Dog Collar Chaos

by Adrienne Giordano

  “Yes.” She pointed over her shoulder at the rolling garment rack that held the latest samples of her designs. “And I’m taking pictures of everything. Just in case.”

  “Good. If she’s stolen another one, we’ll have a dated digital file as proof.”

  For insurance, Lucie had started backing all the office files up to an online system that, ironically, Buzzy had suggested. Regular backups were a mainstay, but backing up to an online system that Lucie could access from anywhere? Definitely handy.

  Now with Buzzy releasing another suspicious design, pressure needed to be added. Yes, bitch, we are on to you.

  "I'll call the lawyer again. Please tell me you scanned the sketch of that vest?"

  Ro reached the edge of Lucie's desk, pivoted, and stomped back to the front of the shop. "Bet your tiny little ass, I did. I'm also keeping a daily log of any ideas I come up with."

  "Thank you. If you're going to pace like that, you should wear a pedometer. Imagine the calories you're burning."

  "You’re so funny. It's all a joke to little miss skinny."

  Lucie snorted. "I'm just saying."

  The pacing stopped when Ro reached the front window. She stared out for a minute, then sprinted back to her desk, boobs bouncing, sky-high heels wobbling, and all that movement pushing her skirt to its unholy limits.

  At her desk, she slowed her pace, taking care to ease into her chair. She'd learned the hard way that sitting too fast might pop a seam. The drama that day had gone to epic heights.

  Having safely landed, she perched her librarian-look readers on her nose. "Joey just double-parked outside. Pretend I'm not here."

  Finally, Lucie's blood pressure waved the white flag. How much of this could she take? Since the morning of the big blowout with Joey—and who the hell knew what they even fought about—the two of them had been giving each other the silent treatment. Literally not even acknowledging the other's presence.

  Which made the work environment a tad awkward.

  "Sorry," Lucie said, "I've been pretending you're not here for three days. It's dumb."

  "Of course, it's dumb. It's a game we play to test our stubbornness. Whoever holds out the longest wins."

  "Um, Ro? Games are supposed to be fun."

  The doggie bells on the door jangled and Ro swiveled her chair, giving Joey her back as she pounded away on her keyboard. More than likely, there wasn’t even a file open.

  "Hi, Luce," her ape of a brother said as he lumbered through the door, bringing a blast of frigid air with him. December in Chicago was no joke.

  Ignoring her—as well as Ro—Joey strode to the wall and snatched the next day's dog walking schedule from the folder hanging on the bulletin board.

  These two dodos needed shock therapy.

  "You know what?" Lucie said, "You two are the biggest dopes I know. You love each other and yet—" she paddled her hand, "—we have nonsense."

  "What's this?" Joey said, waving the schedule. "No Otis? Is he okay?"

  Her brother. The Otis-loving mush. "He's fine. Mrs. L will be home tomorrow. The upshot is, you'll get done an hour earlier and you and my friend over there can make up."

  Her brother started for the door again. "Who?"

  Terrific.

  Another day in paradise.

  Chapter Two

  At 1:00 the shop door swung open. In came Tim O'Brien, a man she'd grown to love with a ferocity that got Lucie’s libido into high gear. Her hottie detective kept the winter months a whole lot warmer.

  Today, he wore a navy suit, his wide shoulders filling out the unbuttoned jacket and grey dress shirt nicely. His badge hung at his waist along with his sidearm. Hot, hot, hot.

  The fact that Tim was a six-foot-plus hunk of Irish burning love didn't hurt. When he came around, her heart felt...full. Happy.

  "Ladies," he said.

  "O'Hottie," Ro said, "what are you doing here in the middle of the day? No robbers to bust? No tickets to write?"

  Tim’s bottom lip rolled out, the immediate tell that he understood something extremely large had crawled up Ro’s butt. "I'm a detective. I don't write tickets anymore. I was on the Southside questioning a witness. Figured I'd swing by and see Lucie on my way back to the Loop. I guess you and the big man are fighting again."

  "Not again," Lucie said. "Still. It's insanity."

  Tim set his hands on Lucie's desk, leaned over and gave her one of his body-zapping hello kisses.

  "Blech," Ro said.

