folder. “That’s in the contract. My uncle insisted. Probably, in all honesty, because it’s sold out everywhere and he’s sure you’re going to fail.”
A flutter of worry whispers through me, but I shove it aside. I still have a job – with a big fat paycheck. How hard could it be to track down one creepy little singing plastic mannequin? I’ve still got a few weeks until Tamara’s birthday.
“Finally,” Blake says. “We’re hosting our annual charity gala next Friday, and you have to come with me. You are coming as my date, because I need to make it very, very clear to my ex-girlfriend Sloane that she and I are never getting back together. Pick out a dress that’s appropriate for a gala.”
I’ve heard of the Hudson’s Helps Gala. Ten thousand dollars a ticket, and they donate the proceeds to a cluster of charities. My jaw drops. “You want me to be your date?”
Isabella is watching with way too much interest. She cups her hand to her mouth and moves it up and down in a blowjob motion. I evil-eye her. Didn’t she say something about having to get ready for work?
Blake bares his teeth in a shark’s smile. “I’ll try not to make it too painful for you.”
Isabella mimes spanking, with great sweeps of her arm and splayed-out fingers. Oh my God, I am going to murder her. My cheeks blaze with heat, and I clap both my hands over my mouth so I don’t laugh. Blake whirls around to see what I’m looking at, but by the time he’s turned around, she’s chatting animatedly with Edna and Clarita.
He turns back and looks quizzically at me. “You okay there, Little Red Riding Hoodlum?”
“Oh, har de har. Yes, Big Bad Wolf of Wall Street, I’m just ducky.”
I hold up the contract, quickly scanning it. Who am I even kidding? At the salary he’s offering, it could say “Required to give birth to a litter of kittens” and I’d sign.
Which I do. Then I hand it to Henry, who tucks it in his briefcase.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at eight a.m. You did see the part in the contract where if you arrive to work more than five minutes late, you’re fired?”
I manage a pained smile. “Hard to miss.”
I’m going to have to put on my sneakers every morning and set out early enough that I arrive by 7 a.m. I’ll walk rather than take the subway, because with my luck, the subway will break down. I am not giving myself another chance to Winona this. I’ll change into my work shoes when I get there. On the bright side, that will give me time to get a head start on whatever tasks His Dark Majesty piles onto me for the day.
“Aha! I knew there was a dog in this building!” An accusing voice slices through the air. Oh, hell. It’s our landlord, Quinton, barreling through the crowd and pointing triumphantly at Isabella and Xena. Xena, who gets along with everybody, bares her teeth at him and flattens her ears.
Isabella looks at me in alarm. Desperate, I point to Blake. “It’s his. She’s just holding the dog for him. Like someone holding drugs for a dealer, except drugs aren’t legal and dogs are. Anyway, it’s his dog, that’s my point.”
Xena’s fate hangs in the balance. I stare at the most heartless man I’ve ever met and wait for him to drop the axe.
Blake nods at Quinton and manages a pained smile. “Yep. Sure is.”
I let out my breath in a whoosh of relief.
“Yeah, we’re super-close friends,” Isabella says drily. “Like this.” She holds up her hand with two fingers wrapped around each other. “I’m best buds with Blakey-poo here.” Blake’s face twitches at the nickname. “I dogsit for him all the time.”
“Oh, hello, sir, I didn’t notice you here, sorry.” Quinton snaps to attention, and his voice suddenly goes all obsequious. Ha. I knew Blake knew my landlord. Quinton just practically confessed to opening the door for Blake to deliver that stink-pizza to my apartment.
“Take Rover, will you?” Blake says to Henry, who obligingly accepts the leash from Isabella. He walks Xena out of the parking lot, towards the limo that’s double parked and waiting for them at the curb.
“Rover? She’s a girl,” my landlord says suspiciously.
“Why are you checking out his dog’s private parts, you perv?” Isabella demands as Henry climbs into the back of the car.
Quinton’s face flushes a dull red. “I… You…you know this building doesn’t allow dogs!” he