Take Your Time (A Boston Love Story Book 4)

by Julie Johnson

  “You don’t have to be a bitch.”

  “I was being serious!”

  He glares at me. “You’re my family. You’re supposed to believe in me, no matter what. Guess it was ridiculous to assume you’d have faith in your own blood, though, huh?”

  “Duncan…” I sigh, feeling my amusement flee. I don’t want to crush his dreams, but by god, the man needs a reality check. “Maybe it would be different if this was the first time we’d had this conversation about your big, new business idea… about how it’s so radically different than all the others that failed before it… about how this one is the one that’s finally going to make it big…” I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but we both know that’s just not the case. I wish you all the best, I truly do, but the fact that we share DNA doesn’t guarantee I’ll put blind trust in every one of your ventures. Especially when I’ve been burned in the past.”

  “I realize some of my past ideas haven’t panned out but I swear, Lila, this one is—”

  “Different?” I cut him off. “I know. They always are… until they’re not.”

  He glowers. I know he’d love to contradict me, but he can’t. Deep down, he knows I’m right.

  “If I’d known you were going to be such a bitch, I wouldn’t have flown three thousand miles.”

  “If being honest makes me a bitch, I guess I’m a bitch.” I shrug. “Trust me, I’d love to believe you about ManScents. I hope it’s a huge success. I’m your sister — I support you, I believe in you. But it can’t be unconditional, Duncan.” My tone gentles, to soften the blow of what comes next. “Trusting your word when it comes to where I should investment my money feels less like a leap of faith and more like a free-fall off the side of a cliff. Onto jagged rocks. In shark infested waters.”

  “Oh, fuck you, Lila.” His expression clouds over into a dark scowl. “Clearly I was an idiot to come here, thinking you might help your only sibling.” He pauses and his voice drops low. “Isn’t that what we promised each other, after her funeral? That we’d always be there for each other, now that it’s just the two of us left?”

  I flinch.

  “Wow. Playing the Mimi card already?” My whisper is stark. “Guess your deck is stacked pretty low, if you’re already resorting to emotional blackmail.”

  His face crumples a bit, when I say that, and I swear it sends a lance straight through my chest cavity. As pissed as I am at Duncan — and, trust me when I tell you, I’ve been seeing red for weeks — it still pains me to see him hurt. More so when I’m the one causing him pain.

  “I’m sorry.” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I shouldn’t have gone there. Shouldn’t have brought her up.”

  I shrug. “I’m not the one who refuses to talk about her. You’re confusing me with our parents. They’re so adept at dodging emotionally-charged discussions, fuckboys all over the world should take classes from them.”

  He snorts. “As if you’re a barrel of free hugs. When was the last time you actually had a conversation with someone about anything of substance, little sister?”

  Just yesterday, in fact. But you’d never believe me, if I told you who I had it with…

  “You know me,” I murmur instead, the white lie familiar on my tongue. “The good time girl — I’m style over substance, whenever possible.”

  He stares at me with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry I called you a bitch.”

  “Sorry I called you a dick.”

  His brow creases. “You didn’t.”

  “Oh, I did. Several times.” I pause. “In my head.”

  His lips tug up in the beginnings of a smile. “It’s good to see you, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “Yeah, but you’ll always be my kid sister.”

  “Much to my chagrin.” I sigh. “I keep trying to emancipate myself, but apparently you have to do that before you become a legal adult. If I weren’t such a procrastinator, I’d have gotten rid of you and the rest of the Sinclair clan a long time ago.”

  “Still a smartass, I see.”

  “Leopard, spots. You know what they say.” I shrug. “Too late to change my ways now.”

  “Yeah, you’re what, twenty-six?”

  “Twenty-five,” I correct instantly.

  “Ah. Ancient.”

  “Says the thirty-year-old!”

  He opens his mouth to reply, but his words are overridden by a strange scuffling sound, coming from the leather satchel by his feet. My eyes drop to it, and I see the sides are moving like its alive.

  “What the hell is that?!” I yell, backpedaling away from it quicker than I would an atomic bomb. “What’s in there?”

  “Nothing,” he says immediately.

  “Your bag is wiggling! By itself! You call that nothing?”

  “Just ignore it, it’ll stop.”

  “What the hell, Duncan?”

  He stares at the bag until it goes still. “See? Stopped. Now… what were we talking about?”

  A soft, sorrowful yap comes from the satchel.

  I blink at it in disbelief. “Is there a dog in that bag?”

  “No,” Duncan denies.

  “Oh, really?” I hiss. “That’s weird, since it just barked.”

  Before he can say another word, I reach down and unzip the top of the leather satchel. I’ve barely gotten the zipper open when a furry head pops through the opening.

  I’m so startled, I fall back on my ass with a jarring thud. My eyes widen as a reddish ball of fur follows me down, leaping paws-first onto my chest. All I manage to glimpse is a broad red muzzle and a flash of pink tongue before I’m attacked by the vicious monster…

  With about a thousand kisses.

  Very slobbery kisses.

  Over every square inch of my face.

  Chapter Seven

  Of course I got your text message. I’m choosing to ignore it. Don’t be so clingy.