  "Man," Tim whispered, "she's in a mood."

  "Tell me about it. Plus, she thinks Buzzy stole another one of her designs."

  "I don't think. I know."

  Tim straightened and turned to Ro. "You got proof?"

  "Right here." She whipped the printout of her sketch at him. "These are my notes and my original drawing. And, here's a screenshot of what was on her website. She's a lying, thieving bitch. She runs a billion-dollar company and she has to crush the little guy? I'm so done."

  Again, Tim gave Lucie the raised eyebrows. Yeah, thanks for getting her wound up, fella.

  "I’ll call the lawyer again. We'll go see him and show him your evidence. Maybe we won't have to sue her. I'd like to avoid that and just settle it."

  "Oh, I say we sue her. Thief that she is."

  "Wow," Tim said. "Sounds like you guys are having a bad day. And here I was thinking I'd surprise you and take you to lunch."

  A surprise indeed. With Tim working downtown and Lucie spending more time in the new Coco Barknell corporate office—aka the old Carlucci shoe store in her hometown—Lucie didn't often get to see him during the day. Before the Coco Barknell expansion, when Lucie handled the brunt of the dog walking, maybe she could have managed to meet up, but since the business had grown and required her to be in the office more, she didn't have the luxury of lunches out.

  "I'd love that," she said.

  "Have I told you," he said, "how crazy I am about you?"

  Across from them, Ro made gagging noises. "Sorry. Hairball. But for the love of God, just skip lunch and get a room."

  Lucie stood, shoved around Tim and stuck her tongue out at Ro. Immature, yes. But, oh well.

  Refusing to be outdone, Ro returned the gesture, but couldn't keep a straight face and burst out laughing.

  "Atta girl, Ro," Tim said.

  Ro waved him off. "She's just too darned nice. Flip me off or something. Put a little mean into it."

  That wouldn't happen. They all knew Lucie didn't like swearing. Sure she popped off every now and again, but mostly, she kept it clean.

  Tim turned his back to Ro and nudged his head in her direction. Invite her? he mouthed.

  What a guy. This was why she loved him. He came in expecting to have a quiet lunch with Lucie and now, despite Ro being crabby, he felt bad leaving her behind.

  Lucie nodded. Getting away from the office might do her BFF some good. "Ro, come to lunch with us. We won't even go to Petey's if you don't want."

  Two doors down, Petey's luncheonette was activity central for Lucie’s father, notorious mob boss Joe Rizzo, and his cronies. Joey, when not helping Lucie, often hung out with them while managing his bookie business. Rumor had it they paid Petey a stipend every month for letting them use his place as a center of operations. Lucie stayed out of all that though. For years she'd rebelled against the mob princess moniker, fighting to rise above it by being an educated career girl. All her master's degree from Notre Dame and the subsequent job at an investment firm got her was busted back to the unemployment line—and living under her father's roof—after being downsized.

  "I'll stay here," Ro said. "I'm on a diet."

  A diet. Please. "Did the three-way with Ben & Jerry put you over the edge?"

  Being a red-blooded man with a healthy appetite for sex, Tim's head snapped around. "Three-way?"

  "Relax, killer. We're talking ice cream."

  "A three-way with ice cream? I like the sound of that."

  "You know," Ro said, "they're al
l alike. Sex and boobs. That's all they think about."

  "And three-ways," Tim cracked.

  Lucie poked her finger at him. "Shut it, mister." She whirled back to Ro. "And you, call my brother. Declare a truce or something. Please. I can't take you being this way. It's not like you. Just, for once, give in. Be the bigger person."

  Ro curled her lip. So much for that suggestion.

  "Whatever," Lucie said. "We're going to lunch. While I'm gone, stay off the internet. No more research on Buzzy's new designs. You're too keyed up. If you find anything else, you might lose it. I fear the universe won't survive."

  "You are just full of the wisecracks today. Go to lunch. I'll handle the phones."

  "I'm serious. No more research."

  Ro held up her hand. "I won't. I swear. No research."

  Midway through the euphoria of her chicken parm sandwich, Lucie’s phone, as Mom would say, tinkled.

  Tim shoved a forkful of Petey’s lasagna into his mouth and eyed her as he chewed.

