Chasing Christmas Eve Read online

  side, leaned back, and then did what he had a hard time doing anywhere else.

  Relaxed.

  He let out a long breath and waited for calm to come over him.

  But it didn’t. Not this time.

  He’d long ago learned how to compartmentalize each section of his life. But at the moment he had so much going on that his brain raced over each problem, touching down and bouncing back up, unable to settle on any one thing. Part of this was his ADD. He had some serious attention deficit problems, always had. He’d gotten pretty good at managing it.

  Mostly.

  But not today. Today his brain felt like he had a full dozen massive flat-screens on, each set to a different channel, all at full volume. It actually physically hurt and he rubbed his temples.

  “Headache?” asked the soft female voice that had seduced him in his dreams last night. A new voice that belonged to the woman he’d seen wet more times than dry.

  Colbie.

  Chapter 8

  #HolyChickenNuggets

  Colbie had spent the day happily wandering the city. She’d written some pages while sitting with her laptop in the Castro District, loving the rainbow sidewalks and relaxed atmosphere. She’d bought a pretty LBD and a pair of killer heels in Pacific Heights and was wearing it all now because she wanted to break in the shoes. And okay, because she felt like she looked amazing for the first time in . . . well, recent memory.

  She’d located the roof access to the Pacific Pier Building by accident but got excited at the prospect of watching the city as the sun went down. She could hardly believe her luck when she’d found that the stairwell went all the way to the top.

  The sign on the door had given her a second’s pause though. NO TRESPASSING. WE’RE TIRED OF HIDING THE BODIES . . .

  Not that it’d stopped her. Truth was, not much did. She’d been sitting on the roof in the far corner, staring down at the incredible world she was so happy to be a part of for a little while, when Spence had stormed through the stairwell door.

  His long legs had easily eaten up the space as he crossed to the far corner away from her and perched—to her near heart failure—on the ledge, legs over the side as he stared pensively out into the early evening.

  She was trying to decide which was better, to remain quiet and give him time to himself, which he clearly seemed to need, or to announce her presence. In the end, her curiosity won. She’d made it to his side and asked him if he had a headache when from inside her purse, her phone went off with a call.

  With a sigh, she gave Spence an apologetic smile, turned away, and dug out her phone, answering to one of her brothers.

  “What’s for dinner?” Kent asked.

  She had to laugh. “I texted you. Yesterday. I had Janeen text you as well. And you’ve texted me. Why in the world don’t you read my texts? I’m not home.”

  Home being the place she’d bought for them all to stay, a place that was meant to be a real home but instead felt like a burden, as she’d become the housekeeper, chef, and prison warden all in one.

  There was a silence while Kent clearly, finally, read her texts. “You’re on vacay?” he asked, sounding butthurt. “Without us? That sucks.”

  “Not a vacation . . . exactly. I’m working.”

  “You said you’re on a break.”

  “Yes,” she said. “From New York. From being in charge of you all. I’ll be back on Christmas Eve.”

  “That’s like three weeks away. I’ll starve to death.”

  She would’ve laughed but he wasn’t kidding. Tough love, she told herself. You’re tough on yourself—it’s time to be just as tough on the people in your life. “You’re twenty-three, not five,” she said. “You’ll figure it out.” When she disconnected, Spence was watching her.

  He pushed his dark sunglasses to the top of his head. He wore cargo pants and a hoodie sweatshirt that said I Can Explain It to You but I Can’t Understand It for You. “Husband?” he asked, tilting his head toward her phone. “Boyfriend?”

  “Brother. One of two. Twin pains in my ass.”

  He nodded his understanding with a small smile. “How are you doing? The apartment okay? Your elbow bothering you?”

  “Fine, great, and nope.”

  “You look amazing.”

  “Thank you.” She knew she should be feeling at least a little uneasy over her impulsive decision to rent the apartment instead of going to a hotel. A hotel would have been more anonymous.

  And she’d needed anonymity. Badly.

  But she didn’t feel uneasy at all. The thing was, this building put her right in the thick of things, and she loved it. When she’d left New York, she’d hoped this would do it. A few weeks away would fill up the well, unleash her creativity, and unblock her.

  One day in and she was already well on her way. She’d actually written last night as well as today, late into the night, in fact, and it’d all felt great. The truth was, she really loved this building, the views, the people. She was having a blast, feeling like a kid on summer break. Not that she really knew what that was like. Her own childhood had been cut way too short.

  The only thing she regretted with this trip was the little layer of guilt beneath it all. Apparently that old habit of feeling responsible for her entire world and everyone in it was harder to shake than her writer’s block.

  She looked at Spence, noticing a tenseness to his shoulders. “And how about you?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

  His mouth curved in a small smile. “Almost always.”

  “Almost always, huh?” She cocked her head and smiled back. “That’s quite the trick. Maybe you could teach it to me sometime.”

  He snorted. “You think it’s a trick?”

  “Yes, because you don’t really seem all that okay.”

  “How would you know?” he asked. “We’re strangers, remember?”

  “Ha,” she said at him using her own words against her. “Maybe I don’t know you know you, but I consider myself a good read of character.” She lifted a shoulder. “It’s a hobby.”

  “Because you’re a writer.”

  “Yes,” she said, glowing with pleasure that he’d remembered that about her but also feeling the tiniest bit of dread. She didn’t want to taint this—whatever this was—by getting into who she really was. It changed everything, every single time. And she loved being here as herself, Colbie Albright, and not CE Crown, number one New York Times bestselling author of the Storm Fever series. “Why are you on the edge?” she asked.

  “I guess it’s been a long few days.” He paused. “But on a positive note, I haven’t needed any bail money and haven’t had to hide any bodies yet, so . . .”

  “Actually,” she said on a laugh, “I meant why are you on the edge, literally. Your feet are hanging over, Spence, which, I’ve gotta tell you, is making me incredibly nervous.”

  He let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. “I like this spot. It’s where I come to think.”

  “Think about . . . your deep, dark secret of a job?” she asked hopefully. “Or maybe . . . the woman who so damaged your heart you’ll never love again? Or just about what you’re having for dinner?”

  That won her a grin. “You think I’m damaged?”

  She tossed up her hands. “Aren’t we all?”

  He shrugged. “And the ‘never love again’ part?” he asked.

  “I thought if I threw that in there, you’d decide telling me what you do for a living would be the easiest response,” she admitted.

  “Blatant manipulation.” He nodded approvingly. “Good strategy. Except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “I really am much more interested in talking about what might be for dinner.”

  She had to laugh. “I wouldn’t mind cooking something. Cooking is relaxing.”

  “I accept,” he said quickly and smoothly, his stomach growling its own acceptance. Not that this seemed to embarrass him.

  She smiled. “You don’