28. Dirty Deeds #3
Especially since my jealousy fades away. I don’t feel it anymore. The man came for me. I’m jealous of no one, even as I try to fight the attraction.
I swear I try.
But I’m not doing a good job of it at all.
* * *
A little later, Jubilee arrives. I do a double take from my spot at the edge of the dog park. With my brow knitting, I stare at her little furry legs. “Is she wearing…booties?” I whisper to Poorna.
The director takes a beat, studying the little lady on her leash, her elegant handler—Corinne Madison Pavlov, with her lush hair and big sunglasses and fabulous floral top—holding it as the star struts toward the dog park like she’s on a runway.
She has the shoes for it too. Jubilee’s wearing pink booties on all four paws.
“I think she is,” Poorna whispers back.
“Probably doesn’t want to get her paws dirty.”
“If I had paws like that, I wouldn’t want to get them dirty either.”
“You. Me. Same,” I say.
Poorna waggles her chipped fuchsia nails. “Someday I’ll have nails as nice as Jubilee’s. If I can just squeeze in a mani.”
“I know a great salon in town. They’re fast and good,” I say, eager to solve her problem. “Daisy’s Nails.”
She hums approvingly. “Thanks. I might see if I can get in later today. Jubilee is inspiring me.”
“I might need to shampoo more regularly thanks to her,” I say, admiring the dog’s fluffy coat, and Poorna laughs.
When it fades, she clears her throat and whispers, “Hey, I know I said Sawyer’s dishy and all, but I got the sense this morning that…”
My face flames. If it’s obvious to her, is it obvious to the whole staff at Dog Tails? Especially with everyone asking if there’s a vibe between us? I keep my mouth firmly shut, waiting for her to say more.
She gestures to me, then finishes with, “He has eyes for you.”
My cheeks heat more. I’m really not sure what to say. “Does he?” I ask evasively.
She bumps her shoulder to mine. “Girl, if he doesn’t, I’ll eat my shoes.”
I laugh, but I also feel a little foolish that I let jealousy get the better of me earlier, even in my head. Poorna’s a woman’s woman, and I appreciate that. “We’ll see. A workplace romance isn’t the best idea,” I say.
“Right. No. Of course not. We only have an entire show with workplace romances in it,” she says, then winks before she turns her attention back to Jubilee.
The world’s cutest dog has reached the gate of the dog park, and her handler scoops her up now, then sets her down in—is that a pouch in her top?
“Holy shit. She has a pouch for the dog,” I say.
“It’s good to be the star.”
“You’re telling me.”
I can’t wait to tell the Dog Tails crew about the booties and the pouch.
They’ll eat this up. My fingers itch to reach for my phone and snap a shot of Jubilee to take back to the staff.
They’d love it. I glance around. I could do it.
But I stop myself. This job matters too much to snap a sneaky photo.
I focus on the assignment, working with the dog extras so they can make the little lady shine. When Ava arrives next, along with Veronica—who’s here for her cameo—I round up my pack of pooches and get them in position.
Good thing, since out of the corner of my eye, I spot Hallie. The dog trainer I’d thought was getting the gig. Her gray hair is cinched back in a tight bun, and she’s hanging on the outskirts of the dog park, watching the shoot. A ripple of tension spreads down my back.
Has she been here all day? Did she happen to stroll by? No idea, but I’d better not get distracted by that either. I landed the gig. Now I’ve got to keep earning it every single day.
When the next scene is shot, Hallie’s gone. Good. I head over to Poorna and tap her on the shoulder.
“Yes, love?”
“I texted Daisy. She has an opening this evening. It’s on me.”
“You’re a doll,” she says with a warm smile. “I’ll take it.”
“Oh, and I did some research and found a Pakistani place in Lucky Falls. They deliver, and their reviews are amazing. And there’s an English pub in Happy Lake that has great fish and chips.”
“Double doll.”
That’s me.
* * *
When the shoot ends later that day, I spot August again. Maybe he never left, or maybe he came back. Either way, he’s lurking at the edge of the dog park, perhaps looking for an in.
Captain and the other extras—who performed like perfect pooches—are blowing off some steam post-shoot. My guy races around the park, scampering through a puddle from a spot of brief afternoon rain, then flying through it once more as he and his friends chase tennis balls.
I’ve always been the impulsive one among my friends.
Like I was the night I married August on a dare a few years ago.
Once again, impulse grips me. When Captain sprints by the next time, I catch his attention and pat my thigh, a signal for him to stop.
I’m several feet from Captain, but I point in the direction of my ex’s back a couple feet away, and I give my dog a hand signal, wiggling my palm back and forth like a seesaw.
Captain understands. He shakes his whole big furry body, sending mud and rainwater all over my ex.
“Good boy,” I say as Captain covers August in mud.
I guess revenge is a dish best served dirty.