13. Boss Time
BOSS TIME
SAWYER
One hundred and sixty-eight hours. That’s how long I’ve survived working with the stunning redhead who sometimes hates me, usually baits me, and nearly always taunts me.
I deserve a medal for resistance.
But I keep thoughts of Chloe to myself as my running shoes slap the pavement while the sun peeks above the horizon. It’s not like I’m going to gloat about my accomplishment in restraint to my running partner—Banks.
He knows Chloe, after all. He’s with her friend Ripley, so I won’t let on the role his girlfriend’s bestie plays in my late-night thoughts.
Banks and I reconnected when I moved here a few weeks ago. That mostly means trash-talking each other as we work out in the mornings, and today the workout includes a three-mile run, part of my triathlon prep.
I’m a few feet ahead of him and have been for two and a half miles, so I can’t resist goading him. As we pass sleepy homes and birds chirping pretty wake-up songs, I toss out, “Sucks being so out of shape, doesn’t it?”
“Sucks learning you’re about to be schooled, doesn’t it?”
“Unlikely.”
“Bet on it,” Banks says, running faster.
But I keep a fast clip too. “Race you to town.”
“You wish you could keep up.”
For several hundred feet, I stay in front of him, but barely. As we pass a horse farm, where a chestnut beauty munches on grass by the white slats of the fence, Banks closes the distance between us.
Dammit.
A few blocks later, the houses fade, turning into quaint burger shacks and bougie cafés along the outskirts of town, not far from the beach.
“Like I said,” he quips and then hits a stride a few paces in front of me.
My lungs burn, my thighs ache, and sure, he’s a bodyguard for a living, and I’m a businessman.
But like I’d let him win. As we near town, I push myself, my legs eating the pavement until I catch up right as we pass Prohibition Spirit.
The whiskey bar marks the edge of town, and once we’re past it, we turn onto Main Street.
“You were saying?” I ask as I pass him by a second.
“Fuck you,” he calls out. “I said, ‘fuck you.’”
“And I believe that loosely translates to welcome to town,” I deadpan, my chest still on fire as I slow down, having hit the three miles.
Down the block, a few people in aprons set up outdoor tables at Pick Me Up.
Past that, the florist arranges bouquets in front of her shop, setting out gorgeous pink, orange, and white flowers.
I wonder which ones Chloe likes best? She seems like a yellow tulip person.
Or orange. Or, hell, she seems like an all-tulip fan.
At the inn, a couple heads down the steps, a camera slung around her neck, his hand gripping a map as he points farther down the street.
I bet they’re heading to The Slippery Dipper, the lotions and potions shop down the road.
It sports a sign in its front window reading: Yes, that scene was shot here.
“That scene” hails from Someone Else’s Ring, the movie Banks worked security on. That’s how he met Ripley, who was assigned a bodyguard to protect her since her identical twin sister was the lead.
“How are you finding Darling Springs?” he asks me, slowing his pace, too, as we cool down with a walk in the summer-morning air.
That’s a good question. I’m not entirely new to the town.
I’d been to Darling Springs a few times before I moved.
I’ve had business here over the years, stopping by for client meetings now and then, and to see my sister, since she and her husband have a place up here that they use for couples retreats—they’re dating podcasters.
I picked this town for Dog Tails for many reasons—my analysis said it had the clientele to support a bougie dog daycare, and since it’s also close enough to my other locations that I can swing by San Francisco or Lucky Falls once or twice a month to visit the Dog Tails there, and I’ve been to both in the past week.
But the point of hiring good people is that I don’t need to go back to babysit each location.
I also picked Darling Springs because it seemed like the right place for a change for me.
Trouble is I don’t entirely trust my choices these days, so I hedge my bets as I answer with, “I can’t complain. ”
“That’s hardly a ringing endorsement, even from the king of understatements,” he says.
I scratch my beard, weighing the question. I’m not trying to be evasive. It’s just…“I’m someone who takes a while to decide if I like something.”
“Dude, it’s a town,” Banks says, like my reserving judgment is ridiculous.
“Did you fall in love with it right away?” I counter.
“Fair point.” He sighs thoughtfully. “I liked it, but seeing it through Ripley’s eyes over time? That made me fall in love with it. Can’t imagine being anyplace else now.”
