All Through the Night: A Troubleshooter Christmas by Suzanne Brockmann

Author:Suzanne Brockmann
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780345502155
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2007-10-30T04:00:00+00:00

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 5

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

“Wow,” Jules said, still breathing hard. “Where did that come from?” He turned his head to look at Robin, who had collapsed beside him in their bed, equally spent. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved it, but…” He had to laugh. “Holy shit.”

Robin lifted his head from the tangle of sheets, an interesting mix of sheepishness and satisfaction in his eyes. “Sorry about your shirt.”

“I’m not,” Jules said, up on one elbow so he could kiss Robin before he pushed himself out of their bed. Time was running short. He had to get back to the office.

The suit he’d been wearing mere minutes ago was scattered across the room—his pants dangling from the free-standing mirror in the corner, his jacket and shirt in a crumpled heap by the bathroom door. One shoe had slid halfway beneath the dresser, and his socks, his other shoe and a handful of coins from his pants pocket littered the hardwood floor.

It looked as if he’d exploded out of his clothes—which wasn’t that far from the truth.

Jules picked up his jacket. It hadn’t been on the floor that long—a few good shakes would get any wrinkles out. But his shirt—new, from Pink—was ruined, the buttons torn clear off.

Robin laughed ruefully as he saw the damage he’d done. “Too bad we don’t have a wardrobe department, you know, to come rushing in with a replacement.”

“That’s not a too bad for me,” Jules told him with a laugh. “In fact, I think the too bad would be if someone did come rushing in here right now.”

Speaking of replacements, would anyone notice when he went in to tonight’s meeting wearing a different shirt—after hurrying home to pick up a file?

Uh, yeah? They were freaking FBI agents. They’d notice.

Jules grabbed his shorts and his pants and went out to use the hall bathroom. One of these days their master bath would have more than the current gorgeous new shower—installed sans bursting pipes, because the water-pouring-through-the-kitchen-ceiling thing was so two-months-ago.

When finished, their bathroom would have their new water-efficient toilet actually installed, instead of sitting beside a capped-off hole in the floor. The rich wood cabinets that surrounded the double sinks would have a gleaming granite countertop. The water-damaged walls would be patched and painted. There would be mirrors and towel racks and hooks for bathrobes.

Jules was no longer hoping that the work would be done by his and Robin’s wedding. At this point, to avoid the relentless, repeated disappointments, he’d set his sights on the project’s completion far into the future. Say, in thirty years or so? Or how about—optimistically—hoping it was done by their twentieth anniversary? That would be nice.

But right now he had more immediate issues to consider. As he washed up in the hall bathroom, splashing water up and onto his face, he tried to decide whether to wear an entirely different suit to his meeting—maybe pretend he’d had an accident with a Starbucks cup in the car?

The other option was to just so what it.

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