”
Kind of . . . Maybe they went into town for groceries?
“Really . . . you sound distracted.”
“I’m standing outside the loft about to meet my mysterious tenant,” I say.
“Keep me on the phone.”
I roll my eyes and climb the last few steps. “You’re nothing if not boring and overbearing, but I have a roommate to meet so you’ll have to excuse me.”
I can practically hear the steam coming out of his ears all the way in Chicago. “He’s not your roommate. There’s no reason he needs to come into your house. You don’t even need to meet him.”
“Bye, Trace,” I say as I knock on the door.
“Aspen. Keep me on the phone you—”
I hang it up.
Well, that was fun.
“Aspen?” The rough scrape of Emmett’s familiar voice has my head snapping up from the phone in my hand.