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 Ineedthis.
“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.” Hepauses. “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.
