Dirty Work - Regina Kyle Page 0,3

and business partner, Connor Dow.

So why the hell am I standing at my door, key in hand, afraid to go in?

Brie, that’s why.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m hugely proud of my baby sis for going after her dream and grabbing it with both hands. When she texted to tell me the news about her new gig, I let out a war whoop in the middle of a tense negotiation. And when I talked to her later, the excitement in her voice put a shit-eating grin on my face. It’s just that it couldn’t have come at a worse time.

I’m in the middle of trying to find the perfect spot for our new club in Miami. We’re looking at doing some substantial renovations in New York, expanding our square footage so we can add another VIP section and a first-run screening room for major motion pictures and live-streamed concerts. All of which requires us to secure some serious financing. The last thing I need is to be responsible for taking care of the giant, hairy, slobbering beast my parents think passes for a dog. I was counting on my sister and her way more flexible schedule to do the lion’s share of the Roscoe-related duties while they were on their cruise.

Odds are he’s destroyed my loft by now. By my calculations, he’s been alone for like eight to ten hours straight, depending on when this pet sitter person Brie hired was there last. More than enough time for him to have shredded my couch, peed on my bed and chewed my cross trainers to shreds.

I steel myself for whatever I might find inside and insert the key in the lock. Might as well face the music sooner rather than later. What damage has been done is done, and postponing the inevitable will only make it worse.

The lock clicks, and I push the door open, wheeling my carry-on in behind me. At first glance, nothing seems out of place. The couch is still in one piece. My cross trainers are intact, in their usual spot on the shoe rack by the front door. I can’t see my bed, but Roscoe’s lounging like the King of fucking Siam in front of the gas fireplace, snoring softly, so my best guess is that’s undisturbed, too.

Then I see her.

She’s on her hands and knees in the middle of the hand-knotted Persian area rug my decorator insisted was the perfect piece to “tie the room together,” scrubbing furiously and muttering something under her breath. I catch the words “damn dog,” “I swear to God,” “kill Brie” and “shouldn’t be doing this.”

But it’s not her words that have my cock doing a little happy dance. It’s the swaying of her perfect ass in those figure-hugging jeans as she continues to scrub away, blissfully unaware I’m watching her. Either she’s a hot burglar with a cleaning fetish or she’s Brie’s friend the dog walker.

Obviously, I’m hoping for the latter.

I clear my throat to let her know I’m there, and she jumps, almost spilling the pot of soapy water next to her. She wheels around on her knees, blue-gray eyes blazing.

“Jesus Christ.” She throws the sponge into the soapy water, sending up a spray of suds that float to the carpet, and stands, hands on her shapely hips. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to sneak up on someone like that?”

Roscoe lifts his head, surveys the situation, lets out a loud doggie yawn and promptly goes back to sleep. Good move, staying out of the fray. Maybe there’s hope for him after all.

“In my defense, this is my apartment. And I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here this late.” My flight was delayed, and it was almost eleven by the time we landed. It must be after midnight now. I set my messenger bag down and stick out my hand. “Jake Lawson. I assume you’re the pet sitter my sister hired to help with Roscoe.”

“Ainsley Scott, executive concierge and owner of Odds & Errands,” she says, ignoring my hand. “I don’t usually deal with dogs. I’m doing this as a favor to Brie.”

I pretend she didn’t just diss me and casually shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “And for a pretty hefty fee, so she tells me.”

She shrugs. “Fair compensation if you ask me. Plus, from the looks of this place, you’re not exactly hurting for money.”

I fold my arms across my chest and look down at her. The top of her head comes up to my