“That’s a lot of money.”
“Yep,” he agreed. Of course, he neglected to mention that he had lost nine thousand dollars the day before. Logan winked and gave her a dazzling smile. “Maybe we could go gambling together some time.”
Hunter did not allow his client to remain in her trance for long. “That was your mistake?” he asked. “Keeping Logan Barberi as your client?”
Sophie blinked and shook her head sadly. “No. My mistake was not keeping Logan Barberi as my client. My mistake was falling in love with him.”
7. Man Overboard
G rant yanked the pillow from underneath his head and stuffed it over his face, unsure if he was just attempting to drown out the noise or actually suffocating himself. His feet dangled over the low armrest of the sofa in Roger’s studio apartment, and he tossed and turned with every thunderous snore emanating from the man in the bed across the room.
Skaeeeeennnnng … hhuuuuuuhhhhh … skaeeeeennnnng … hhuuuuuuhhh …
How the hell could a human being make that sound? It seemed like a machine or some type of snuffling, feral animal. Grant groaned as he glanced at the alarm clock on the end table. Great. It was the freaking middle of the night.
“Rog!” he stage-whispered, and was rewarded with even louder snores. Grant upped the volume, hissing, “Rog!” The clatter continued unabated. Next, he tried clearing his throat loudly, his raspy coughs filling the space between snores. However, nothing could stop the Roger Roaring Rumble.
Finally, Grant sat straight up and grabbed a heavy naval navigational manual from the bookshelf. He held the thick book high above the hardwood floor and bit his lower lip. Should he be so cruel? Then the skaeennnnggg noise resumed. Grant shot his boss a hostile glare and determinedly let the book fall. The hardback manual seemed to drop in slow motion and caused a deafening thwap when it finally hit the floor.
Blessedly, the snoring stopped, but Grant froze when Roger seemed to awaken for a moment, clearing his throat and sighing. The rotund man then rolled over to his side, and Grant closed his eyes with hope for at least a temporary reprieve.
Falling back on his pillow and drawing the blanket over him, Grant settled in contentedly until he heard his boss growl, “Madsen, did you just make a loud noise?”
Grant paused a second before admitting, “Yeah.”
“Was I snoring?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, just tell me to roll over, you fucker! Don’t scare the bejesus out of me like that!”
“Yes, sir.”
“And quit calling me ‘sir’ when we’re on land! You’re driving me crazy with that shit!”
“Okay, um, Rog.”
Repositioning himself on the sofa, Grant tried to relax and get some shut-eye before Roger began again. Grant mentally challenged him to a race. Who could fall asleep first? He was determined to win and enter dreamland before Señor Snore resumed conducting his mariachi band.
* * *
The next morning a sleepy Grant somehow found the energy for his daily run, which he’d begun taking along Lake Michigan. He loped along easily, watching the city wake up around him, the rising sun accompanying the rising hum of traffic along Lake Shore Drive. He crossed paths with mothers guiding baby joggers, elderly men out for a stroll, and serious marathoners pounding out the miles in a fast, steady cadence. Grant felt exhilarated to be part of this bustling city scene. He sloughed off his fatigue and managed four miles before heading back to Roger’s place.
The smell of sausage sizzling on the stovetop greeted him as he entered. Roger was kicking back his last sip of coffee while using a fork to turn over a link, and he looked up to find Grant watching him cook.
“S’okay if I take a shower?” Grant asked, sweat dripping off his nose.
“Sure, I’m all done in there.” Then Roger added, “I made us some breakfast. I’m heading to the ship early, but I’ll leave some out for you.”
Touched by the
“Yep,” he agreed. Of course, he neglected to mention that he had lost nine thousand dollars the day before. Logan winked and gave her a dazzling smile. “Maybe we could go gambling together some time.”
Hunter did not allow his client to remain in her trance for long. “That was your mistake?” he asked. “Keeping Logan Barberi as your client?”
Sophie blinked and shook her head sadly. “No. My mistake was not keeping Logan Barberi as my client. My mistake was falling in love with him.”
7. Man Overboard
G rant yanked the pillow from underneath his head and stuffed it over his face, unsure if he was just attempting to drown out the noise or actually suffocating himself. His feet dangled over the low armrest of the sofa in Roger’s studio apartment, and he tossed and turned with every thunderous snore emanating from the man in the bed across the room.
Skaeeeeennnnng … hhuuuuuuhhhhh … skaeeeeennnnng … hhuuuuuuhhh …
How the hell could a human being make that sound? It seemed like a machine or some type of snuffling, feral animal. Grant groaned as he glanced at the alarm clock on the end table. Great. It was the freaking middle of the night.
“Rog!” he stage-whispered, and was rewarded with even louder snores. Grant upped the volume, hissing, “Rog!” The clatter continued unabated. Next, he tried clearing his throat loudly, his raspy coughs filling the space between snores. However, nothing could stop the Roger Roaring Rumble.
Finally, Grant sat straight up and grabbed a heavy naval navigational manual from the bookshelf. He held the thick book high above the hardwood floor and bit his lower lip. Should he be so cruel? Then the skaeennnnggg noise resumed. Grant shot his boss a hostile glare and determinedly let the book fall. The hardback manual seemed to drop in slow motion and caused a deafening thwap when it finally hit the floor.
Blessedly, the snoring stopped, but Grant froze when Roger seemed to awaken for a moment, clearing his throat and sighing. The rotund man then rolled over to his side, and Grant closed his eyes with hope for at least a temporary reprieve.
Falling back on his pillow and drawing the blanket over him, Grant settled in contentedly until he heard his boss growl, “Madsen, did you just make a loud noise?”
Grant paused a second before admitting, “Yeah.”
“Was I snoring?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, just tell me to roll over, you fucker! Don’t scare the bejesus out of me like that!”
“Yes, sir.”
“And quit calling me ‘sir’ when we’re on land! You’re driving me crazy with that shit!”
“Okay, um, Rog.”
Repositioning himself on the sofa, Grant tried to relax and get some shut-eye before Roger began again. Grant mentally challenged him to a race. Who could fall asleep first? He was determined to win and enter dreamland before Señor Snore resumed conducting his mariachi band.
* * *
The next morning a sleepy Grant somehow found the energy for his daily run, which he’d begun taking along Lake Michigan. He loped along easily, watching the city wake up around him, the rising sun accompanying the rising hum of traffic along Lake Shore Drive. He crossed paths with mothers guiding baby joggers, elderly men out for a stroll, and serious marathoners pounding out the miles in a fast, steady cadence. Grant felt exhilarated to be part of this bustling city scene. He sloughed off his fatigue and managed four miles before heading back to Roger’s place.
The smell of sausage sizzling on the stovetop greeted him as he entered. Roger was kicking back his last sip of coffee while using a fork to turn over a link, and he looked up to find Grant watching him cook.
“S’okay if I take a shower?” Grant asked, sweat dripping off his nose.
“Sure, I’m all done in there.” Then Roger added, “I made us some breakfast. I’m heading to the ship early, but I’ll leave some out for you.”
Touched by the
Similar Books
