Oliver stirred, stretched, and then realized that he had an audience. He went from slumbering puppy to entertainer in an instant, leaping in circles and barking excitedly.
“Should I take him out of his crate?” Madison asked.
“Please! I have to kiss that little face right now.” Cora saw Madison wrinkle her nose.
“It’s gross, I know, butj’embrasse mon chien sur la bouche!” Cora said, unable to control the stream of French. She often broke into her second language when she was feeling uncomfortable.
“Vous parlez français?” Madison asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, j’essaye de parler français,” Cora replied with false modesty. Her minor in French guaranteed that she did more thantryto speak the language, but it wouldn’t do to brag in front of Madison. “Let’s head outside for a potty break right away since he’s just waking up from a nap.”
“Really? He needs to go out after he wakes up? That’s probably why he pees all the time after I take him out of the crate. I just thought he was mad at me for leaving him in there.”
Cora switched to autopilot and began her standard dissertation about the misunderstood world of canine elimination as they walked Oliver through the kitchen toward the backyard. She surveyed her surroundings while well-rehearsed words tumbled from her mouth. The kitchen was large and formal, painted a warm Tuscan orange, with soft Vermeer light pouring in from the many windows. The giant circular table seated eight, and Cora envisioned the chummy dinner parties Madison probably hosted there.
Madison andwho else? Cora could see rows of silver-framed photographs on the shelf above the fireplace behind the table, but she couldn’t get close enough to them to make out the faces. Was Madison a second wife to some cigar-smoking DC backslapper?
The yard, once they exited through the French doors, was as impressive as the rest of the house, surprisingly large for Georgetown, and ringed on all sides with a tall privet hedge. Cora wondered how the burned-out urine spots to come would go over with Madison.
“Charlie’s on the way,” Madison volunteered. “He called and apologized for being late—he really wants to help with Oliver’s training. I mean, hebetterhelp. Oliver was his idea. I’ve never even had a dog before ... Charlie doesn’t know it, but I’m really more of a cat person.”
“Maybe Oliver will help you be both,” Cora replied, starting to understand the scope of what she would be dealing with. She fretted that she’d eventually have to snake charm the woman into liking her in order for them to successfully complete the program. But for now, she focused on the dog, knowing that a puppy could blur the hard edges of even the most disagreeable clients.
So his name is Charlie.Cora checked Madison’s left hand. Bare. Pretending to be a puppy person to lock down old Charlie?
Oliver stopped jumping on Cora long enough to find just the right spot to pee, and Cora chanted “Hurry up, hurry up,” to him. She turned to Madison. “I like ‘hurry up,’ but do you already have a potty phrase?”
“Awhat?”
Cora started to explain how a simple phrase can become a Pavlovian trigger to get a dog to eliminate but was interrupted by the French doors opening to reveal the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Cora suddenly understood why Madison would lie about being a dog person.
He was Cora’s kryptonite: tall, broad shouldered, with short sandy hair that swooped in a way that looked styled but not fussy. He radiated the kind of kick-in-the-gut good looks that made both womenandmen stare. He wasn’t “pretty” but arresting. Manly, like he’d be at home chopping wood in a flannel shirt, even though he was wearing an expensive-looking suit.
There’s got to be something wrong with him,Cora thought, steeling herself to remain professional.Aside from the fact that he’s dating someone who doesn’t like dogs.
He strode over toward Cora with his hand outstretched. “Hi, you must be Cora. I’m Charlie Gill. Sorry I’m late. Can you believe that I hit traffic at lunchtime?” His ruddy cheeks and quick smile unnerved Cora.
Cora met his grip with a firm handshake and did her best to hide her immediate and unprofessional attraction to her new client.
“Nice to meet you, and I totally understand the traffic. It runs my life—I could tell you stories!” Cora said, smiling her biggest “I’ll blind you with my teeth so you don’t notice that I’m not wearing makeup” smile. She hoped that he hadn’t heard the tremor in her voice or noticed the bright red splotches she could feel blooming on her cheeks.
Oliver rushed over and jumped up on Charlie. “There’s my little guy!” He laughed and leaned over to pet his puppy. Charlie’s voice went up. “Are you the best puppy in the world? Yes you are! Why, yes you are, little Ollie-by-golly!”
“I know this is going to sound totally bitchy, but can we get started?” Madison asked. “I have a one o’clock meeting.”
“Of course! Sorry about that,” Cora replied, embarrassed that she wasn’t more on top of the lesson and avoiding looking directly at Charlie. She usually controlled the progression of the hour with a conductor’s fluidity, but she had a feeling that the Perry-Gill household wasn’t going to be business as usual.
“Let’s start off with some Q and A.”
They headed back inside and settled in the kitchen, Charlie and Madison sitting at the table and Cora taking up her usual position on the floor next to the dog.
“I just have a few questions that’ll help me get to know Oliver better and help me understand what you want from training.”
Cora launched into her standard questionnaire—Where did you get your dog? Who’s your vet? What type of food is your dog eating?—and studied Charlie and Madison as they took turns answering. People revealed more than they realized during that simple twelve-question interview. Cora usually divided her time during Q&A interacting with the dog and gauging the people, so that when they stood up to begin the session she could predict how each party would react. The interview process was a holdover from her project management days, a part of her corporate arsenal that she used to set her apart from her dog training peers.
Madison was the easier to read. She’d almost come out and admitted that she didn’t really like Oliver, and during the interview Cora began to realize just how deep that dislike actually was.
“There’s so much wrong with this dog, right, hon? He’s like, pawtistic I think.” Madison put her hand on Charlie’s thigh and laughed at her own joke. “But we’ve got our very own Doggie Dictator now. There’s a ton of stuff to fix, but that’s why we’re paying you the big bucks!”