Something warms in my chest. Something steady. A sense of rightness—calm even. I want that. I crave that. I’m not there yet though. It’s too soon to fall for anything. But maybe in the near future? “That sounds nice. I’d had enough of the city. It reminded me of…”
I trail off, not sure I want to go there, but Banks waits patiently for me to finish as we walk.
“Of the life I’d planned with Katya,” I say, finishing at last. Better to keep facing it and all.
“I hear ya,” he says with a pensive note in his voice. “Sometimes you just need a place where…nobody knows your story.”
“Exactly. Somewhere that’s a blank slate,” I say, which is why I need to be careful with the next hundred and sixty-eight hours.
And the week after that, and the one after that.
Working with a woman I wanted a second date with—if not right away, then in the future—is tempting as hell for a guy in my situation.
I’ve got a new home, a fresh location for my newest business, and a clean slate in a town where no one sees me as the guy who got screwed over by his bride-to-be.
Darling Springs truly is perfect for that.
There’s so much happening here that my backstory hardly matters.
I’ve got plans for Dog Tails. Meetings with other business owners around here to line up partnerships and events to sponsor.
Not to mention the partnerships I’m overseeing in the other locations too.
That’s why the life I’m building ought to be my focus, not these insistent questions in the back of my mind: What’s Chloe doing? What’s she up to? Does she still hate me?
But I can’t get distracted by her. I need to find my rhythm. I clear my head and turn to Banks. “Let me treat you to a cup of coffee.”
“I won’t say no to that,” he says.
We grab a table outside at Pick Me Up and shoot the breeze.
* * *
The thing about sharing space with someone is…
you can’t help but hear things. Like the commotion among the staff.
They think they’re whispering, but they sound like a Greek chorus—Levi, Zuri, Hazel, and Nisha.
I’m in the office later that morning, crunching first-week sales figures and comparing them to the other locations, when their voices float to my half-open door.
I cock my head at another high-pitched sound. Did someone just shriek?
“Shut up. I love her!” It’s Levi.
“Shut up. She can hear you probably,” Hazel hushes the groomer.
“Shut up, she’s outside,” Levi volleys back to the daycare staffer.
“How about we just behave,” Nisha offers, no-nonsense, as always. “You two are worse than a pair of yappy Pomeranians.”
A louder, authoritative voice chimes in. “Huskies. They’re worse than Huskies. No one whines like a Husky.”
That’s Zuri, but she’s drowned out by Hazel again. “I love Saffron. I just love her so much. She was so good on The Invitation.”
“I know! When she seduced the hotel wellness director on the second night, I died,” Levi says. And hell, he’s right. That was a jaw-dropping twist in the show.
But that’s also my cue to intervene. Those must be Chloe’s new clients they’re talking about, and while I’m not a star gawker, I do know an opportunity when it comes my way.
And the opportunity is simple—we’d better not stare slack-jawed, googly-eyed, and phones at the ready when the high-profile new clients stride in.
Which means it’s boss time.
I push back in my chair, the wheels scraping against the concrete, loud enough for everyone to hear and scatter back to their posts. But even when I leave my office and enter the chaos of the main room, it’s just that—chaos.
An Irish Setter is taunting a Greyhound mix with a rope toy. A Mini Aussie Shepherd is covering up a rubber bone under a dog bed. And a Husky is…well, yammering in the middle of the room.
But that’s nothing compared to my employees.
Who are, unfortunately, staring at the window that leads to the street, where a black SUV—the electric kind made by a Swedish EV maker that’s become all the rage—appears to have just let out two women with glossy hair, big sunglasses, and big smoke-gray dogs.
One wears jeans and the other a sundress, and they’re giggling as they chat with Chloe.
Who’s kneeling and saying hi to the pups.
The actresses are rising stars—Chloe told me their names—but I can’t take my eyes off the redhead and the way she handles both the dogs and the talent. Even from a distance, she’s got both a sense of calm and charm, from her smile to the easy way she has about her.
But…I can’t get distracted either. Tearing my gaze away, I clear my throat and survey the chaos in front of me, focusing on my job, just my job.
