Page 83 of Playboy Boss

“Scottie…”

“Yes?”

Susan pulled out a garment bag and handed it over the reception desk. “Konrad’s dry cleaning was delivered.”

“Oh … okay.” She took the heavy garment bag, which had been several suits on hangers banded together. “Thanks.”

In Konrad’s office, she hung the garments on a rolling rack he had near his mini bar while she called Space City Pawn on her cell phone. A man answered on the first ring.

“Space City Pawn.”

Scottie held the phone up to her ear with her shoulder as she straightened the bags, removing the band that connected the hangers. “Hi, I’m calling about an item I pawned last week.”

“Which item?” He seemed bored.

“A Rene Lalique gold brooch. You gave me twelve hundred for it.” Just as she shook the last bag containing a suit jacket, a Post-it attached to a folded napkin fell off.

“Oh right,” he said. A rustle of papers filled the receiver.

Scottie bent over to pick up the folded napkin. “Is it still available?”

“Yeah.”

Scottie scanned the print on the Post-it. Found in pocket. Scottie frowned. “You said I can get it back for what I sold it for.”

“No.” His tone was harsh. “That’s a twenty-four-hour option. It’s been a week. The price is five thousand now. I’ve already had a couple of interested buyers. So, I can’t guarantee the price won’t go up.”

Her heart stopped. No. “What?” To stall herself from the real prospect that she would never see her grandmother’s brooch again, she opened the attached napkin, quickly wishing she had not.

“Sorry, ma’am. But you signed the contract of sale.”

The napkin was filled with Konrad’s handwriting. She’d recognize it anywhere. She dropped her phone, and read the words again.

September Hookups

H Bar Bartendress

Tamsin

Anisette

Hot Yoga Instructor

Pilar

Greek Starbucks Barista on West Gray Ave.

Temp S.R.

Oh, God. She was Temp S.R., the seventh hookup for this month. It was only the fourteenth of September. Just two weeks into the month. Scottie felt like she’d been run over. Run over and then minced and then dumped on Galveston Beach.

This was the man she was with? This was the man she’d lowered her guard for? This man, who she swore she was falling for, had a hookup list for September. And she was seventh on it. How many more were there? God. She didn’t want to know.

The tears fell. Her heart fell. And she would have fallen on her knees if the damn walls and doors weren’t glass. In anger, she stormed to his desk, ripping a piece of tape from the dispenser. She took the napkin and taped it to the seat of his pretentious executive chair. He wouldn’t miss it there. That should give him all the explanation he needed when she wasn’t in her cube when he returned. Ever.

She stormed to her desk, retrieving her purse. She never wanted to see the inside of Korr Corp ever again. Or the Korr penthouse. She was done.

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