  Delilah Sinclair, unapologetically screening her cellphone communications.

  “Ah!” I yell, lifting my hands to shield myself from the relentless doggie drool. “Duncan!”

  I can hear him laughing somewhere overhead, doing absolutely nothing to help extract me from the onslaught of canine affection. With considerable effort, I manage to get a grip on the small furry body, still wriggling like a hula girl on speed against my chest. My eyes crack open and look straight into a set of glossy brown irises, staring out at me with sheer exuberance from a hairy red face.

  Oh, boy. What is it with me and redheads, lately?

  His lolling tongue makes another swipe for my cheek. I set him on the floor and scramble upright before he can give me another bath, wiping my face dry with the sleeves of Luca’s sweatshirt. The tiny dog sits by my feet, head cocked up at me like I’ve just promised a lifetime supply of Milk-Bones. Its short tail wags furiously.

  As I hold eye contact with the mini monster, I have to admit it’s pretty cute. If I were to sort of person who was interested in the commitment of a pet… Which, I’m not. At all.

  Right?

  Crap on a cream puff.

  I swallow and forcibly move my gaze up to stare at my brother.

  “You know how I feel about pets.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.” He scoops up the dog and returns it to the leather carrier. It stays put for about two seconds before jumping back out and scampering off to explore the rest of my apartment, ears flapping in the wind, clumsy paws sliding against the slippery hardwood.

  “Where’s it going?” I hiss, heading after it. I think I spot a flash of red disappearing around a tower of boxes in the corner, but it’s moving so fast I lose sight of it again. “Duncan, please tell me this creature is housebroken.”

  “Creature? He’s a puppy, not a minotaur.”

  “You missed the pertinent part of that comment.”

  “Relax, he’s housebroken.” Duncan pauses. “For the most part. I think.”

  “You think?” I hiss, bending to check behind my writing desk. “You don�
��t know? Isn’t he your dog?”

  “He’s Susie’s. Or…” Duncan’s voice cracks. “He was Susie’s.”

  I turn to look at him. “Was?”

  Duncan looks more defeated than ever. “We broke up.”

  “What?!”

  “Yeah.” He sighs tiredly. “Last week. She left me for a guy who works in finance. His name is Al. He has a 401K and steady benefits and exercises at her gym a few times a week — that’s where they met. On the freaking stair-master. How boring is that?”

  I hesitate. On the one hand, I can’t exactly blame Susie for breaking up with Duncan. The man is a certified mess. On the other, he’s my brother, and I’m pretty much required to take his side in this scenario no matter what.

  “Did she give you a reason for leaving?”

  “She said she needed someone dependable, that she couldn’t — and I quote — waste her good egg years on a dilettante man child.”

  “Harsh,” I murmur.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You guys were together, what, seven months?”

  “Eight.” He sighs. “Really thought she was the one.”

  “I’m sorry, D. That’s shitty.”

  “Yeah. It’s been a rough few weeks.”

  “Why didn’t she take the dog with her?”

  “Apparently, Al is allergic.” He sighs. “Something about the dander.”

  “Are you keeping him?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.” His eyes get a little glossy. “He’s the only thing I have left of hers.”

  Shit.

  I hate when people cry. I never know what to say, or how to react without sounding like an emotionless robot. Generally, I think platitudes like it’ll get better and time heals all wounds are for Hallmark cards and Lifetime movies. It seems far too cliché to actually say them out loud.

  Thankfully, I’m saved by the distinct noise of liquid hitting hardwood in a steady stream.

  “Shit!” I yell, racing toward the sound. “He’s not potty trained at all, Duncan!”

  I fly down the hallway to my kitchen. Skidding to a stop by the fridge, I suppress a scream as I see the tiny dog unleashing a torrent of urine that belies his size.

  “How do you even fit all that pee in such a small package?!” I mutter, scooping him up into my arms and carrying him, still dribbling, toward the patio door. By the time I get him out onto the tiny patch of grass I call a yard, his tank is empty. He rolls on the grass, tongue lolling from his mouth. Happy as a clam.

  “I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” I mutter, arching my brows at him. He’s wagging his tail so furiously, his entire body moves back and forth in a blur. “You do realize, if my landlord finds out about this, she’ll never give me my security deposit back?”

  The dog doesn’t answer.

  (Shocking, I know.)

  With a sigh, I pick him up, tuck him under my arm like a clutch purse, and walk back inside. Duncan is wiping the kitchen floor with a wet paper towel.

  “Sorry about that, sis.”

  I scratch the puppy behind his velvety ear in an absent gesture. “What’s his name?”

  “He doesn’t have one, yet. The breeder brought him over the day after Susie left… I was waiting to name him, until I knew for sure…”

  Whether she was coming back.

  “Kind of strange timing, getting a dog together if she was planning on dumping you,” I can’t help pointing out, lowering the mongrel back to the floor. He promptly collapses on my feet, paws sprawling in all directions like his bones are made of rubber.

  It’s not cute.

  At all.

  Deny, deny, deny.

  “Apparently she put her name down on a waiting list for him before we even started dating,” Duncan explains. “I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Well, Clifford the Little Red Dog needs a name.” I pause. “Maybe you should call him Pisser. Or Tinkles. Or Puddles.”

