by Becca Barnes
Maybe Kat would come to her senses. After all, I had given her a short deadline. It wasn’t like I had seen any potential investors slinking around the place the last few days. I would have noticed if there had been secret meetings going on right under my nose.
I inhaled a deep, cleansing breath before I headed up to take a shower.
I didn’t have time to panic. The day’s tasks were waiting. By the time I’d finished getting ready, I’d calmed down.
Kat might not be the sharpest claw in the paw. But there was no way she’d walk away from an offer in hand.
Twenty-Two
Mac
I was beginning to believe that Kat Freeman wasn’t so much feline as a chameleon. She appeared at my office at nine in the morning wearing a crisp and conservative, tasteful Chanel suit with her hair swept up into a neat chignon. She was downright subdued.
“Ms. Freeman.” I hopped up from my desk. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Sorry to drop by unannounced.” Her voice was pure professionalism. “I’m ready to sign that contract.”
“Oh. Our lawyers just finished drafting it, if you want to wait and have your lawyers—”
“No. It’s fine. I gave it some thought, and everything seems fine. Why wait?”
“Why indeed?” Even as I said it, my bullshit-alarm was blaring. Something was up. That was obvious. I’d give good odds that it had to do with Ellie’s mystery announcement.
But on the other hand, Kat was ready to sign right now at a price that was lower than she should have been willing to take. If she did have lawyers look at it, they’d probably try to negotiate the price up. Besides, I was well-covered legally to back out in case Ellie’s big news threw a wrench into things.
“I’ll grab our notary,” I said.
We both signed. I kept waiting for the rush of relief and exaltation to sweep over me like it always did at the close of a deal.
Nothing.
The investors had sent over a bottle of Armand de Brignac to toast the closing. I’d take the local brew that Ellie had introduced me to anyday.
Months and months of work, and the victory felt hollow.
“Congratulations. I’ll have the funds wired to your account once everything is verified. Shouldn’t be more than forty-eight hours.” I shook Kat’s hand and noticed her grip was stiff and hesitant. What that was about?
Y’know what? It was finished. That was all that mattered.
It also meant I was free to focus all my attention on preparations for tomorrow’s date with Ellie. I let my mind float back to last night. The faint, soapy smell of her skin. The way her body responded to my touch with natural ease. The sounds she made.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet, Ellie Cooper.”
Twenty-Three
Ellie
Closing time had come and gone. I had swept, mopped, and wiped down all the counters as slowly as possible.
I’d sent Kat three texts to see if my stepmother had made a decision, but they’d all gone unanswered.
At ten p.m., I couldn’t take the silence alone, so I called in reinforcements. Unfortunately, my reinforcements weren’t in the mood for a quiet night in.
“Do it!” Isobel punched my shoulder and motioned for Ed to bring us another round of margaritas.
It was past midnight. On a Tuesday. I never went out on a weeknight. I was surprised I hadn’t turned into a pumpkin.
All day long, I’d swung like a pendulum between squealing with delight when a flash of the night before had popped into my mind. And then back to dread when I thought about the choice set before me if Kat didn’t go along with my demand.
“I know, I know,” I said. “I should go ahead and post the picture. I just thought Kat would hear me out. I thought she’d actually consider my proposal.”
“Really?” Isobel took a swig of her drink and shot me an incredulous look.
“Yes. I mean, I don’t know. She doesn’t even like being at the store. She avoids it like the plague. I know she doesn’t want to own it.”
“Maybe she already found a buyer.”
“I would know if she had. I see everyone who comes in and out of the shop.” I slurped the dredges of my second, wait, third margarita. “No. It’s been business as usual.”
“Well, then we’re back to...Kat just doesn’t want to sell it to you.”
“I know.” I thunked my head down on the bar. “Ow.”
“I have an idea.” Isobel took my phone out and pulled up the photos. “Fire a warning shot.”
“Huh?”
“Post the first picture only. It will tell Kat you mean business. It will drive her bonkers waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“What if she calls my bluff?”
“Is it a bluff?”
“Maybe? I don’t know.”
“Well, that second picture is the only leverage you have right now. And if she still doesn’t get back to you, then you can be all, ‘That’s it, Kat. You have until the count of three. One, two--’”
“Three,” I whispered as I hit the button to fire my warning shot.
* * *
Bzzzz, bzzzzzz. Bam, bam, bam.
“Whazzit?” I sat bolt upright in bed.
It was like a bowling ball had smashed into the side of my skull as I attempted to recollect what had happened the night before at the Fuzzy Palm with Isobel. I vaguely remembered margaritas and Ed dropping us both off at home and looking at my pictures and...no. No, no, no, no, no. The picture. What had I done?
I reached for my phone, and there it was. The warning shot.
“Oh, for the love of crap.” I flomped back onto my pillow. “Oww.”
Bzzz. Bam, bam, bam.
And now, here was my stepmother, ready to call my pathetic bluff. Because there was no way that I could actually do it. There was no way that I could walk away from S’Paw Box and everything that my father had spent his entire life building.
At least I hadn’t posted the final picture. There would have been no hope for me if I’d announced the existence of—what had I decided on?—Pawsh Paws.