  “I’m not answering it.”

  Lemon, one of Dad’s crew, sat at the table next to them, the day’s Banner-Herald spread in front of him. He glanced over, his lips dipped into a frown. “What’s that noise?”

  “Lucie’s phone,” Dad said from the table where he and Jimmy played cards.

  The phone bleeped again and Tim waved his fork at her. “You can get it.”

  Nope. Not doing it. Time with her man had been scarce lately and she intended on enjoying every second of this impromptu lunch.

  Tinkle, tinkle.

  Tinkle, tinkle.

  “Ho! How am I supposed to concentrate?”

  This from Jimmy, who found endless usage for the word ho.

  Dad threw his cards on the table. “Jesus Christmas. I’m banning cell phones in Petey’s. As of now leave them in your cars. You hear?”

  As if a bunch of sixty-year-old mob guys received a lot of texts?

  “Luce,” Tim said, “please. Just answer the damned thing and shut it up.”

  Wiping her hands on a napkin, she dug the phone from her purse. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what’s so urgent.” She poked the screen. A text from Sissy Washington, the managing director of Pups for Progress, the non-profit hosting the fashion show Coco Barknell and Buzzy were designing garments for. “Ah. Sissy Washington. Should have known.”

  “She’s the dog charity lady, right?”

  “Yep. Together, she and Ro create enough drama to keep Broadway theatres profitable.” She read the first text. A question about Ro’s sanity.

  Debatable, that.

  She scrolled to the second text. A screenshot of a tweet. The third text, another screenshot. The fourth, yet another screenshot with a message.

  WTF?

  Tim shoveled the last of the lasagna and dropped his fork. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know.” Lucie used her fingers to enlarge the screenshot. “Oh, no.”

  Please, no.

  “Luce?”

  Was it possible to feel her entire body go numb at once? She paused for a second and took stock. Yes. Definitely possible. She scraped her chair back, the annoying sound sending her father’s crew into theatrics.

  “Ho! My ears,” Jimmy said.

  “I have to go,” Lucie said.

  Tim’s eyebrows hitched. “What?”

  “I have to go. Can you pay the check?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I’m about to murder my best friend and I don’t want my detective boyfriend to witness it.”

  Lucie threw the shop door open, propped her hands on her hips so she wouldn't strangle her best friend, and forced herself to stay calm.

  Calm, calm, calm.

  At least until Ro came out of the break room, requisite container of Ben & Jerry's in hand. It had to stop. All of it. Fighting with Joey, fighting with Buzzy, the ice cream binges. If Lucie didn't control this situation, Ro's life—professional and personal—would derail.

  "Hey," Ro said, "how was lunch?"

  I'll tell you how lunch was... "You are a thieving beyotch?"

  Two more spoonfuls of Rocky Road met their demise in Ro's mouth before she gestured wildly with the spoon. "I was worked up. Heat of the moment and all that. I deleted it."

  "After it was retweeted thirty thousand times."

  More Rocky Road. "It might be up to forty. But who’s counting?"

  “I’m counting! Are you insane?” Lucie waved her arms. “Forget that. Clearly, you’re insane, because I specifically remember telling you to stay off the internet. You swore to me.”

  Ro pondered another scoop of ice cream. “It’s been a heck of a day so far. That witch Buzzy stealing another of my designs and Joey ignoring me might have been too much.”

  “So you lose your mind on Twitter?”

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly like that. I needed a distraction. Work always helps, so I figured, you know, I’d get back to my routine.”

  Her routine got her into a smack down on Twitter? “This, I can’t wait to hear.”

  “I had to check our social media accounts—and, yes, I know that’s the internet—but I had to respond to any questions or comments.”

  Okay, that, Lucie understood. Each day at noon, Ro logged on and spent a good thirty minutes talking with peeps online. Recently, they'd implemented an online shop and that meant getting their products out there. In the three weeks since the launch, their online sales had tripled. Definitely needed to give Ro credit for that.

  How that turned into calling Buzzy a thieving bitch, Lucie didn’t quite grasp.

  Rather than bludgeon her closest friend, Lucie rolled one hand, indicating Ro should continue talking. Fast.