“Listen up, team,” I say, my voice loud enough to be heard over my team but not too loud so as to startle the dogs.
It’s enough for the staffers to turn around.
“Every now and then we’ll have a high-profile client.
It’s not our place to take pictures for social media, for friends, or for cred.
Treat them the same as you’d treat any other client—with love for all creatures, and with kindness and compassion.
And respect for privacy.” I gesture to the place—the grooming stations, the daycare, the front counter. “Let’s get back to work.”
Hazel sighs. “Okay, Mister Serious Boss.”
My ears perk. Is that what Chloe called me? Even though I’m not technically her boss.
“Yeah, Grumpster,” Levi adds in a playfully pointed jab.
Nisha shakes her head, standing closer to me. “I’m with the grump. We need to look busy.”
“You need to look busy because it’s your job,” Zuri says, backing me up, but then side-eying me as she adds to the staff while gesturing to me. “But he is all business. I mean, that suit.”
I glance down at my pressed pale-pink shirt—tailored, of course—sage-green tie, and dark slacks. “It’s not a suit,” I say.
She waves an airy hand. “Details. Now don’t worry, Mister Serious Boss. We’ll be good.”
But this is my business and my name, so I hang around by the front counter when Chloe heads into the training nook with the shiny new clients. One of them stops in the doorway, her jaw agape—the one in the sundress. “The color scheme is perfection!”
“It’s so perfect I’m dying,” the one in jeans echoes.
“I’m glad you like it,” Chloe says, then ushers them in.
I’m both a little smug and a little proud. I helped, yes. But she picked the colors. She was right. As she gets to work, I stand at the counter, working on my reports, while trying not to steal glances or listen in. The door to her nook’s ajar though, and my ears are sharp.
“I’m a big believer in positive training,” Chloe says.
“Like the name,” the brunette actress in the sundress says—Saffron, I think. Sundress Saffron.
“Exactly. Dogs do better when they get rewards. If you want to brush their teeth but they’re refusing, you need to set up a reward system. If you want them to stop barking, you can reward them for being quiet. They do much better with treats than negativity.”
“Like men,” the other one chirps—Ava Hartley, I believe. She’s the one wearing the jeans, and her hair’s in a ponytail.
Chloe laughs. “Well, your words, but you might be right.”
“I mean, if I want my boyfriend to get me a cup of coffee, all I have to do is show a bra strap. It’s instant caffeine,” Ponytail says.
Chloe laughs again. “Sounds like you’ll get the hang of this in no time.”
They laugh, then focus on the dogs. But a few minutes later, Sundress Saffron adds, “Oooh, I need to show you my new place. I already rented one in town.”
“Did you hear there was a last-minute casting fallout?” Ponytail puts in. “The woman who was supposed to play the librarian got picked up for a feature.”
It’s all industry gossip until one of the big Mastiffs barks. “This is a perfect chance to work on the bark training like we talked about on our call,” Chloe explains.
While Chloe walks them through a command and reward, I keep my eyes trained on the screen in front of me.
The numbers are telling me that this location is doing better in its first week than others.
Could be because there used to be a daycare here before and the team is strong.
I tune out the session for the most part—it’s best not to really eavesdrop—but then Ponytail’s soprano voice carries bright and loud with, “Oh my god. I have to tell you. My boyfriend—he’s one of the location scouts—told me they can’t do all the interior shots in LA anymore.
The studio they were going to use for the pet supply store burned in the fires and hasn’t been rebuilt yet. ”
That piques my interest.
A lot.
I make a mental note to ask Chloe about it later.
When the session ends, she walks them and the big dogs to the SUV, then returns, beelining to me, eyes wide as saucers.
Slapping her hands on the counter, she looks as if she’s about to burst. “The producers are in town in two days. We need to come up with a plan to pitch the daycare as a location.”
I couldn’t love her scheming more. “And you as the trainer.”
Chloe’s brow knits for a second, like she’s confused, but then she waves a hand, dismissing that confusion, and moves on. “Let’s talk later. Brainstorm and all.”
“I’m in,” I say, then we set a time to scheme seven hours from now.
Which should be great news. Except now I’m not sure what’s more dangerous—sharing space with the woman I can’t stop thinking about…or teaming up with her.