by Becca Barnes
Mrs. Fitzgerald scooped up the damp Beauregard and stomped out the door.
I buried my face in both hands and began to shake.
Ten
Mac
“Ellie.” I didn’t think about the fact that I was half-naked or that anyone and their dog--literally--could walk in. I rushed down the stairs, furious with himself and the harpy who had left.
There it was again. That drive to protect this girl. Maybe it was the fact that she was so unlike any woman I’d been with before. There wasn’t a scheming bone in her body. She was polished, but in a delicate way. Not brittle and bitter like Felicia.
“I’m so sorry.” I scooped her up into a hug when I reached her, and somehow this felt even more right than our kiss had earlier. Her shoulders were still shaking, and I rubbed them, willing her to stop crying. “That was all my fault. It will be okay. Whatever income you lose from her, I’ll cover.”
Money. Money could solve just about any problem you threw it at.
I traced the track of a tear as it made its way to the bottom of her cheek. Crap. Money couldn’t solve this one. That woman had really gotten to Ellie.
I gently peeled her hands from her face, and she looked up at me, her eyes sparkling with tears. She doubled-over, her body wracked with sobs.
“Ellie?” My hand clenched in fury. That shrew who had hurt Ellie. How dare she?
But then Ellie lifted her head. She wasn’t trembling from crying. She was laughing her head off, tears of mirth leaking out the corners of her eyes. She clenched her stomach as her whole body shook in gales of laughter.
“Did you see her face?” she gasped, then switched to a nasally, mocking tone. “I’ll be taking my dog and my business elsewhere.”
“You’re not upset?”
“Ugh, no. Good riddance. And good luck to her finding another groomer who will take that little monster. All I have to do is make a few calls, and she’ll be bathing that dog in her own bathroom sink for the rest of its life.”
I raised my eyebrows, unsure whether I should be impressed...or very, very afraid.
“Not that I would,” said Ellie. “Be that vindictive, I mean. Life’s too short. Unforgiveness is a poison that you prepare for your enemies but end up drinking yourself.”
“Who said that?”
“Abraham Lincoln? Or maybe Mark Twain? Or just someone on the internet?”
“If in doubt, always say Lincoln.”
“Lincoln,” she said authoritatively.
“Good old Honest Abe.”
We stood there for half a beat until I hooked my thumb toward the stairs.
“I should, uh, grab that shower.”
“Yeah, and I need to finish up with the dogs, so…”
“So….All right, then.” I gave a sheepish smile as I went back upstairs.
“Oh, if you want to borrow something to wear, there are some tee shirts in the bottom drawer of the dresser in my bedroom,” she said.
“With all due respect to that lovely tank top--which I’m a fan of, by the way--I’m not sure your shirts will fit me.”
“They’re men’s shirts.”
“Are they now?” I lifted my brow.
“They’re--they were my dad’s. He saved all his local 5K race shirts.”
“Ahh. I couldn’t, I mean, I wouldn’t want to use something so special.”
“No, it’s truly fine. I was going to turn them into a tee shirt quilt someday, but I think he’d much rather you walk out of his daughter’s place clothed than for them to stay tucked away in a drawer somewhere. Besides,” she added, suddenly shy again as she moved toward the back to gather her canine clients, “you can give it back when you come over for dinner tonight.”
The slight bloom of pink that colored her cheeks threatened to make me harder than ever.
“I thought I was taking you out,” I said.
“Dessert then.” And when peered at me from under those eyelashes before walking outside, it took away any question in my mind.
This shower would definitely be cold.
* * *
As soon as I’d gotten dressed, I skirted out the front door. The last thing I wanted was to cause additional trouble for Ellie with any more owners showing up to collect their pets and getting an eyeful of me instead.
I walked three shops down to a men’s clothing boutique and picked up a new shirt. When I got back to my parked car, I carefully folded up her father’s tee shirt and tucked it into the center console.
Then I pulled out the S’Paw Box file from underneath it.
Hanging out with Ellie over the last couple hours had been a fun breather and an escape from my real task of the day. Gathering info on the business. I flipped past the financial projections to the sheet with the owner’s information.
Katherine Freeman, age thirty-nine. There were several pictures of her--one professional headshot and then a few candid shots gathered from around the internet. In each photo, her forehead had the glassy smoothness of botox injections, so it was hard to tell if her smile was real or fake as a three dollar bill for the cameras.
Not that it mattered. I was here to acquire trademarks, not friends.
She had a nice body. Lithe, like a cat. Although--I flipped through all the pages...interesting--there wasn’t a single mention or picture of her with any animals. Not a one. For someone who owned a pet shop, that seemed exceedingly odd.
At the bottom was her cell phone number. I dialed it. On the fifth ring, a woman with a breathy voice answered.
“This is Kat.”
“Hello, Ms. Freeman. My name’s James MacCarthy. I wanted to see if we might schedule a time when we could discuss your store.”
There was a beat of silence before she said, “Are you talking about S’Paw Box?”
“Yes.”
There was another pause. I twisted a loose thread from Ellie’s father’s tee shirt around my pinky.
