Free Dirty Neighbor (The Dirty Suburbs) by Cassie-Ann L. Miller Page B

quickly at the clock on the stove before scribbling a note into her time sheet.
     
    Yes, she’s using a time sheet.
     
    She waves a credit card statement in my direction. “This is your business credit card? There’s tons of personal expenses on it.”
     
    I set the teeming banker’s box down on the floor and take the statement from her hands. Sure enough there are charges to clothing stores and nightclubs and even a damned casino on the statement. I scrub my palm over the back of my neck. “I’ll have to talk to Maxwell about this.”
     
    One of her eyebrows darts up judgmentally. “For someone who own a business, you really don’t know very much about its operations,” she remarks.
     
    It sucks to have her thinking that I’ve been lackadaisical about my business but I can’t tell her the truth. The reason my business got so out of control is because I spent the past three years rotting away behind bars thanks to a no-good woman who betrayed me.
     
    Whoa. Why the hell did Rhys just pop into my head right now?
     
    It must be my subconscious trying to remind me that I need to stamp out these feelings I’m feeling for Sammie. As much as I want to shove all these papers off of the table and bend her over, doggy-style, I can’t do that. I can’t fuck my best friend’s little sister. I gave Daniel my word. And besides, I have too much baggage. My life is too messy to drag Sammie into the middle of it.
     
    She adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “Okay, since you’re here, I might as well give you a list of questions that you’re going to have to ask Maxwell so that I can prepare the balance sheet.” She shoves a pen and a pad out to me and nods towards the empty chair across from her.
     
    She’s bossy. And I think I like it.
     
    She starts talking a mile a minute and I’m struggling to keep up as my pen moves feverishly across the paper. She's so fucking smart. It’s hot. Sitting here listening to her talk about p&l statements and ROIs and gross sales is getting me hard as nails...
     
    Or maybe it’s just the fact that I still haven’t gotten laid. My body literally wants nothing to do with any woman other than Sammie Trotten.
     
    Shit – I’m so screwed.
     
    When she’s finished listing her questions, I pick up my notes and pad over to the door. “I’ll call Maxwell for answers right away.”
     
    “Okay,” she says aloofly, her eyes glued to the spreadsheet in front of her.
     
    I stand there for a moment, just to admire her, just to appreciate the woman she’s become. She's strong and she's mouthy and I respect that and I'm starting to realize that I wouldn't change her if I could.
     
    She gives me a quick, sidelong glimpse, her focus still on the spreadsheet. “Anything else?”
     
    I feel one corner of my mouth tilt up. “Nah. Nothing else,” I say as I step out into the drizzle. “Have a nice day, Sammie.”
     

Chapter 18

     
     
    I cuddle Sebastian The Pooh close to my chest and use my free hand to bring the bottle to his lips. But instead of latching onto the silicone nipple, he just throws his head back and wails harder.
     
    “Shhh, baby, shhhh,” I say, flinching at the desperation in my tone. I bounce both legs trying to establish a soothing motion. That should help him go to sleep. At least that’s what the mother in the YouTube video playing on my computer promised.
     
    But it doesn’t seem to be working. The baby is red and squirmy in my arms as he continues to bawl so hard that I’m scared his little lungs might collapse.
     
    How the hell does Gracie do this every single day?
     
    When I’d volunteered to babysit my nephew so his parents could attend a couples’ counseling session, I’d had no idea what I’d signed up for. I mean how hard could it be? The baby cries, you feed him, you love him, then he falls asleep.
     
    Right?
     
    Wrong.
     
    I glance at the clock on the corner of my computer screen. Daniel texted me two hours ago to ask