Love, Dogs And Other Catastrophes

Chapter 1

The dog was a cocker spaniel cross with a black, woolly coat and long, droopy ears, and he’d been abandoned. Andrea Ho instantly recognized the signs — the shivering flanks, the frantic look in those eyes, the spittle flying from the panting tongue. As the dog caught sight of her it bared its teeth, then cowered back, tugging on the red leash which was firmly knotted around the handle of the back door to the PetzBizz store.

Hey, fella. Hitching her bag onto her shoulder, Andrea approached the dog slowly. Poor pooch. How long had he been here? Who could have done such a thing? She glanced around the alley that ran down the rear of the row of shops, but there was no one about. The nail salon next to the pet store only opened at ten, and the shop on the other side was vacant. It was eight-thirty in the morning, and she was the first to arrive to open the pet store.

She stretched out a hand to the cocker spaniel. Who’s a good dog, huh?

The dog let out a low-pitched growl that turned into a soft whine. Soulful brown eyes gazed piteously up at her. Aw, who could resist those eyes? She bent down to scratch the animal between the ears, taking the opportunity to examine the dog more closely. A boy, about two years old, and fairly well nourished, though the coat could do with some combing.

She kept up a constant patter of soothing words as she stroked his head and searched for identification, but there was no nametag. Whoever had left him here didn’t want to be contacted. Damn it, why had they dumped the poor thing in a back alley? Why hadn’t they at least dropped him off at an animal rescue shelter? Some people were the pits.

Indignation rose in her as she fought with the knot, trying to untie the leash from the door handle. The cocker spaniel seemed to sense her ire. He leaped up at her, pawing and yipping and jerking, his eyes rolling with anxiety.

Ouch. Her fingernail snagged in the leash just as she managed to undo the knot. Instinctively, she let go and sucked on her finger. The leash slipped from the door handle, and the cocker spaniel broke free. He skittered about, a whirling mass of black fur, barking furiously before he hurtled off down the alley … and collided smack-bang into a pair of long legs clad in gray trousers.

What the hell — The man lifted his arms, bracing himself, but it wasn’t enough to stop the coffee in his hand from spilling out, a curl of dark espresso splashing across the white shirt beneath his business jacket.

Oh God, no. Andrea’s hand flew to her mouth as she took in the man’s dumbfounded expression. Not Joel Winslow. But the cocker spaniel wasn’t done yet. He ran around Joel, still barking madly, and as Joel took a menacing step toward him the trailing leash wrapped itself around those immaculate gray trousers.

Stop that, Joel growled, but it was too late. Down he went in a flurry of coffee and windmilling arms, his laptop messenger bag tumbling across the alley.

Goddamnit! Furious green eyes zeroed in on her.

Andrea stood frozen in horror. Of all the people to tangle with, it had to be Joel Winslow, AKA the Terminator in Andrea’s head. He’d arrived at the pet store two weeks ago with little warning. He worked for Winslow Capital, the major investor in the PetzBizz chain, and ostensibly his brief was to get the company back on a firm financial footing. But everyone at the pet store knew he was there to decide who and what got the chop. As a casual who only worked three days a week at the store, Andrea was sure her name was at the top of his list, but all the employees were anxious about their jobs.

Joel Winslow looked every inch the Terminator; six feet tall, lean, muscular, and sleek. He had one of those strongly sculpted Nordic faces, severely handsome and serious, steel-rimmed spectacles framing clever green eyes, his wide, full-lipped mouth seldom curving into a smile. He was fastidious about his appearance, too, always immaculate in suit and tie, shoes polished, cufflinks straight, shirt pressed, dark blond hair trimmed and obedient.

But now … now, the Terminator was flat on his ass in a dirty alley with coffee soaking through his shirt, a leash tangled around his legs, and a rambunctious dog going crazy at him. Andrea’s lips twitched, despite herself. Oh, this wasn’t funny at all. Nope, not a bit. Her lips trembled again. Yes, it was, actually. For the first time the Terminator looked human, even though it was a very pissed-off human.

A bubble of laughter rose in her throat. She pressed her fingers to her lips, trying to suppress it.

"Andrea, are you going to just stand there? Joel snapped at her. Get this damn mongrel off me."

She darted forward and tried to grab hold of the dog, but he was over-excited and jumped away from her, right onto Joel’s chest.

Oh … Andrea murmured as she saw the muddy paw prints further desecrating Joel’s once-pristine shirt.

For Chrissakes. Joel clamped his fingers around the dog’s collar, and instantly the pooch cringed and whimpered.

You’re scaring him.

Just take your damned dog, then.

She wrapped her arms around the cocker spaniel and gently drew him away, slowly unraveling the leash from Joel’s legs. When the leash was free, she wound it several times around her hand to make sure the dog couldn’t wreak more havoc on Joel. If he did, she wasn’t sure Joel wouldn’t kill him.

