Chapter I Dog Days （Lena） #3
“Oh shoot.” She speaks to someone else on her end, her voice muffled. “We’d come tonight, but we’re out of town—that’s why my niece was looking after him. And tonight she has a night shift, I’m afraid. Is it possible for you to keep him? Just for tonight?”
Oof.
I really should say no.
We’re a small clinic with limited kennel space. It’s already crowded with our regular dogs, and Keith is running himself ragged. But there’s nowhere else for Charlie to go.
I can’t bring myself to turn her down.
“Can I call you back? I’ll check with the owner and see what I can do,” I say instead. “You said you can grab him tomorrow?”
“Yes, yes, absolutely! Thank you so much.” Her voice breaks. “I wasn’t sure we’d ever see our baby again. Thank you so much.”
“You’re very welcome. I’ll be in touch.”
She thanks me again, and I smile as I end the call.
This is what the job is really all about. Making a difference for the people and pets who need it most.
The right owners—the good ones—they’re always grateful.
As for the bad ones . . . well, I don’t like to think about them. I tell myself there’s a special place in hell with their seat reserved.
I scoop up the card reader as I head back to the exam room. At least they’re paying customers. God knows the clinic needs it with how tight things have been.
“Good news,” I say as I open the door. “We’ve found—”
I stop in my tracks as I see Brady holding up his phone, posing with Charlie, who’s slumped on his side, tired but happy and wagging his tail.
What the hell?
Heat turns my blood into lava.
I should have known.
You go and find an abandoned dog, then bring him in just so you can flaunt your heroics on social media. Because that’s what the world needs right now.
Apparently, all good deeds are transactional for earthworms like Brady McMoneybags.
More rich virtue signalers, measuring their morals in likes.
Oh my God.
Charlie doesn’t even know he’s a prop, of course.
The corgi looks up lovingly and licks his face. Brady laughs, and I have to admit—even though I’m pissed enough to spit nails—it’s a charming laugh.
That doesn’t mean this whole thing isn’t gross.
It gives me massive ick, just watching it unfold.
He’s not a good person. He’s not altruistic or kind or selfless.
He’s one more ginormous prick in a city crawling with them, turning a good deed into a spectacle.
No, it doesn’t matter if he’s built like Hercules with an Instagram filter.
As far as I’m concerned, he’s a first-class asshole.
I have plenty of experience to know. After you’ve dated the king of abusive predators and lived to tell the tale, you don’t forget.
He glances up at me with a small smile like a cobra watching its prey.
“Is it good news, Lena?”
I hate that he knows my name.
I inhale a long, slow breath.
Paying customers.
Paying.
Smile, bat your eyes, and shut it.
There’s no way I can unload on him now, especially if I want to get them out of here ASAP.
“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?”
“The problem is 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.
Another reason to loathe his entitled ass.
Then again, this is the answer I was looking for, even if I hate it. Also, he seems sane, if spoiled rotten, and Charlie likes him.
The stay would save us the headache of finding another kennel to board the dog this late or cooping him up in the sick room.
Whatever.
“Sure. That would save us a lot of trouble, assuming you don’t mind,” I say.
“Not at all. I’m a dog guy,” he announces proudly.
“But it’s clinic protocol to follow up, just to make sure Charlie gets reunited with his owner,” I warn.
He smiles. “I’ll be here bright and early. Just name the time. When do you want me to meet you?”
Oh goodie. An invite to deal with him again.
If he can sense the laser beams of frustration blasting from my eyes, he doesn’t show it.
“Brady, c’mon. Let’s go!” Blondie whines, taking his arm and tugging.
Yes, please leave.
“Awesome. Now we’ll have to cancel the reservation for sure,” she says as he scoops Charlie back into his arms. The dog, exhausted but at ease, just wags his tail a few times and settles in for the ride. “Now you’ll have to take that smelly dog. What will your dad say?”
“He won’t know tonight,” Brady says calmly, giving me a nod as he strides out to the parking lot.
The car waiting for them is a sleek, newish upscale SUV. No surprise.
And obviously an older man in a suit—the driver, I assume—steps out and opens the door for them.
Honestly, I’m surprised they didn’t send the driver to do all their dirty work. Or maybe he’s not authorized to use the prince’s credit card.
No, I doubt that.
Someone like him has at least six credit cards, most with no limit, and he’s not going to get fussy about who uses them for company expenses.
And when you’re rich, everything is a company expense.
Yes, I’m glaring as they leave.
Jealous much? I am.
Like I said, this job is bittersweet.
The animals are awesome about a hundred percent of the time. It’s the people who suck way more often.
But at least we did our duty.
We helped solve one more case of lost paws tonight.
I wish it made me happier.
As I watch the SUV pull away, shaking my head at the way Brady waves through the window, I wonder how long Pawsome Hearts can keep the rescues going.
How long do we have left?