Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
She clears her throat. Points at me. “You.”
“I know,” I say in a small voice, mad at myself, really. Even if they had googled him that night and reported back that we worked in the same field, he would probably have already been balls deep inside me by the time they’d tracked down those details. Besides, who knows if him being the owner of this business is even intel that’s available online anywhere? I let it go, since that’s not what matters.
I meet Ripley’s gaze and shrug helplessly. “My sit on my face one-night stand is the new owner of the town’s doggie daycare, which means the man who had serious D-game, the man who extracted orgasms that can shake a skyscraper out of me, is in there,” I say, pointing with my maimed nail in the general direction of Dog Tails. “He’s my brand-new co-worker. Landlord. Colleague. Whatever.”
Ripley snort-laughs. Then tries to smother her smile. “Really?”
“It’s not funny!”
“It’s a little funny.”
“When I showed up with coconut bread from The Sweet Spot as a first-day gift, he accused me of stalking him,” I say, enraged all over again.
Ripley’s spine straightens, and she dismounts her bike, searching, perhaps for a streetlamp or sign to rest it against. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”
I clap. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
But as she unclips her helmet, I grab her arm. “As much as I love you and want you to march in there, I can’t let you.”
“Why not?”
“He’s not worth it. Also, can I just vent?”
She softens. “Of course.”
Oh good. I love venting. “Can you believe the gall of him?” I say, then recount in precise detail what Sawyer said to me, stopping only when Sheriff Simmons strolls down the street, hat on her head, aviator shades on, giving me a nod and a hello to Ripley. When she’s several feet away, I return to the story. “He implied I was unstable. I’m trying to build my business and my credibility. Can you even imagine if any of my new clients had heard him?”
“He’s a dick, for sure,” Ripley says, one hundred percent on my side and then some, it seems. But then she tilts her head and asks thoughtfully, “But did they hear?”
I sigh heavily, admitting, “No.”
“And are you going to storm off and refuse to work there?”
“I want to,” I say, but I know that’s a pointless wish.
“Chloe,” she says.
I blow out another breath, then gaze skyward, trying to find some peace about this awful new work situation. I return my focus to my friend, who’s steady and patient and loyal. “You’re right. I need the space.”
“Exactly. You need to work with this guy. This is your shot. Don’t mess it up by being all hot under the collar. Yes, he said some dumbass things. But you know what you have to do?”
With a wince, I ask, “Behave?”
“Talk to him,” she says. “Clear the air.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. I hate that she’s right. “Why are you so good at this?”
“It’s the curse of being an older sister and my parents dying when I was fifteen,” she says, but matter-of-factly, not sadly. She’s used to being the problem solver among us since she had to take care of herself at a young age.
“I won’t give him a piece of my mind then,” I say, cooling off maybe a little.
“Will you clear the air?”
“That’s debatable.”
Ripley just shrugs. “I can only ask for so much.” She glances down at the lavender in her bike basket. “So, um, do you want to bring the lavender into Dog Tails, or should I?”
“You’re doing business with Sir Fuckface?” I’m indignant all over again.
“I didn’t know who he was when he placed the order.” Her brow knits. “Also, I think I ran into him a year ago or so when he was looking for space in town. I was with Banks. He knows him.”
“You should have warned me then! Both of you!”
“Warned you that a year into the future you’d rave about his D-game?” She nods to my new workplace. “Go behave, my friend.”
“Fine,” I huff, “but I’m not delivering the lavender.”
“That’ll show him,” Ripley teases, then locks up her bike and walks into the scene of the crime with me.
11
FIRST DAY JITTERS
SAWYER
“You doing okay, boss?” Zuri asks with a tilt of her head.
As I click out of the reservation program, having just checked in Dandelion, the Great Dane mix—owned by Salma, who runs the gourmet market around the corner—I look up, meeting her eyes, as I lie. “Yeah. Definitely.”
Her expression is doubtful. “If you say so. You seem a little…off. Different than when I met you,” she says, but then smiles brightly. “But I bet it’s just first-day jitters. Don’t worry. I know everyone in town, and I’ve got your back.”
Well, shit. I hardly deserve the support of my manager. And she’s reading me right. I am a little off, but it’s not first-day jitters. “That’s nice of you to say,” I say evenly, because I don’t want to let on to an employee that I’m stewing over that ridiculously uncomfortable encounter earlier.