How could I have forgotten? This is all her fault. She’s the one who talked Miles into this foolishness with the dog.
Me:Gotta go. Messes to clean. Puppy to train.
Beck sends back aHas big ears, still won’t listenmeme featuring—you guessed it—a French bulldog. Because everyone’s a fucking comedian now.
I ignore him and pull up Scarlett’s number. I wouldn’t be up to my eyeballs in pillow stuffing and dog piss if it weren’t for her meddling.
The phone rings twice before she answers.
“Hello?” She sounds unsure. Probably expecting a telemarketer. Thank Christ she didn’t let it go to voicemail.
“Scarlett.”
There’s a long pause.
“Nick?”
“Oreo destroyed my apartment today. I’m going to need you to come over and help with this…situation.”
The dog yips in approval, and I shoot her a dark look. How is it possible she knows Scarlett’s name and not her own? At least, I don’t think she knows her name. When I call her, she never comes. Not unless Oreo is followed by the sound of puppy kibble hitting the bowl.
“Hang on.” I can practically hear the smile in Scarlett’s voice. “I’m going to need you to back up. How did you get this number?”
That’s what she wants to know? Not how much damage the Tornado of Terror did? Or maybe how she can help since she foisted the dog on me against my will and this is all her fault?
“I own the company. I have access to all the HR files.” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I realize how they sound.Fucking fuck. “I wouldn’t normally access an employee’s private number, but this is a bit of an emergency.”
She snorts. “A puppy emergency? Now I’ve heard it all.”
Is… Is shemockingme?
“If you’ll just come over, I can—”
“Business hours are eight to five. I’m off the clock.” She sounds damn happy about it, too.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to point out that she’s salaried and can work overtime, but that’s likely to earn me a lecture. And leave me without help.
I close my eyes and tip my head back, channeling whatever meager bit of charm I possess, along with a massive heap of desperation. “Scarlett, I realize it’s after hours, but I would be immensely grateful if you could find the time to come over and help me with Oreo.” I pause, forcing out a breath. “Please.”
“What?” Her volume climbs, like she’s shouting into an echo chamber. “You’re breaking up. I didn’t hear that last bit.”
Bullshit.
She’s fucking with me, and we both know it.
“I said Oreo would like it very much if you would come over and check on her.”
“So it’s Oreo who needs help?” she asks, a teasing lilt to her voice.
“Exactly.” There’s a quiet growl, and I look down to find Oreo locked in an epic battle with a gray bath towel, rolling around like she’s having the time of her life.
Where the hell did she get a towel?
I reach down to confiscate it, but she jerks her head to the right, using her tiny body as leverage. Just as I close my fist around the soft fabric, there’s a loud rip.
I sigh and release my grip. It’s just one towel. Compared to the devastation in the living room, it’s nothing. With any luck, it’ll keep her occupied while I clean up this mess.
“Please?” I ask when Scarlett doesn’t answer.
