Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Damn it. This was the second time this week Champ had left Hercules behind when he ran out the door in the morning.
The poodle jumped to his feet and spun around, barking happily the second his owner’s name was called.
“Poor Herc. He’s trying his best not to be in a relationship with you either, huh?” I knelt down to pat his soft, curly head. “Why do we put up with him? Is it that mischievous smile? Or the good neck rubs? Or that thing he does with his tongue that… er, never mind. You don’t need to know about that. I’ll get us some breakfast, and then you can be my assistant until your owner remembers you exist, okay?”
Hercules barked happily.
But on my way to the kitchen, I grabbed my phone and typed out an angry text.
Me: Missing anything, Champion????
For a man who was concerned about the symbolism of bringing me a fresh donut, he sure as hell left his pet behind all willy-nilly.
“Ah, crap. The Drakes-Dunwoody wedding party needs to move their initial consult up to ten o’clock,” I told the dog as soon as I opened my laptop. Hercules didn’t seem nearly as perturbed by this turn of events as I was. He barely looked up from where he sat at my feet, chowing down a bowl of the organic dog food I’d bought him the last time Champ left him here. “That’s in just forty minutes.”
I scrolled through Marissa’s long, apologetic email, down to her email signature. Beneath her title—Marketing Coordinator for Drakes Automotive—was a promotional picture of her father, Tommy Drakes, dressed in a red Speedo and carrying a rescue buoy like a Baywatch-era David Hasselhoff, captioned “I’m here to save you! Save you… thousands off the sticker price on your new car or truck!”
I winced, and Herc paused his eating to tilt his head up at me.
“Hey. I’m not judging,” I informed him. “Those ads are paying my exorbitant fee, and some of us have to source our own kibble, buddy. Besides, Tommy Drakes does other stuff too. Manufacturing. And real estate. And… horse things.”
Actually, based on my client research, the horse stuff seemed less about bringing in revenue and more about supporting his only daughter, Marissa, my potential client. She was an accomplished equestrian, and Tommy was a proud papa.
Carlotta Drakes, on the other hand, seemed the type to care more about the horse’s pedigree or whether her daughter was wearing couture while riding, but I was trying to reserve judgment on her too.
My phone buzzed, and I glanced down quickly, then just as quickly rolled my eyes.
Delusional McBossypants Champion: Uh, yeah. Already told you I’m missing THREE shirts.
I rolled my eyes.
That’s what he thought. He was actually missing at least four, by my count. Though maybe he’d been too drunk that first night at the Tavern to remember that he’d been wearing a Captain America T-shirt under his button-down and that I’d teased him about it until he’d pushed me down on my bed and we’d…
“Nope,” I said aloud. I needed to delete those memories from my brain, not revel in them.
Delete, delete, delete.
I probably also needed to delete the collection of recently liberated T-shirts from the back of my linen closet before Champ got a warrant to search the place, like the badass security company owner he was.
I grumbled, and when Hercules looked up in confusion, I snapped his picture and sent it to Champ.
Me: Never mind the shirts. I meant YOUR DOG. You left him again. I’m going to hold him for ransom.
I clicked off my phone and scrambled to my feet. “Come on. Let’s take a walk, and then you can charm my prospective clients, okay?”
I grabbed the dog’s leash off the coatrack by the door—where Champ had left it last night specifically so he wouldn’t leave Hercules behind again—and led him to the tiny strip of grass between my building and the street so he could do his business while I made some phone calls.
Talking to my clients and focusing on business centered me, as it always did.
I spoke to Marco Perlman about offsetting the carbon footprint of his spring wedding with locally sourced organic food options.
I talked Aurelia Evers down from her dress panic by assuring her that there was plenty of lace on her bodice—in fact, too much lace if you asked me, but brides rarely did. I was there to make their dreams come true, after all, so I made it my policy to never offer advice or opinions unless asked… and even then, I was cautious.
I was just pulling up Posy Martinez’s phone number to respond to her “bouquet emergency” when a toddler’s high-pitched cry pierced the air.
My head swiveled toward the noise, and I saw Parrish and Diesel Partridge leaving the doctor’s office down the street with their little girl. I hadn’t met any of them, but it was impossible to live in the Thicket without knowing who they were, even for an outsider like me.