“We’ll take him,” Priya said solemnly. “We’ll treat him better than some of our senior managers treat us.”
“Which is to say, we’ll remember his name,” Tom added.
Alyssa had a sneaking feeling the “senior management” knewevery singlename in the accounting department. They were more than likely treated alotbetter than most departments.
Bug wagged his tail, as if he’d just closed a multi-million pound deal. Or at least secured a reliable source of sandwich crusts.
As Alyssa left the break room, Bug in tow, she felt a small glow of satisfaction. Maybe this partnership was working better than she’d thought. Maybe the dogs were doing exactly what they were meant to do: reminding people that work was just work, and that sometimes the most important thing was a moment of uncomplicated joy.
But her satisfaction was short-lived. Bug had apparently decided that today was the day for maximum chaos. As they passed the marketing department on the fifteenth floor, he spotted something through the glass wall and froze, ears perked like satellite dishes receiving a transmission from the Dog Star.
“Bug, no. We need to—”
Too late. Bug launched himself at the glass, barking frantically at a poster of a German Shepherd advertising Crawford’s premium dog food line. The poster dog lookedimpossibly glossy and professional, the kind of dog that had never eaten its own sick or rolled in something unspeakable.
“Bug! That’s not a real dog! It’s been Photoshopped to within an inch of its life!”
Several marketing employees looked up from their desks, some amused, others wearing the expression of people who’d been in back-to-back meetings since dawn and were no longer entirely sure what reality was.
A woman in a sharp blazer that probably cost more than Alyssa’s monthly grocery budget approached, her heels clicking with the authority of someone who’d survived at least three corporate restructures.
“Is he okay?” she asked, not unkindly.
“He’s fine. Just…passionate about advertising, apparently.” Alyssa tugged Bug away from the poster. “Sorry for the disruption. I’m sure you were all doing very important…marketing things.”
The woman laughed, a genuine sound that seemed to surprise even her. “Don’t be. This is the most entertainment we’ve had all week. Last excitement was when someone used the wrong font in a presentation. There were tears. I’m Claudia, by the way. Legal, technically, but I wander.”
“Alyssa. Four Paws. Also a wanderer, but usually with more purpose.”
“Oh! You’re the one who brought all the dogs.” Claudia’s expression shifted to something more conspiratorial, the look of someone about to share classified information. “Everyone’s been talking about you.”
Alyssa winced. “I’m guessing not all positive?”
“Mixed reviews. The dog people love you. The people who think animals belong in fields and not near their ergonomic keyboards are less enthusiastic.” Claudia glanced around, thenlowered her voice. “I heard you had a bit of a run-in with the top floor this morning.”
Alyssa felt her face heat. “Word travels fast.”
“This is a corporate office. Gossip is our primary form of communication. That and passive-aggressive emails.” Claudia leaned in. “For what it’s worth, the general consensus is that you weren’t entirely wrong. Things have been…tense since the transition.”
She didn’t elaborate, but Alyssa caught the subtext. New leadership. Old expectations. The kind of pressure that turned reasonable people into walking stress fractures.
“Are you heading up to apologize?” Claudia asked.
“That obvious?”
“The fact that you’re dragging a reluctant dog toward the executive elevator is a bit of a giveaway. Also, you have that look. Like you’re about to walk into a performance review you know won’t go well.”
Alyssa laughed despite herself. “Any advice?”
Claudia considered. “Be direct. Don’t grovel. And maybe lead with the dog. Hard to stay angry at someone holding a Cocker Spaniel.” She paused. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”
As Claudia walked away, Alyssa felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She’d faced down angry donors, hostile board members, and once, a particularly aggressive goose that had taken up residence at the sanctuary. But somehow, the thought of facing Evelyn Crawford again made her more nervous than all of those combined.
Bug, apparently sensing her anxiety, had decided he’d had enough. He planted his bottom firmly on the floor and refused to move, his expression suggesting he’d found this spot perfectly acceptable for the foreseeable future.
“Bug, come on. We need to do this.”
Bug looked at her with those soulful brown eyes and yawned, a performance of indifference that would have impressed a teenager.
