At least her voice no longer shook.
As much.
“How has Puddin’ and Duchess’s newfound fame affected Barkingham Palace?” asked the reporter, who was much shorter in person than he looked on TV.
“It’s been amazing. We’ve been getting calls from people from all over the country wanting to board their dogs,” Ashanti said. “I wish we could take them all, but there’s only so much room here at the daycare.”
Kara stood a few feet behind and to the right of the cameraman. She was making a motion for Ashanti to smile.
Ashanti was going to strangle her once this interview was over.
The segment producer had called just before six this morning to tell her that the reporter was being pulled off herstory to cover a fire near the industrial canal, but that they would try to fit her in during the noon broadcast. So not only had she suffered through wearing makeup all morning, but she now had to live up to her bargain with Thad, even though it would have been just fine if he had brought Puddin’ at his normal time.
He had been here at five thirty, just as she’d asked. And looking way too good in worn jeans and a fitted T-shirt for such an obscene time of the morning. He’d looked like someone who’d gotten ten hours of sleep followed by a facial. It was unfair.
“I read in your LinkedIn profile that you attended vet school at LSU,” the reporter asked. “How did you go from wanting to be a veterinarian to running a doggy daycare?”
First, she had forgotten all about that LinkedIn profile. And second, rude.
It was a legitimate question, but the way he framed it made it seem as if she should feel ashamed. As if she had settled. Or, worse, that she couldn’t cut it. Neither was true. Well, not entirely true.
“I went through a major life event that compelled me to change course.” Ashanti hunched her shoulders and dialed up her smile. Kara gave her a thumbs-up. “It was just one of the curveballs that life tends to throw at you. But I’ve always prided myself on being nimble.”
“It seems you turned that curveball into a home run,” the reporter said.
Goodness, where was a bottle of Mylanta when she needed one?
The reporter turned his $20,000 smile back to the camera and wrapped up the segment with a reminder that BarkinghamPalace had a waitlist. He told viewers they would share the local boutiques that sold Duchess Delights on the station’s website, then threw it back to the anchors at the news desk.
“That’s a wrap,” he told the cameraman. He turned to Ashanti and stuck out his hand. “My producer apologizes again for this morning.”
“I get it,” Ashanti said. “Remember what I said about being nimble?”
He made pistol fingers at her and she legit thought she would barf. What a cheeseball.
“Good job,” Kara said.
“What are you doing here?” Ashanti asked, shrugging out of the cardigan she’d worn over her Barkingham Palace long-sleeved T-shirt. She thought it would dress it up a bit, make her more presentable. She should have stuck with only the T-shirt.
“Did you honestly think I would miss your big television debut?” Kara asked.
“If I get called down to that school because of your skipping, there will be hell to pay, Kara.”
“But I’m skipping with permission this time. Mrs. Calloway knows I’m here. I told her you needed moral support because you tend to get nervous when you talk about yourself. I was right.”
“I wasn’t nervous,” Ashanti lied.
“Of course you were.” Kara waved her off. “By the way, Mrs. Calloway wants to know if you have any treats she can buy for her Yorkie because she can’t find them anywhere. I told her I would bring her one. On the house.”
“So now you’re bargaining with your teachers to get time away from class?”
“I’m a businesswoman,” Kara said. She pinched Ashanti’s cheek. “I learned from the best.”
“Get back to school. You’re not allowed to skip another day for the rest of the semester,” Ashanti said. “If you do, I’m turning you in to the front office myself.”
“You’ll lose cool points.”
“I don’t care about cool points.”