But now, I had to go admit it to Kat’s face.
I wasn’t brave. I wasn’t a badass. And I would never be a lady boss. I was stupid for even thinking it could ever happen.
Kat would own me for the rest of my sad existence.
But when I reached the door and peeked out the curtain, it wasn’t my stepmother who stood on the front stoop. It was a blonde man with a neatly trimmed beard wearing pink skinny pants, a perfectly ironed white oxford shirt, and a fedora. He held a long, sagging garment bag over his head.
“Hi.” I opened the door for him, assuming he was there with a pet emergency. “We’re not actually open yet.”
“Ellie?” he said.
“Uh, yeah. Can I help you?”
“No, but it looks like I can help you.” The man had the deepest Texas twang I’d ever heard in my life. He took a step back and put his hand on his chin as he gave me a once-over from head to toe and back again. “I can see why he thinks you’re hot. If I weren’t gay as a golden French horn, I’d tap that.”
“Excuse me.” I gripped the edge of the door to slam it in his face. “Who do you think you are?”
“Oh, sorry. I know it’s early. But I arrived not a moment too soon if I might say so myself.” He swung his messenger bag from one shoulder to the other. “Looks like a raccoon died and you inherited his eye circles.”
Umm, rude.
I was about to slam the door in his face when it hit me who he was.
“Wait...are you the person Mac told me to expect?”
“Yup.”
I looked between his eager face and the garment bag.
“And that’s for our mystery date? Are you...are you here to give me a makeover?” For one confusing, hideous moment, I wondered if this was some creepy My Fair Lady stunt. Mac hadn’t seemed like the controlling asshole type, but if this was his idea of…
“Nobody said, ‘makeove
r.’ But feel free to think of me as your fairy godmother.” He plucked a stray straw wrapper from my out-of-control waves. “Although last I checked, these aren’t princess-approved hair extensions. Rough night, Midnight Cowgirl?”
“You could say that.” I twisted a section of hair toward my face and wrinkled my nose at the sour scent of dried tequila. And maybe something worse.
“I’m Nick, by the way.” He stuck out his free hand.
“Nick.” I racked my brain. “Oh, you’re Mac’s best friend!”
“Since grade school. I lived up the road from his grandma, and he’d spend the summers at her house.”
“Ahh, that makes you Petunia the bulldog’s dad,” I said.
At that, Nick beamed.
“Thank you so much for picking out the Koselig harness for her. I’ve been looking into buying one, but I never would have splurged on the Swarovski. It’s perfection.”
“I’m glad you like it. Come on in.” I led the way into the spa’s waiting area and set a pot of coffee brewing.
“So you’re here to get me ready for the big mystery date. Can you tell me what it is?”
“Mac didn’t tell you?” Nick’s lip quirked up. “Well, you’ll see.”
“I’m a little confused. I thought he said you lived in Dallas.”
“I do. I flew in for the day.”
“For this?”
“In case you haven’t figured it out yet, Mac doesn’t do anything half-assed.”
“Oh, I’ve figured that out. Thankfully, his full ass is quite nice.”
“That it is.”
I shot him a questioning look, and he laughed.
“Nah. I’m a happily married man. And even if I weren’t, I never had a thing for him. But I did have a confusing and hellish few years in junior high before I came out.” His smile faded, then he added, “Mac was actually the first person I told I was gay. I waited until the last day of summer after ninth grade, right before he left his grandmother’s house, so if he was going to cut me out of his life, it wouldn’t hurt as bad. Or at least, I told myself it wouldn’t hurt as bad.”
“How did he respond?”
“He punched me on the shoulder and said, ‘I kind of figured, but thanks for trusting me enough to tell me.’ And then we biked to Walmart and got Coke Icees. I still can’t drink an Icee without smiling.”
“Well, who can?”
“True.”
“He’s kind of great, isn’t he?” I said after a moment's pause.
“He really is.” Nick took a bottle of ibuprofen out of his bag and poured me a cup of coffee to swig it down with. “Here. That should help with the hangover, Coyote Ugly.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I think I actually look a lot worse than I feel. So you seriously flew down here just for this? To help me get ready for...whatever it is he has planned?”
“Ehh, I owe him one. He loaned me and Brian his Aspen place for a ski trip in March. I probably owe him a kidney, quite honestly. He took the scariest moment of my life and turned it into a trip to get an Icee. Plus, he sent his private jet. Worth it for the mimosas alone.”
“He has a private jet?” Holy cats. That was...whoa.
Nick gave me an odd look.
“You don’t realize how rich he really is, do you?”
“Apparently not.” Not that it mattered to me. I was happy with tacos and brownies and Netflix. And so far, Mac had been, too.
“I don’t even know what business deal he’s in town for.” I probably should ask him at some point. “Do you know?”
“Nope. Their family has fingers in every kind of pie you can imagine. He tried to explain the intricacies of venture capitalism to me once in college. I dozed off.”
Hmm. That actually sounded like something I might find interesting. I’d have to ask Mac this afternoon to tell me about his current endeavor. If anything, maybe it would be an ongoing thing that would bring him back to Lavender Beach on a regular basis.