“Are you still there?” I asked.
“Yes. What exactly do you want to discuss?”
“I represent investors who have an interest in your store.”
“Interest, hmm?” Another pause. “I guess it can’t hurt to talk.”
Something within me bristled at the long pauses in our conversation. Maybe it was simply false echoes of the Felicia-alarm going off. But I’d head into this meeting with my sensors on high alert.
“Could we meet at my offices?” I asked.
“Actually, how about we meet at the store after-hours. I can give you the grand tour.”
“That’s okay.” I’d already seen the store. And the spa. And the tiny bathroom and apartment above the spa.
“I insist.” This Kat woman was in the driver’s seat at the moment, whether she knew it or not.
I did a little mental arithmetic, knowing that Ellie would be busy getting ready before I picked her up for our dinner at eight.
“How about seven?” I said.
“Perfect.” It may have been association with her name, but the word came out a purr.
Eleven
Ellie
Thump thump thump
The wheels of Isobel’s massive suitcase bumped against each step as I watched her lug it up to my loft.
“I asked you to bring one outfit over,” I said, watching her from the base of the stairwell. “Not move in with me.”
“Puh-lease. You asked me to bring over the silk Lilly Pulitzer dress that lands six inches above your knee and shows off your skinny, perfect little ass cheeks. Which means you’re going on a date. Which means I want details.”
“It’s just dinner. He’s not even from around here. And he’s a friend. Nothing more.” A friend who made my heart skip every third beat when I was near him. And a friend who’d kissed me. But that had been a weird, beyond-awkward situation, and one that wasn’t likely to be replicated. I still wasn’t sure what had possessed me to touch his chest like that. Oh, that chest. I fanned myself with the invoice from the Osborne dalmatians who had finally been pick
ed up only a few minutes ago.
“Whatever.” Isobel lifted the suitcase over the top step. “I’m not letting you leave this place until you look like a freaking goddess.”
“Well, right now, I look like a freaking mess.” I held my arms up as proof. I was covered in dog slobber, dried suds, and flecks of mud.
Basically, the usual.
“You won’t after I get done with you,” said Isobel.
“Nuh unh. You are not doing my makeup. Every time you try to give me a makeover, I end up looking like sex on a hot tin roof.”
“And that’s a problem because…?”
“I’ll do my own makeup, okay?
“Just your eyes. Pleeeeease?”
“Fine. But only my eyes.”
“Yay! Thanks for not getting your knickers all in a twist.”
“Speaking of knickers.” I pulled the teensy thong from her pocket. “He found these earlier. I accidentally left them hanging on the doorknob. It was mortifying.”
“He found those?” Isobel pointed at the scrap of lace.
“Yup.”
“Ohhh ho ho.” She let out a chortle. “You are so getting some tonight.”
“Shut up.” I smacked her arm on the way into the bathroom to get cleaned up.
I stayed in the shower until the single light above was haloed in a thick fog and the room felt like a steam sauna. Warm water trickled down my front, awakening nerve endings that had been long neglected.
When I emerged from the shower, I felt like a new person.
Isobel was waiting on my bed, the frilly pink frock spread out in front of her along with every piece of jewelry and pair of shoes she owned.
“I’m thinking the tassel necklace with the strappy silver sandals,” said Isobel. “Or—”
“No, the tassel and sandals sounds great.” I shimmied into the lacy underpants under my towel while Isobel’s attention was elsewhere.
“Wait. You’re not allowed to agree to the first proposed ensemble.”
“Why not?”
”Because I brought half my stash here for you to choose from.”
”This is only half?”
“You’re completely missing the point. You’re too easy to please.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.” I shrugged.
“You’re not a beggar. Not with me. You don’t even need to ask.” Isobel reached out and squeezed my hand. “But it brings me back to what I was saying the other night. If you’d open your own spa, you could buy whatever you want. You could move into a place that was bigger than a mouse hole. You deserve it.”
“Hey, I’m going out on a date tonight. Where I promise to relax and have fun. It’s progress. Baby steps, right?”
Isobel harrumphed.
“I will have fun,” I said. “Promise.”
“Promise?”
”Pinky swear.”
Twelve
Mac
There are three things that James MacCarthy junior is an expert at.
Closing deals.
Closing deals.
And closing deals.
Or at least, that’s what I told himself as I pulled up across the street from S’Paw Box, feeling more nervous than I had at my first contract negotiation straight out of my MBA program. I had little time to reflect on this newfound nervousness, though, as I straightened my silk tie and switched over to my most alluring smile before knocking on the locked store’s entrance.
A swirl of guilt clenched in my gut as I stole a glance around the corner of the building to make sure that Ellie was nowhere in sight. It wasn’t like I was doing anything wrong. Ellie had already said that she didn’t have an ownership stake in the store, and I hadn’t even pried any information out of her like I’d originally planned.
At the same time, I hadn’t been entirely forthright about my intentions or my business dealings here. When I bought the brand, it could potentially affect her, I supposed--when the store’s name changed.
But what did she care what the place was named?