  Another mound of Rocky Road went into her mouth and she waggled the spoon. “I started with Twitter today, scrolling my lists of favorites. And there it was.”

  “What?”

  “The chinchilla vest. Our vest!”

  “Oh, my God. Why didn’t you just get out of there?”

  “I tried. But…but…there were a bunch of tweets talking about how great the vest was. You know how I am. That rage just built and built.” Ro’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “And built, Luce.”

  Lucie shoved her fingers against her eyes, checking to make sure they hadn't A) burst from her skull and B) started bleeding. Buzzy, with her millions of followers, had retweeted someone's praise of “her” fabulous new Chinchilla vest.

  An image filled Lucie’s mind.

  Bradley Cooper—hey, a girl could dream—escorting a chinchilla-clad Ninja Bitch Shih-Tzu hottie down the runway while the audience went wild.

  Over Buzzy's so-called design.

  Except it was Ro's design, one she’d spent weeks perfecting only to have it snatched. Without even a simple credit. Ro shoved another scoop of ice cream into her mouth, and a trickle of understanding knocked Lucie’s fury to a low boil.

  “Luce, I’m sorry. All I could think about was outing that bitch. I’m so sorry.”

  And then Ro, pillar of strength and possessor of all things mighty, burst into tears. Not just everyday crying either. This was a full on, face twisted, mouth wide enough to drive a truck through jag.

  Cripes. Lucie threw her arms up. "Whoa, don't cry. Please."

  "I was just so mad. " She jabbed the spoon at Lucie. "Between the stolen designs and your dopey brother, everything feels out of control right now."

  In went another giant scoop of Rocky Road. Her BFF had lost it. Completely.

  It had to stop.

  Lucie strode toward Ro, snagged the pint of ice cream and the spoon, and took them to the break room.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Enough with this."

  "Luce, don't."

  "Oh, I'm doing it."

  Yes, she was. Right to the sink she went, slapping on the faucet as she pried the ice cream from the container.

  Behind her, Ro gasped and—whap—shoved her. Hard. Lucie let out a yip. When the heck had Ro ever done that?
To Lucie anyway. The container flew, making a wide arc. Ro reached up, her greedy, desperate fingers stretched wide, but Lucie rebounded and caught herself on the sink. Gaining her balance again, she used the sink for leverage and—whoop—pushed off, launching herself at Ro. Seconds before the pint landed, Lucie walloped her, knocking her flat on her ass.

  Holy cow.

  The pint landed on the tile, the remaining contents splattering in a chocolately mess. The two of them scrambled, then dove for the pint, landing in a heap on the ground.

  Then Lucie went airborne, her legs cycling as temper sparked. She swung her head around and spotted Tim, arm clasped around her waist, hauling her backward.

  "Put me down." She pointed at Ro. "Touch that pint and I'll murder you."

  Ro gasped again, dropped the ice cream and slammed her hands on the floor.

  Tim set Lucie down, but body blocked her before she could swoop around him. "What the hell is wrong with you two?" He bent down and scooped up the battered Rocky Road. "You’ve got to be kidding me. You're fighting over ice cream."

  "She started it," Lucie said.

  Oh, very mature.

  Still on the floor, Ro gave her the stink eye. "You were washing my ice cream down the drain. I paid good money for that."

  Come on. That's what she went with? "Now it's about the money? Fine. I'll reimburse you."

  Ever the gentleman, Tim reached a hand to Ro and helped her off the ground. "Are you okay?"

  She gave her battle weary, but still intact skirt a tug. How that thing hadn’t split in half was beyond Lucie. Ro straightened the sleeves of her blouse. Lucie held off mentioning the chocolate stain just above Ro’s left boob. No way that would come out of silk. That shirt became the only victim in the Rocky Road war.

  "I'm fine,” Ro said. “Just...mad. And, well, embarrassed."

  Tim set his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Don't be. You guys have always been nuts. Nothing shocks me anymore."

  The look Ro gave him should have melted the skin from his bones. Being an intelligent man, he stepped back.

  "Tough guy," Lucie muttered.

  With Tim out of the way, Ro put her arms out and wrapped Lucie in a hug. "I'm sorry, Luce. Please forgive me. Please. I’d never hurt you. You know I love you."