I blushed. Those weren’t very flingy thoughts.
Nick looked with disdain at the dog washing basin. “Is that thing clean?”
“Quite.”
“You’re sure?”
“I scrubbed it myself last night.”
He raised one eyebrow.
“Not afraid to get your hands dirty. I like it.” He hung the garment bag over the hook on the back of the downstairs bathroom door and pulled a chair up next to the basin. “Your hair’s a rat’s nest, and your smoky eye has turned into a Waffle House ashtray. Sit.”
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.
“Please,” he added. I sat down and leaned my head back. “And sorry. I know I can be a bit snappish.”
“Why do I feel like I’m on trial?” I asked.
“Sorry for that, too.” Nick picked up a bottle of brightening shampoo on the ledge above. “Can I use this or will it make you smell like a wet dog?”
“All of our products are scented with pure essential oil,” I said, offended. Even wet dogs didn’t leave these premises smelling like wet dogs. But I pulled a bottle of human shampoo from underneath the sink anyway.
“Here.”
Nick rubbed his fingers from the base of my neck to the crown of my head as he lathered the suds in.
“If you can’t tell, I can get a little protective of Mac,” he said.
“Does he need your protection?” Good gracious, this man could give a scalp and face massage. If this little fling with Mac didn’t work out, I might have to go bat for the other team. Or...however that would work.
“I have no intentions of hurting him, you know,” I said.
“I know.”
“Besides, it’s nothing serious We’re just...having fun.”
Nick gave me another odd look but nodded.
I was about to ask what he meant by that look when he tossed a towel onto my face.
“All done.”
Once I’d dried off, I tried to get a peek at whatever was in the garment bag.
He swatted my hand away.
“First we need to do your hair.”
“Not my makeup?”
“Do your own damn makeup. Not that you need it. Besides, I told you this wasn’t a makeover.”
Nick gathered my hair into a messy bun. His phone buzzed, and he looked down to read a text.
“Mac’s on his way. You’d better hurry.”
“I’m confused,” I said, then glanced over at the garment bag.
“Well, be confused while you’re getting dressed.” Nick unzipped the bag and yanked out what looked like a tarp, tossing it over to me. “Here. Put this on.”
I held up the garment he’d given me—a large, unflattering coverall, the kind a house painter might wear. The fabric was stiff and brownish, a camo type print.
“What on earth?”
Nick pulled a thick, black, metal case out of the bottom of the garment bag and clicked open the latches.
There was a knock at the door, and Mac peeked his head in. He was wearing the same brown coveralls that I was apparently supposed to put on.
“Hey! Ahh, Nick beat me here. Perfect. You ready to go?” he asked. “I’ve got breakfast waiting.”
“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”
Nick and Mac looked at each other, each with a conspiratorial smile growing on their faces.
“Honey,” said Nick. “I’m not the type of fairy godmother who plays dress-up dolls and tries to make you feel pretty.”
That was when Nick reached into the metal case and pulled out a big, shiny, hot pink rifle. He snapped a laser sight onto the barrel and twisted the buttstock around for me to take it from him.
”I’m here to arm you.”
* * *
Good to know I could scratch Navy SEAL off my list of future career possibilities.
The moment Nick handed me the gun, I promptly shrieked and dropped it on the floor. With a sharp pop, it discharged.
I threw my hands over my ears, closed my eyes, and sc
reamed again, certain I’d killed someone. Bentley came rushing down the stairs, barking her head off.
I was going to die. I was going to die.
At the hands of a well-dressed, gay assassin. Who...had handed me a gun?
Okay. I wasn’t going to die.
But then what was going on here?
I opened one eye.
Nick was laughing his head off. Mac was shaking his head in exasperation.
“Should have warned you about the hair trigger,” said Nick in between gasps of laughter.
“I could have killed someone!” I yelled.
“That would have been quite the feat,” he said. “Do you have an old towel?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t worry. It’s water-soluble,” said Mac. “But let’s get it cleaned up before Bentley rolls in it and turns herself purple.”
Mac pointed to a small splotch of paint on the floor.
“I don’t know if I can handle the temptation of you in front of a sink full of warm suds again,” he said.
Nick raised his eyebrows and glanced away.
“It’s a paintball gun,” I whispered as it sank in. I picked it up from where it hand landed at my feet.
“More specifically, the Jaxton Ninja K9000 in fuchsia,” said Nick. “That coverall has built-in flexible skin armor, but the Ninja has a nice soft impact. Well, soft as it can be hurling a blob of paint at high velocities.”
“And why again am I holding a paintball gun?”
“Because you’re going paintballing?” Nick stood up after he’d cleaned the inky splotch off the floor. He looked at me quizzically. “Mac, did you not mention I own a paintball range?”
“I might have conveniently forgotten that fact.” Mac had an impish grin on his face.
Okay, so this wasn’t quite how I had envisioned the start of my big, mysterious date. Finding out that I would be playing war games with Mac and his buddy.
“Actually, I co-own it with Mac.” Nick scratched Bentley behind the ears.
“Wait. Are we flying to Texas to play paintball?” Not words I had expected to come out of my mouth today.