Grumplestilskin was quick in his Tom Fords. He dove headfirst under the table and came out with a wiggling, barking ball of fluff. “Gotcha.” The sausage bundle bit down on his fingers. “Hey!”
“Easy there, Grumpy. You don’t want to make things worse.”
“How could things possibly get worse? These nuisances are recking havoc in my lobby.” Probably responding to his tone, the dog growled at him—and he actually growled back.
“The onlythingcurrently making a fuss inyourlobby is you,” I pointed out. “Maybe if you were less shouty, the dogs wouldn’t have freaked out like that.”
“And if they weren’t off leash, I wouldn’t have had a reason to shout in the first place,” he snapped back.
The dog managed to squirm out of his hands, jumping down to the floor where it scurried away. The grouch glared after him until I started laughing—and then he turned the glare on me.
“Did you hit your head or something?” he growled. “Gordon!”
A flustered young man in uniform appeared. “I’m … I’m not sure where she is. I’m sorry, sir. Uh… do you need some help?”
Shouty Pants grumbled and I could feel the vibration down to my toes. “No, Gordon, I normally hang out in the lobby chasing menaces. Of all the idiotic questions. Of course I need help. You can start by finding that insufferable woman and telling her to come get her dogs before I open the main doors and let them run out into traffic!”
“Right away, sir.”
I snorted as Gordon ran off, probably more intent on getting as far away from Mr. Grumpy as possible.
“I suppose you think this is funny?” he demanded, and I couldn’t help it. I laughed harder.
“Yep, I think it’s hilarious. You should take this act on tour.” I held my hands up like I was envisioning a marquee. “The Scowl that Scared the West: terrifying small animals and children at a theater near you.” I noted that the dogs had retreated to a spot under a table, popping out long enough to take everything in or look for an exit route or whatever it was that little dogs did when faced with horrible humans.
“I’ll have you know that I’m great with people,” he said. The increase in whimpering near our feet had me looking down at a trio of sad faces. They looked as if they were finished with their shenanigans, at least for the moment. “Everyone loves me!” he said with a growl and the dogs retreated back under the table.
“Clearly not everyone.” I gestured toward the table, and I swear that steam was now coming out of his ears.
“They’re not paying guests,” he spat out through clenched teeth. “And their owner won’t be staying here for much longer either.”
Well, shit.
“Boys,” a thin voice rang through the lobby, echoing off of the walls. “Oh, boys! Where are you?”
I spied an adorable white haired woman fully tricked out in Chanel, from her black banded straw hat to her square heeled pumps. She toddled towards Sir Grumps-a-lot and I braced for impact.
“Mrs. Barclay, I need to speak to you.” Grumpy sounded like a customer service agent at the end of a very long shift.
“Of course, sweetheart. I see you’ve found my boys!”
“Yes, Ifoundthem,” he seethed. “When they tripped me and that woman over there.”
That woman. The words were neutral but somehow he made them sound like an insult.
“Mrs. Barclay, we’ve been patient with you,” he continued. “I cannot have your dogs running around like this. They’re out of control. You need to find other accommodations for them if you intend to stay with us.”
The woman’s face fell. “Oh no … you can’t be serious? The boys and I love it here. It’s our home away from home.”
I might have to concede that Mr. Grumpy had a point, because some people were afraid of dogs. Even little barky, naughty hot dog dogs. But for my part, I needed this woman to remain happy. My meeting with her and her granddaughter wouldnotgo well if she thought I’d stood by and let her and the sausage trio get the boot.
I spied my phone, face down behind a chair where it slid after I tumbled. I should’ve grabbed it and walked out the door right away, leaving him to sort this out. But it was too late now. She’d seen me, which meant I was involved whether I wanted to be or not. And I couldn’t risk her getting too upset.
“Clearly, since you act like you’re the only one here, and that’s unacceptable,” he shot back at her.
Ouch, dude. This is such a bad idea!I was envisioning the blowback when someone posted a video on social media of Tall, Dark and Shouty bullying a little old lady half his size.
Mrs. Barclay straightened up and threw her shoulders back. The move shaved a few years from her form. Suddenly, her sweet, clueless expression shifted to queenly. Demanding, even. “I’m sorry, but do you remember who I am?”
