splutters. He shoots me an angry look. “And I know she’s your dog. I don’t know what you two girls are up to, but I’m not going to lose my job over some mutt.” He stomps off, muttering to himself.
I wait until he’s gone before I turn back to Blake. “Come back in half an hour with Xena, and we’ll smuggle her in through the back door.”
Blake pulls a cell phone from his pocket and hands it to me. “I will be calling you in half an hour on the dot to return your dog. This is your work phone – again. You need to have this phone with you 24/7. And you need to answer within five rings when I call. It’s in your contract. Violate the contract, your job goes bye-bye. Any questions?”
Is Blakedroid powered by batteries, or is it fueled entirely by spite and bile?
“I take your baffled silence as a no?” he says impatiently.
My roiling emotions swell up inside me. I shouldn’t push my luck, shouldn’t ask questions, but when have I ever taken the sensible course?
“I’m just trying to understand you. You’re giving me whiplash. I mean, you practically bit Thérèse’s head off for hiring me, then you invited me to have lunch with you that same day, then you fired me. Now you’re hiring me back, and acting like you want to fire me again at the same time. But you covered for me with the landlord just now.”
His dark brows draw together. He’s even handsome when he scowls. There’s something scary-sexy about it.
There’s also something wrong with me. “Scary-sexy”? Who thinks like that?
“I invited you to lunch because I was already in the cafeteria and I thought I’d make an attempt to be civil. And I fired you because you’re a walking vortex of chaos.”
“Oh, whatever,” I snap, stung. “I’ve been called worse things by better people.” I turn to flounce off.
Of course, he has to ruin my dramatic exit.
“Winona?” he calls out.
“Yes?” I pause and twist around.
“Don’t make me regret this any more than I already am.”
Chapter Fourteen
Blake
“Tell me where the paintings are,” I say to my sister in a low voice that’s meant to be threatening. I throw in a scary scowl.
The lunchtime din of Norfolk’s buzzes in the background. We’re waiting to be seated for lunch. Tamara is wearing headphones, listening to a story on her tablet with a frown of intense concentration. The Sunni Sunni Rangers are rescuing a puppy or something.
Alice smiles back at me blithely, unafraid.
I short-sheeted her bed last night. I snuck plastic spiders into her coffee at breakfast this morning and put chili powder in her pancakes. She just won’t break.
She pretends to zip her lips shut and throw away the key.
“Come on!” I growl. This is getting annoying. “They’re my actual property, Alice.”
She shrugs. “The house is half mine. The paintings are half mine. Would you like half of each painting back? And should I cut them vertically or horizontally?”
“I think you know the answer to that question. It involves four-letter words that I don’t want to say in case Tamara is secretly listening to us.” I glance at Tamara, who’s glowering at the screen, muttering encouragement to the rangers.
“Nothing would surprise me. My child’s an evil genius. And I’ll only tell you where they are if you promise not to put them back in the dining room.”
“Nope,” I say stubbornly.
Before I can argue any more, Winona rushes into the foyer, out of breath and two minutes late. I hold up my wrist, glance at my watch, and tap it meaningfully. She ignores me and waves her thanks at the maître d’ who just ushered her in, and he beams back at her like he just received benediction from the Pope.
Winona is a human dopamine shot. She’s funny and cheerful, and something about being in her presence just makes people smile. Even Thérèse, who should have been horrified by how badly Winona made a mess of things her first day, adores her. She sent me an email asking how long it would be until they could get Winona back. Her warmth draws people like a campfire on a cool fall night.
And for the good of the company, I am going to force her to quit.
And I am not going to feel bad about it.
“Alice! Tamara! I’m so happy to see you again.” Winona beams at them. Her smile vanishes as she looks at me. “Blake.” Her voice goes flatter than a week-old balloon. “Here