With a disgusted grunt, Joel sprang to his feet, raising his arms as he surveyed the damage. His trousers were creased and liberally caked with dirt, his shirt and tie were a wreck from the coffee and mud, and his hands were filthy. But not quite as filthy as the glare he turned on her.

Another bubble of laughter rose in her throat. This time, she couldn’t swallow it down. A muffled chuckle escaped her lips.

The green-eyed glare turned frosty. Are you laughing at me?

I’m s-sorry, she stuttered as more mirth escaped her like leaking gas. I don’t mean to b-but if you could s-see yourself — She couldn’t help it. A full-on chortle shook her, and for several seconds she was helpless.

Joel turned away to pick up his fallen laptop bag. He dusted it off, then motioned to the cocker spaniel.

I know this is a pet store, but it’s not appropriate to bring your dog to work, especially one as misbehaved as yours.

His cold tone killed any lingering amusement. It’s not my dog, she said. I found him here when I came to open up. Some jerk abandoned him. Just tied him up and left him here for God knows how long. He could have been here for hours.

Joel’s eyebrows rose. An abandoned dog? You’d better take him to the nearest animal shelter, then.

Is that all you’ve got to say? Take him to an animal shelter? He’s not a wrecked car, he’s a living, breathing creature. Can’t you see how flipped out he is?

Joel plucked at his stained, damp shirt. Yeah. He flipped out all over me, remember?

He’s going through one of the most distressing episodes of his life, and all you’re worried about is your shirt?

He straightened his glasses and gazed at Andrea as if seeing her in a whole new light. She wasn’t sure she liked it.

It’s my favorite shirt, he said.

"That’s your favorite shirt? How can you tell, when it’s identical to all your other white shirts?"

He blinked at her. Are you keeping tabs on my shirts?

Instant warmth spotted her cheeks. Had she been noticing what the Terminator wore each day without even realizing it? We-ell, he was a snappy dresser, even if he was an accountant. Oh God, she had been checking him out. How embarrassing.

She flicked back her hair. Not really, she airily replied. I was just curious to see if you only wore white shirts. He didn’t. Sometimes he wore pale blue or light gray or a washed eau de nil one with tiny, almost imperceptible stripes. That last was her favorite. Wait a minute, she had a favorite?

Joel was looking at her like she’d lost her mind. If she hadn’t been numero uno on his hit list before, she had to be now. He motioned at the back door. Mind opening up so I can go inside and clean myself up?

She was so confused, what with the dog and Joel’s shirts, that it took her a while to find her keys and open the door. The cocker spaniel hung back, clearly reluctant to enter the strange environment, even though he must have caught whiffs of the dog food inside.

You go ahead, she said to Joel. I’ll have to coax this fella in.

Joel pressed his lips together, looking like he was going to lecture her again, but then he shook his head and went into the store.

Andrea bent down to the cocker spaniel. It’s okay, she murmured. The big, angry man has gone now.

She’d thought only the dog could hear her, but Joel halted in mid-stride and threw a sardonic glance at her over his shoulder. Oops, busted. He really was an expert at that cutting glare, she thought. Must stand him in good stead in his job.

With a sigh, she entered the store and flicked on a few lights. This was the first PetzBizz store that Nora and Eric Bauer had opened, fifteen years ago. It was in a good location in Newton, the surrounding affluent suburbs filled with people happy to spend on their pets. The Bauers had expanded, and now had a total of eight pet stores across the greater Boston metro area, but the tanking economy, coupled with a disastrous expansion plan had set the dominos falling, and with the bank restricting their credit, the Bauers had found Winslow Capital suddenly very concerned about their investment.

Andrea had been working part-time at PetzBizz for two years now. Initially, it was just a job to pay the rent while she worked on her novel, but now Nora and Eric treated her like their own daughter, and she was fully invested in both the business and the people who relied on it. And not just the people, but the animals, too. PetzBizz didn’t sell pets anymore, but customers often brought their pets to the store, and they were as integral to the business as their owners.

The cocker spaniel clung to Andrea’s heels as she made her way around the store. After the commotion he’d caused outside, he was very subdued now. Poor darling. He didn’t know what was happening to him. Everything must be so terrifying and confusing. He reminded her of Milo, with his liquid brown eyes and the way he shadowed her. She hadn’t seen Milo for two years. Maybe he thought she’d abandoned him, too, whereas in fact it had been Roger who’d told her she couldn’t see Milo anymore. Fair enough, she supposed, seeing as Milo was his dog and they’d broken up. But it didn’t stop her from missing Milo.

