Chapter 14
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
I take Rufus for a run after lunch, resenting Drew Forbes with every breath in and out, even though my body thrills from the cardio.
The dog seems just as into it, matching my pace easily, panting in a more athletic and less frantic way.
We don’t see any surly dog trainers lurking behind trees, and that’s just as well.
I didn’t get much sleep. If I spotted him today, I’m not sure I could land a roundhouse kick to the chest the way I’d like.
As we make our way from the elevator to my apartment door, both of us exhausted to the point we may have actually reached calm, my phone pings with a remote meeting invite from Randall. It starts in five minutes.
I curse out loud, trying to figure out what to do.
Ask for vacation time starting immediately?
I doubt I could get family leave approved to take care of an animal, even if I asked a month ahead of time.
Instead, I rush into my bathroom to check my sweaty hair and face, and pull a CU sweatshirt over my grubby tank top.
The Mile High Observer office tends to be more casual, but after four days at home and the first real sprints I’ve done in a week, my look is definitely more sweaty than glowy.
I splash water on my face, smooth my ponytail, and then brush my teeth—if only for mental preparation. When I log into the meeting, I flip on the studio filter and smile when Randall appears on the screen.
“Caprice! You’re looking healthier than I expected.”
Crap. I tried too hard.
“Yeah, I’m . . . feeling much better finally, thank you. Been a rough week.”
Randall’s sitting in his office at our building on South Broadway.
He’s wearing a white shirt that matches his goatee and accentuates the glare of lights off his pale forehead.
He eyeballs the screen, speaking in his slow drawl.
“Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You get a stomach bug, or what? ”
I turn to the side, conjuring up a cough, trying to buy myself a moment.
It was dumb to say I was sick. I’ve stayed on top of every one of the assignment desk emails as long as they didn’t require I go anywhere or talk to anyone in person.
I probably should’ve passed off more stuff to Jana, but my work ethic is too strong.
“Uh, no, not sure what it was. But I’m feeling better now, thanks.”
“Good. I’m bringing the team together tomorrow to discuss some of the spring features, and I’m hoping you’ll join us. Last we talked, you sounded pretty excited about that lead you were pursuing. Is that still in the works?”
I open my mouth, trying to figure out how to answer. I’m almost finished writing the Vanderpool feature. It would be ready in time for our next print issue. But I’m still not sure if publishing it will be an excellent career move or the biggest mistake of my life.
“Look, Randall, I’ve been . . .” Behind me, Rufus starts up a mid-level whine, and I glare at him. He can’t do this to me right now. We literally just came back from a run.
“What’s that?” My editor peers more closely at the screen. I have my background blurred, but I’m sure the noise is coming through crystal clear.
“Um, well, it’s—” Suddenly, Rufus thrusts his nose into my lap and looks right at the camera. I rear back in my chair. “What are you doing?”
Randall’s brow furrows at the black and gold monster suddenly occupying my lap. Rufus just stares up at me like his head is too heavy to move. I shove his nose off my thighs.
“Caprice?”
“Okay!” I cross my arms, letting out a deep sigh, positive my job is now on the line. What have I got to lose? “Randall, if you want the truth, I have a situation I’m trying to deal with.”
He tents his fingers over his desk as if he’s been waiting for us to get here. Dammit.
“It’s a long story, and I won’t bore you with the details.” Rufus is back to pacing and whining. I close my eyes. “I inherited . . . a dog. A really high-maintenance one. I know this is stupid, but I haven’t been coming in because I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with him.”
Randall’s bushy white eyebrows shoot up like this is the last thing he expected me to say. Which makes two of us.
“A dog?”
“Yeah . . .” I sink in my chair. Generally, our office is a pretty low-key place to work. People come and go during the day depending on what they’re working on, but there’s still a level of professionalism I know I’m not achieving right now. I watch my boss and start mentally updating my resumé.
But then the edge of Randall’s mouth quirks. “What kind?”
“Beg your pardon?”
“What breed is he?”
“Oh.” Rufus has climbed back up on top of his carcass throne, but he jumps back down and approaches like he knows he’s the topic of conversation. “Uh, a Belgian Malinois?”
“Cool! Like the police use? Can I see him?”
“Um . . . sure?” I reach to unblur my screen and glare at Rufus. “My boss wants to see you.”
And now I’m clearly losing it because I’m speaking to him the way Lydia does. Except the dog comes over and sits in front of the computer like he understands. He waits patiently as I angle the camera down, staring at the screen like Randall might reach through and offer him a treat.
God, who even cares at this point? At least he stopped whining.
“Oh, you are a handsome fella, aren’t you?” Randall says in the same voice I’ve heard every single one of Lydia’s clients use to speak to their pets. “What’s his name?”
“Rufus,” I mutter, wondering if I should just let the two of them finish this meeting.
“Hello, Rufus! Are you a good boy?” Randall chuckles.
I angle the screen back up at my face. “Anyway. I’m sorry I’ve been out this week,” I say with complete sincerity. “I just haven’t been able to . . .” I exhale. “He kind of freaks out if I leave him home alone.”
“Ah. Separation anxiety?” Randall asks. Because I guess this is a thing dog people know about. “We went through that with our whoodle.”
“Your what?” I deadpan.
“You’ve met Alfonse. He’s a wheaten-poodle mix?”
Somewhere in the foggy recesses of my brain, I remember Randall bringing a black medium-sized dog with him to the office a year or so back.
I only remember because our receptionist Tracy cooed over him all day, forgot to make the coffee, and managed to lose track of an important delivery I’d been waiting for.
“Right. Yeah, Alfonse.”
“He goes to doggie daycare now. Actually, I think you mentioned the place in your PetExpo feature—The Pooch Park? It’s fantastic. They’ve really saved us.”
I rub my palms into my eyes, wishing I could just hang up now. “Yeah . . . I talked to them. Apparently Rufus has some issues he needs to work through before they’ll take him.”
Randall nods, like this makes so much sense. And now I’m convinced everyone else must share some gene I’m missing. “I mean, when we were going through it with Alphonse, I brought him to work with me for a while . . .”
His voice echoes through the speakers. I couldn’t have heard that correctly.
“Sorry. Did you just suggest I bring the dog with me to the office?”
Randall shrugs. “Is he friendly?”
“Er, he seems to be . . . ?” Briefly, an image of Rufus tearing across my apartment, aiming for my neighbor’s jugular, flashes through my mind.
But in the days since that happened, Darius has stopped to get Rufus kisses every time he’s seen us in the hall.
The dog has barely even growled, except at the training place when that fluffy white terror lunged for him.
Well, and any time he hears people in the hall.
I glance at the door, my stomach twisting uncomfortably.
“I tell you what,” Randall says, leaning forward at his desk. “Let’s make a deal.”
My skin prickles. I do not like the sound of this, though I’ve already guessed where it’s going.
“You can bring Rufus into the office tomorrow, and we’ll see how it goes . . . if you’ll bring me up to speed right now on what you’re doing with that Unmatched lead.”
I swallow, clicking over to the document I’ve been working on the last few days.
The one that’s been shaping all week into a first-rate exposé.
“I can do you one better, Randall,” I say in a husky voice.
“Hang up with me right now, and I’ll come in tomorrow morning with both the dog and a finished story you’re going to want to put on the cover next week. ”