“You’re going to be late—”
He reached over and hit the alarm. She scooped the T-shirt she’d borrowed off the floor, turned it right side out, and pulled it on. By the time she’d swept it over her head, he was out of the bed. “I wish I could top off my proposal with breakfast, but I’ve got to shower and get going. Do you need to use the bathroom first?”
She stood, surprised by her wobbly legs, and walked over to stand opposite him. “No. I’m good. You go ahead.” His shoulders seemed to take up all the space in the bedroom doorway. “Is it all right if I use your phone to call my recruiter?”
“Chloe.”
“What?”
“Mi casa es su casa.” He turned and then shot a grin over his shoulder before he walked into the bathroom and shut the door.
The breath left her lungs in a shuddery exhale. “Right.” She made her way out to the main part of the apartment. Heavens, the extreme tidiness of the bedroom carried over into the rest of the rooms. Clean surfaces, clean walls, no clutter. Someone would be getting his entire security deposit back at the end of his tenancy.
The phone sat on the counter between the kitchen and dining area, just as it did in her apartment. She perched on one of the two high stools tucked under the counter, lifted the receiver, and dialed.
Lynne answered on the first ring. “Helping Hands, how can I help you?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Oh. My. God. Chloe! Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday. In another couple hours I was going to file a missing-person report on you.”
Shit. Guilt landed on her like a scratchy blanket. “I’m so sorry, Lynne. I didn’t mean to put you in a panic. After the debacle with Sempler, I couldn’t face you or myself…or anything more judgmental than a pitcher of margaritas, so I just kind of dove into one for the night.”
“Sweetie, I don’t judge. But I do worry.”
“I know. On top of being a lousy employee, I’m a horrible friend. I should have called you. I didn’t think of anyone except myself and how I could possibly erase the whole humiliating incident from my mind.”
“You’re not a horrible friend. You just tend to forget there are people around who care about you. Did it work?”
“Did what work?”
“The margarita strategy.”
“For a little while, yeah, but ultimately, no. Tell me, am I still employable through Helping Hands?”
“Yes.”
“Really? I can’t believe Sempler’s not going to demand my head on a platter.” Her voice cracked and she winced. But still, it was too good to be true. The guy loved to complain and, God knew, she’d given him a legitimate and grievous complaint.
“Not after I questioned why you were still in the clinic at five thirty—a full half an hour past your scheduled shift end. That’s when he mentioned maybe he hadn’t been on site precisely at the end of your shift to sign off on your time card, and I mentioned if your time card came back to us with anything less than a five thirty end time, that would be fraud. I went on to mention if I spoke to you and discovered any of your prior time cards reflected inaccurate shift end times, that would also be fraud, and the clinic would ultimately be liable to Helping Hands for any overtime and statutory penalties we had to pay to you as a result of said fraud. His desire to complain suddenly evaporated.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“Yeah, wow. But still, Chlo, this is no quid pro quo. If that snake squeezed extra time out of you without noting it on your time card, I need to know, because if you’re at the job site, you’re on the clock, and we have to pay you for the time. Whether you’re behaving professionally while on the clock is a completely separate issue.”
Chloe flinched at the last statement, but knew she’d earned it. “My prior time cards are pretty accurate. Yesterday was the first really bold attempt on Sempler’s part to score some free coverage.”
“Good. Consider yourself paid. The extra half hour will be in your check. If anything like that ever happens again, tell me about it right away, okay? Handling weasels like Sempler when they pull their crap is my job.”
“Okay,” she agreed, relieved to note Lynne appeared to believe they’d be working together again soon. “Thank you, Lynne. I’m really grateful. I don’t deserve to walk away this scot-free after what happened. I don’t know what came over me.”
“I do. It’s called going a year without sex. Makes you do crazy things. But don’t put yourself in a compromising position with a client again, ever, because in this case, two strikes and you’re out.”
“I know. And I won’t. I promise.”
“Take my advice and get yourself laid, girl. You are, by all accounts, dangerously hormonal at the moment.”
She winced at the truth of the observation, then arranged her face into a more neutral expression as Michael strode into the room, decked out in light-toned fatigues.