She took the cocker spaniel to the kitchen at the rear of the store and filled a bowl with water. The dog lapped at it eagerly, his tail drooping between his legs.

Are you going to keep it? Joel’s voice from the door startled her.

She spun round to see him walking in. He’d taken off his jacket and tie, and was busy unbuttoning his shirt.

She felt her eyes widening. Uh … excuse me?

The stray. You’re thinking of keeping it, aren’t you? He undid the last button and shrugged off his shirt.

Holy moly, the Terminator had a very fine torso. Broad shoulders, well-defined muscles, a deep chest smooth except for a fine sprinkling of hair that grew in a line down his flat, hard belly, disappearing beneath the waistband of his hip-hugging pants. A sudden urge to trace her fingertip down that line of hair took hold of her. The acute longing startled her. Goodness me, what was going on here? Surely she couldn’t be attracted to the Terminator?

He was saying something to her, but she only caught the last part. …at least get it checked out.

Belatedly, she realized her mouth was hanging open and shut it quick-smart. Sorry, what?

He looked a little exasperated. The dog might be microchipped. The owners might be looking for it.

Oh, yes, she slowly replied, feeling unusually stupid. I’ll do that. She couldn’t stand here inches from his washboard abs without saying something. She flapped her fingers at him. Why are you stripping off in the kitchen?

I want to get some of the dirt out of my shirt. He moved to the sink and flicked on the tap. As he rubbed at his shirt, the play of his biceps was so mesmerizing Andrea had to tear her gaze away.

I can’t keep him anyway, she said, keen to distract herself from Joel’s disturbing physique. I share an apartment, my landlord doesn’t allow pets, and my roommate isn’t keen on them. And besides, she could barely keep herself clothed, fed, and housed, let alone a canine.

Yeah? He shot her a curious glance. I thought for sure you’d have a dog, a cat, two guinea pigs, and a tank full of goldfish.

He’d actually thought about her as more than just an annoying employee? The flattered feeling she got was disturbing.

One day I’ll have all that. She picked up a bag of dry dog food and poured a small quantity into a bowl. When I win the lottery or my novel is published and I’m living high on the hog on my royalties. She spoke flippantly, driven by some strange impulse stirred up by the sight of his divinely beautiful torso.

Joel frowned. You’re a writer?

Yes, as it so happens, I am. Seeing his thinned lips, she regretted being so open with him. These days, talking about her writing invariably put her on the defensive. She couldn’t help it; years of copping her parents’ dismay, concern, and outright disapproval had made her sensitive to the slightest nuance of skepticism in a person’s reaction.

What have you published?

"I’ve had a few short stories published in magazines. One in the New England Review." But that had been back in college, when spare time wasn’t the luxury it was now.

And your novel?

I’m in the middle of revisions. She lifted her chin. I have an agent. She couldn’t help a touch of pride creeping into her voice. Harriet Bloomberg was the literary agent every author wanted, and she’d chosen Andrea. Of course, there was a reason she was so sought after — she was tough on her writers and demanded the very best from them. She’d sent Andrea’s novel back with a fifty-page critique, which Andrea was to address before Ms Bloomberg would even think of sending the manuscript out to editors. The rewrite was taking longer than Andrea had expected — working to pay for food, rent, and utilities had a way of sucking a lot of her energy — but she only needed a couple more months to finish it.

Right, an agent. Joel didn’t look too impressed. In fact, he looked downright skeptical, which only made the fact she couldn’t stop ogling his bare chest more irritating.

As he held up his damp shirt for inspection, she allowed her gaze to wander over the clean lines of his arms. What would it feel like to have those strong arms wrapped around her? Did he have a girlfriend? He didn’t have a wedding ring, and he was the type of man to wear one if he were married. He was a Boston blue blood after all. The Winslows were old money. His family had been part of the establishment for generations, quietly accumulating money, property, and influence. A man from that background would wear a wedding ring.

So she was pretty sure there was no Mrs. Terminator, but a girlfriend, yes, highly likely. He might be a hard-assed accountant who didn’t like dogs, but he was still hot, the hottest guy she’d come across in a long time, and he wouldn’t need to try very hard to hook a girl. He looked like he went for the tall, cool, blonde New England type — the exact opposite of her, in fact, which probably accounted for the friction between them.

You can use the doggie hairdryer on that, she said as he continued to frown at his shirt. She hauled out the pet dryer from under the sink and handed it to him.

Thanks. He seemed surprised at her helpfulness. I’ll finish this upstairs in the office. He turned to go but then paused, his glance moving from the dryer in his hands to the dog food she’d poured out. I notice a lot of stock gets used for personal reasons. Is that the norm around here?

Andrea gaped at him. What? Here she was being helpful and all he could think about was keeping tabs on inventory? A smart-ass retort rose to her lips but she bit it off