B00Z637D2Y (R) by Marissa Clarke Page B

but your obvious dislike of him.”
    Michael stood, dread trickling down his spine. The man had sent Shit Head a gift. Not good. “I do not dislike the dog.”
    Chance, still seated casually, crossed his legs. “Yes, you do. You don’t even call him by name.”
    He was right. He’d never said the dog’s name out loud.
    “In fact, I bet you don’t even know his name.”
    “I most certainly do.” And it was ridiculous. “His name is Clancy.”
    The dog, still seated under Chance’s chair, raised its head and regarded him. He lifted the ball from the box. “Look, Clancy. Mr. Kawashima sent you a gift.” He held it down at ankle level. “Here you go, boy.” He rolled it toward the dog.
    As if rejecting it simply because Michael had touched it, the dog eased out from under the chair and strolled past the ball without a glance, and into the bathroom.
    “That dog hates me,” Michael mumbled.
    “So it seems,” Will said, heading toward the door.
    “Look. We all stand to lose if I don’t get this deal. I need your help,” Michael said, in what he knew was a selfish, last-ditch effort to enlist his brothers’ aid.
    Will paused and he and Chance exchanged looks before he spoke. “We’ve discussed this before. It’s why I only handle the security part of our business. Neither Chance nor I are as invested in this as you. We have interests outside the walls of this building and will not work until eight every night. You have chosen to make this business the foundation of your life. I haven’t. Claire is my foundation, and I’m going to go ask her to marry me tonight, not babysit a dog. Perhaps you should come up for air yourself sometime, Mikey. Take a look around and see what else is out there other than work.”
    Mia’s words rang through his head. “You’re missing things.”
    Chance stood and shrugged. “I’ve done my part as company lawyer, and all the paperwork is in order. If you had scheduled the meeting before six, I could’ve been here. Sorry, bro.” He picked up the ball from the floor in front of Michael’s desk and tossed it to him. “Ball’s in your court.” Then he grinned. “Sorry. Couldn’t help the bad joke. Good luck with the meeting.”
    Ball in hand, Michael stared at the door long after his brothers closed it. He wondered if they’d always felt that way. Granted, his single-minded pursuit of success precluded a pastime like Chance’s martial arts, or devotion to a monogamous relationship like Will’s with Claire, but he never imagined it to be negative in their eyes. He thought of his father’s advice when he was a teen being groomed to take over the business: “Work hard and play hard, son. No time wasted.”
    His father had certainly played hard. And he’d played the field too, which broke their mother’s heart. As he watched his mother cry all those years ago, Michael vowed to himself that he’d never do that to a wife. That was why he had no desire to enter a relationship or ever get married. Work hard. Play hard. Michael knew he couldn’t do both and preferred the first part. The outcome was quantifiable and the payoff was big. He had to get this deal.
    With a playful growl, Shit Head bolted into the room, the end of the toilet paper in his mouth, the rest of the roll trailing behind him as he circled the room, wrapping paper around the legs of furniture in a blur of fur and white tissue.
    Michael stared at the clock. Three hours and forty minutes until he saw Mia. Just over an hour before his meeting with Mr. Kawashima. He was so screwed.
    …
    Mia gathered the Queen B’s brushes and paint and glanced at her watch. Just over three and a half hours until Michael got home. She sighed. It was pathetic that she was so wrapped up in a guy that she measured time by his arrival.
    “I heard that sigh,” Blanche said.
    Betty clucked her tongue. “Me, too.”
    “Why don’t you go home and make yourself pretty for him?” Bernice suggested.
    Mia turned the water on and