  “Funny.” Duncan rises to his feet. “Pee aside, he’s pretty cute, isn’t he?”

  I shrug. “I suppose, if you like slobber on your face and pee on your floors.”

  “Oh, come on, sis. He’s a redhead too. You’re kindred spirits. Practically related.”

  I snort. “Yes, because that’s how genetics work.”

  “Even you aren’t immune to those puppy eyes.”

  Staring down into said glossy eyes, I swallow harshly.

  It’s just a dog. You don’t even like dogs. They chew shoes and dry hump and leave a trail of drool and destruction everywhere they go.

  Somehow, my inner voice is less convincing, studying the way his shiny fur catches the light, the way his chest rises and falls gently as his eyes drift closed and he falls asleep with his tiny head pillowed against my bare feet.

  Shit.

  I’m about to ask about the breed — I think it’s a dachshund, but I don’t know much about dogs so I could be off base — when Duncan’s stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead. (But not the puppy: he’s out like a light, snoozing on my feet. I can feel a puddle of slobber forming on my skin as we speak.)

  I lift my eyes away from the slumbering beast and quirk my head in question.

  “Hungry?”

  “Starved, actually. You have any food in this joint?” Duncan glances around the apartment, eyes widening as he finally takes in the sight of the boxes scattered everywhere. “By the way, why is all your shit packed? Are you moving?”

  “Yep.”

  “Thought you loved this place.”

  “I do.”

  “So, why the move?”

  Clenching my hands into fists, I try to think zen thoughts so I don’t scream at the top of my lungs about him being the reason for my unwanted change of address. We’ve only just stopped bickering — I’d like to see if we can make it a solid ten minutes before we start up again.

  “You know, I actually don’t have any food here,” I murmur, ignoring his question. “Give me a second, I’ll throw on some real clothes and we can go grab something. There’s a cute cafe around the corner with great croissants—”

  “No!” His loud yell makes my eyes go wide. The puppy’s tiny head shoots up in alarm.

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “If you don’t want croissants we can go someplace else—”

  “No,” Duncan says again, calmer this time, but I see his face has drained of all color. He glances over his shoulder toward my front door, as if afraid there’s someone waiting for him on the other side. “Let’s stay here. I’m not that hungry.”

  My brows lift skeptically. “Duncan, what’s going on? The truth, please.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Clearly that’s a lie.”

  He closes his eyes and rubs his temples in slow circles, massaging away a migraine. When he opens them, I see fear in his gaze along with desperation. The sight of it shakes me to the soles of my feet.

  “I need money,” he says bluntly.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  I blink at him. “You must be joking.”

  His jaw clenches. “It’s just a loan.”

  “Seriously. Tell me this is a joke.”

  “I’ll pay you back, every penny.” His voice is emotionless. “But… I need it Lila. Now. Today. As soon as you can get it to me.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Duncan…”

  “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”

  “How much?”

  “A hundred grand,” he says, grimacing.

  I can’t help it — I laugh. And laugh. And then I laugh some more, until I’m bent over at the waist, gasping for breath, wiping tears from my eyes. The dog adds to the chorus with a series of squeaky yaps, as if he hasn’t quite figured out how to use his full bark yet.

  A hundred grand.

  Is my brother insane?

  My bout of laughter comes to an abrupt end when a set of hands land on my shoulders and jerk me upright.

  “Stop!” Dun
can hisses in my face, voice gruff. His eyes are flashing with a scary edge I’ve never seen before. “This isn’t a joke, Lila!”

  “Could’ve fooled me.” I snort again. “You show up at my door unannounced and ask me for a hundred thousand dollars more casually than a neighbor wanting to borrow a cup of sugar!” I choke down a sound of hysteria — it could be either a laugh or a sob, it’s hard to tell. “So, yes, I’m still waiting for a punchline, because there’s no way in hell you’re serious right now.”

  “I need the money, don’t you understand?” His hands flex so hard on my biceps, I wince in pain. The puppy unleashes a low sound of displeasure.

  “You’re hurting me,” I say quietly.

  “Sorry.” He drops his hands with an apologetic look and runs them through his mussed hair. “I’m sorry, Lila. I’m just… I don’t know who else to go to for help with this. I’m at the end of my rope. If I don’t get the money in the next few days…”

  My eyes are wide. “Why would you possibly need a hundred thousand dollars? What happened, Duncan? Where did all the money Mom and Dad gave you go?”

  He’s silent.

  I cross my arms over my chest. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “I made some faulty investments,” he says tiredly. “The thing is, the loan Mom and Dad gave me wasn’t nearly enough to keep ManScents afloat.”

  “Isn’t that why you have investors?”

  He nods. “Yes. But between production costs, employee salaries, and our first retail shipments to stores… there was practically nothing left to keep us out of the red. No more money to manufacture new scents, or to market our existing products.” A defeated look twists his face. “The loan from Mom and Dad was great, but I needed at least three times that amount to keep investors from pulling out and production lines from shutting down.”

  Foreboding fills my chest. I have a feeling his story is only going to get more upsetting from this point on.