Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
The corgi closes his eyes and leans his head back with a satisfied grumble.
I can relate.
It’s been years since anyone touched me like that.
“Why don’t I take him?” Brady says suddenly.
I look up, annoyed that I do a double take.
“I can look after him for the night and meet you back here tomorrow to hand him off,” he explains.
Blondie—Nancy—makes a noise that can only be disgust.
She’s a charmer, all right. I can totally see why he likes her.
“I have the perfect place for Charlie boy. Here.” He pulls out his phone and scrolls until he stops on a picture of what must be his house.
It’s enormous, of course, and right on Lake Washington. That picture-perfect blue water is a dead giveaway.
There’s even what looks like a mini sculpture park by the water.
Obviously.
What person doesn’t need their own private art walk?
“Plenty of grass,” he continues.
Like I need more convincing.
It’s almost worse than I imagined. The entire property looks like it’s within spitting distance of the billionaire estates perched in the hills. I bet he waves to household names and tech CEOs while their landscapers mow the lawns.
Maybe they get together and talk about tax loopholes and exotic stock options.
Hell, maybe they have cocaine binges on the weekends.
Whatever it is people do when they’re loaded and they don’t have to get up at five every morning just to make rent.
Another reason to loathe his entitled ass.
Then again, this is the answer I was looking for, even if I hate it. Also, he seems sane, if spoiled rotten, and Charlie likes him.
The stay would save us the headache of finding another kennel to board the dog this late or cooping him up in the sick room.
Whatever.
“Sure. That would save us a lot of trouble, assuming you don’t mind,” I say.
“Not at all. I’m a dog guy,” he announces proudly.
“But it’s clinic protocol to follow up, just to make sure Charlie gets reunited with his owner,” I warn.
He smiles. “I’ll be here bright and early. Just name the time. When do you want me to meet you?”
Oh goodie. An invite to deal with him again.
If he can sense the laser beams of frustration blasting from my eyes, he doesn’t show it.
“Brady, c’mon. Let’s go!” Blondie whines, taking his arm and tugging.
Yes, please leave.
“Awesome. Now we’ll have to cancel the reservation for sure,” she says as he scoops Charlie back into his arms. The dog, exhausted but at ease, just wags his tail a few times and settles in for the ride. “Now you’ll have to take that smelly dog. What will your dad say?”
“He won’t know tonight,” Brady says calmly, giving me a nod as he strides out to the parking lot.
The car waiting for them is a sleek, newish upscale SUV. No surprise.
And obviously an older man in a suit—the driver, I assume—steps out and opens the door for them.
Honestly, I’m surprised they didn’t send the driver to do all their dirty work. Or maybe he’s not authorized to use the prince’s credit card.
No, I doubt that.
Someone like him has at least six credit cards, most with no limit, and he’s not going to get fussy about who uses them for company expenses.
And when you’re rich, everything is a company expense.
Yes, I’m glaring as they leave.
Jealous much? I am.
Like I said, this job is bittersweet.
The animals are awesome about a hundred percent of the time. It’s the people who suck way more often.
But at least we did our duty.
We helped solve one more case of lost paws tonight.
I wish it made me happier.
As I watch the SUV pull away, shaking my head at the way Brady waves through the window, I wonder how long Pawsome Hearts can keep the rescues going.
How long do we have left?
II
Dog Tired
(Brady)
I wear responsibilities like an old scar, intimately familiar with the pressure.
They keep you moving as much as they keep you in line. They can be your biggest carrot or a stick that bludgeons you to death.
Today, they have me working on my laptop early in the morning, sitting at the long table in the old family library while a big lump of corgi dozes at my feet.
Charlie slept through the night, and he’s still tired. He’s also part of the reason why I’ve forced myself to become a morning person. You can’t fix the world’s pet food problems if you’re crashing out at 4 a.m. and rolling out of bed past noon.
Still, just because it’s necessary doesn’t mean I enjoy it. I take another pull off the huge mug of black coffee at my side. It’s already halfway down.
The latest report from the lab blurs together in front of my eyes. I’ve damn near needed a crash course in veterinary nutrition to make heads or tails of these things, but I’m getting there.
By my feet, Charlie finally groans, sits up, does a big stretch, and pads over to where Mom sits, reading the morning news on her tablet.