“I managed to get in touch with the owner, yes,” I say coldly. “She’ll come tomorrow morning, but she can’t take him until then because they’re out of town.”
“Damn. They left town without their dog, huh?” Brady’s smile drops.
“Their niece was looking after him, I think. It’s a whole thing.” I wave a hand, because the owners’ situation hardly matters when I just caught him making a big stinking hero spectacle right in front of me.
Calm, calm.
It’s not easy when Blondie sighs. “What’s the problem now? Why are we still here?”
“Nancy, enough.” Brady shoots her an annoyed glance.
“What? She found the person, didn’t she?”
“Theproblemis we don’t have enough kennel space,” I clip, cutting them off before they get into it. I like my toxic relationships to stay on Netflix, thank you very much. “We recently had to downsize, and there just isn’t room for Charlie there. There’s one spare kennel in the observation room. But it’s not the most comfortable place for a dog who isn’t sick.”
Brady scratches the dog’s head idly as he thinks. I watch the movement, knowing I shouldn’t.
His hands are so nice. Neat, but not too sculpted.
He probably climbs with them or something, but there’s a rhythmic quality to his movements. It looks poised and elegant even if it’s just the way he rubs behind Charlie’s ear.
The corgi closes his eyes and leans his head back with a satisfied grumble.
I can relate.
It’s been years since anyone touched me like that.
“Why don’t I take him?” Brady says suddenly.
I look up, annoyed that I do a double take.
“I can look after him for the night and meet you back here tomorrow to hand him off,” he explains.
Blondie—Nancy—makes a noise that can only be disgust.
She’s a charmer, all right. I can totally see why he likes her.
“I have the perfect place for Charlie boy. Here.” He pulls out his phone and scrolls until he stops on a picture of what must be his house.
It’s enormous, of course, and right on Lake Washington. That picture-perfect blue water is a dead giveaway.
There’s even what looks like a mini sculpture park by the water.
Obviously.
What person doesn’t need their own private art walk?
“Plenty of grass,” he continues.
Like I need more convincing.
It’s almost worse than I imagined. The entire property looks like it’s within spitting distance of the billionaire estates perched in the hills. I bet he waves to household names and tech CEOs while their landscapers mow the lawns.
Maybe they get together and talk about tax loopholes and exotic stock options.
Hell, maybe they have cocaine binges on the weekends.
Whatever it is people do when they’re loaded and they don’t have to get up at five every morning just to make rent.
