“As a heart attack.” I cringe, considering that’s exactly how my father went. “Okay, that was bad, but yeah, I’m serious.”

“I’m sorry, Linc. Is this permanent? What’re you going to do about the Guatemala project?”

“G-mom said it would only be for six months, but we’ll still have to find someone to take over when I leave. I can leave Carlos in charge of the project for the short-term, but I’m going to need to hire someone to manage it eventually if it really takes more than a couple of months to sort this all out. You interested in taking it on?” I’m only half joking.

Griffin blows out a breath. “You know I would if I could. We’ve got another month in Panama, and then we’re supposed to head to Costa Rica after that. I can see if I can shift some things around—”

“It’s all right, don’t worry about it. I have people I can call, but I’d still really appreciate it if you’d stop there before you head to Costa Rica like we planned.”

“Of course I’ll do that. I wish I could drop everything here and go now, but we’re right in the middle of a hotel reno, so we have to stay put.”

“I get it. I’m disappointed we aren’t crossing paths. I’m hoping this is going to take a lot less than six months, but I have no idea what’s been going on here apart from the Armstrong drama you’ve updated me on.”

Griffin grunts. He may have moved on after everything with his ex, but I doubt he’ll ever get over what my brother did to him. “I guess you can’t really blame them for wanting your help. Armstrong can’t handle Moorehead on his own. But, man, you haven’t had any part in managing that gong show. What exactly do they expect from you? Is this some kind of payback for taking off and leaving your dad to run the company with your brother?”

“Hell if I know.” Although I suppose I can see what Griffin means about payback. I didn’t know my father well enough to be able to say with any kind of certainty what his motives were.

“So, six months in the city? How are you going to survive that?” It’s a serious question, not a joke. I haven’t lived in the city in years. Any time I pass through it’s only to see Griffin if he’s here, and I typically stay for a couple of days before I’m off again.

I scrub a hand over my face. “I have no idea.” I’d say take up drinking, but I’m still feeling the effects of yesterday’s hangover, so I don’t think that’s a solution for me.

“I’m so sorry, Linc. I know this is the last place you want to be. Is Armstrong losing his mind?”

“What’s left of it, yes.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Dealing with him is going to be a challenge. A beep filters through the penthouse signaling someone has entered. “Do you have a housekeeper I should be aware of?”

“Yeah, she comes on Mondays, but you can change the day if that doesn’t work for you.”

I strain for the sound of movement in the penthouse. “Is there anyone else who has the code to this place?”

“My brothers, but they know you’re there, so they wouldn’t stop by without calling. What’s up?”

“I think I have company.” I leave my coffee on the balcony and grab the closest heavy object—which happens to be a weird piece of art, likely belonging to Griffin’s girlfriend—and head for the hallway.

“Lincoln?” a familiar female voice calls out.

It takes me a few seconds to place it. “I gotta go. My handler’s here.”

“Your what?”

“I’ll explain later. Enjoy the beach and your girl. I hope you packed Viagra.”

I end the call with a smile and set the phone on the cradle—he’s one of the few people I know who still has a landline. I nearly slam into my handler when I round the corner.

“Oh!” She stumbles back a step, and her hand goes to her chest.

“You’re letting yourself in now?”

“I knocked several times. And texted. And called. You didn’t answer.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to be disturbed. What are you doing here so early, and how’d you manage to get in?” I also haven’t so much as looked at my phone since leaving Moorehead yesterday, mostly because I’m not the least bit interested in dealing with any of this.

“I took down the code the last time I was here, in case you proved to be difficult to get in touch with. Better get used to me, Lincoln. I’m going to be like your shadow for the next several months.”

She strides through the living room, head held high like she owns the place. She’s wearing a pantsuit today. Probably safer than a dress if she routinely runs around without panties on. I fight off the memory of what I saw yesterday, irked by the spark of excitement that comes with it. She’s also wearing bright purple heels. They clip irritatingly on the hardwood.