A rose would smell as sweet by any other name and all that crap. Heck, call the place Ellie’s House of Doggie Delights. She and her expertise were clearly the major draw of the spa and the store.
If anything, meeting with the owner would free me up from being tempted to fish for information from Ellie tonight. I could relax and...find a better use for our time.
The side of my mouth quirked up.
Not to brag, but there was fourth thing I was an expert at.
I knocked again and double-checked my watch. I had pulled out my phone to shoot Kat a text when the door suddenly swung open. I almost choked as I lifted my gaze from the phone.
She was...orange. It didn’t help that she’d dimmed the lights in the shop, giving off a faint glow behind her. And her hair was a white peroxide blond that only enhanced her fake skin color. But there was no way around it. There was nothing tastefully tan about her. She was orange.
She wore a skin-tight black mini-dress with a draped front neckline. I could appreciate a low-cut blouse with the best of them. But there was low-cut, and then there was looooow-cut. I’d learned to spot a boob-job a mile away after dating Felicia. Kat’s breasts, like my ex’s, could have been used as emergency buoys. They had the appearance of two plastic cantaloupes hot-glued to her chest so they stuck out like projectiles about to pop off at any moment.
I had a momentary vision of what it might be like to palm the graceful curve of Ellie’s breasts but then Kat arched her back, shoving her fake pumpkins in my face.
“Thanks for coming by,” she said. There was a childish lilt to her voice.
“My pleasure.”
“Come on in.” She ushered me through the empty store, back to the office. There was an open bottle of wine on the desk with two glasses sitting next to it.
“I’ve been googling you,” she said, offering me one of the glasses. “You’re for real.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said with a chuckle but waved away the wine.
“So I’m curious why you’d be interested in buying this...cute little shop.” She took a sip and tapped her nails against the edge of her glass. The way she said the word cute, I could tell that she used it in the same way that Felicia used quaint.
Not the brightest bulb in the socket. When an investor comes calling, it’s an awfully good time to hide what you’re truly thinking and put your best foot forward. She should have had the place lit up like a toy store on Christmas Eve to make it look as big as possible, staged to appear as if they were both simultaneously well-stocked and well-shopped.
“I’m not actually interested in buying the shop,” I said. “I’m interested in buying the name of the shop.”
“Oh.” Her face plummeted into a pout lower than her navel-skimming neckline. She gulped down another two glugs. “So just the name?”
“Just the name.”
“Hmm.” She dipped her ring finger in the wine and twirled it around the rim of the glass. “And what is the name worth?”
Man alive, this would be too easy.
“We haven’t prepared a formal offer, but obviously, we’d hope to make it worth your time and trouble.”
“Sure you don’t want to buy the whole kit and kaboodle?”
“Nooo,” I said slowly. This was officially the most bizarre negotiation I’d ever engaged in. If I was reading her right--and she wasn’t exactly Tolstoy--she didn’t even want to own this store. I peered around. Maybe it wasn’t as profitable as I’d estimated. That would make my first offer even easier. And lower. But, no. I hadn’t imagined all the shopping bags I’d seen around town with the shop’s logo on it. I hadn’t imagined the four-hundred dollar harness I’d bought.
And even with a casual eyeball of the inventory levels I remembered, I could tell they’d had excellent sell-through in the past couple days. This wasn’t even the height of vacation season yet.
Not to mention that whoever ran their social media accounts had established such an impr
essive following for such a small shop.
No. I wasn’t wrong. So why did this woman want to rid herself of a profitable business?
“I can prepare an offer for you by Monday,” I said.
“Okay.” She twirled her finger a couple more times, making the rim of the glass sing in its wake. “I look forward to seeing it. How about over dinner? At my place.”
She leaned forward across the desk, squeezing her cleavage together to maximum effect, and gave me a bird’s eye view of her melon-esque assets.
Oh. So that’s the way it was.
I gathered my lips into a most flirtatious grin.
“Sounds great.” And I meant it. Mr. Charming could knock a cool fifty-K off this offer. She was putty in my hands.
“Or...what are you doing tonight?” She lifted the finger from her glass and stuck it in her mouth.
“Ah, tonight. I’d love to join you, but—” An image sprang to my mind unbidden. My father, not even bothering to look up from whatever paperwork had his true attention, saying two words: “No buts.”
But then that image melted into another. Ellie, elbow deep in dog-water suds, glancing up the stairwell at me, a delicious blush blooming across her chest. Right before I’d kissed her.
And that kiss, it was everything a kiss was supposed to be. Full of promise and potential, with a current of wanting and needing that flowed right below the surface. I didn’t know exactly where that kiss would have headed if we hadn’t been interrupted. But I damn sure wanted to find out.
“I’m sorry. I already have plans,” I said.
“Ahh.” She pulled her finger out of her mouth with an audible pop. “Guess I’ll just have to wait until Monday, then. Too bad. I hate waiting.”
Clearly. With that pumpkin-hued skin, she couldn’t even wait for the sun to do its job.
But I kept the smile glued to my face.
“Until Monday, then.” I pulled one of my cards from the silver clip in my front pocket and handed it to her.