the sleeves? What if she said yes? What if, assuming Hazel was in good health and spirits and no worse for the wear, that he could make this crazy idea work?
“Nope,” he said aloud, scoffing at himself. “Don’t be an idiot, Sheffington.”
Baxter rolled onto his back.
Max obliged his silent request for a belly rub. “But . . . she cared enough about you to go the extra mile to find you, right? And seems like severely and overly concerned about what you’re eating, which means she wouldn’t feed Hazel cat food. And really, we’re talking only three days. Not a month or a lifetime.” He rose to his feet. “What’s the worst that could happen? The worst that could happen is that she would say no.”
Baxter, sensing the personal attention had come to an end, waddled back to the couch. “You didn’t answer the question,” Max said.
Seriously, if she said no, he’d go with plan B, which was Alanna. He was leaving tomorrow—there was no time to get him into a kennel, assuming there was any room at the inn. Neither idea was great, but plan B was the worse option.
He was about fifty percent certain.
Four
It was true that Carly was in a foul mood when she’d arrived at Tobias Sheffington’s doorstep. But who wouldn’t be after going through what she’d gone through to find her dog, all the while experiencing how incredibly uncomfortable a true Victor Allen design could be.
Not to mention humiliating.
She’d discovered that when she’d stopped off at a Wag-a-Bag for some mints and couldn’t grasp her wallet from her purse while several construction workers stood impatiently behind her until one of them tossed a couple of dollars onto the counter. And if that wasn’t enough, she’d been so stressed today that she hadn’t been able to think of a single thing to tweet, Instagram, or post on Facebook, which was essential when one was in the business of publicity. She was desperate for content, but she would not post a picture of herself in this . . . this thing.
She was going to have to rethink her strategy of wearing Victor’s designs.
Nevertheless, she could have been nicer to Mr. Tobias Sheffington. With a name like that, she’d been expecting a senior citizen in a bow tie, and she’d been taken aback to find such a young man at the door. She certainly hadn’t expected him to be hot, either. He was tall and muscular, like a baseball player. And he had these lovely gray eyes framed with very dark lashes.
And then again, that physique might have all been an optical illusion, because the man was swimming in so much denim. A denim collared shirt over a white T-shirt over denim jeans. He was dressed like he was going to have to excuse himself so he could step out back and quickly chop some wood before they discussed the dog issue. Carly could picture Victor holding out the edges of that denim shirt and shaking his head as he worked out what he could possibly do with the look.
But the other thing that set her off was that when she understood Tobias Sheffington was not a doddering retiree but a living, breathing handsome man presumably with all his faculties, she couldn’t believe he hadn’t had Baxter’s chip scanned. It was like chapter one in her dog manual. Responsible Pet Ownership.
Okay, well, maybe she could apologize to him when she returned Bubbles to him. And then again, maybe not. Megan said she shouldn’t be apologizing all the time. Women say “I’m sorry” far too often. Men never say it.
She pulled into the parking lot at the Umlauf Sculpture Garden and went in search of Phil and his bridesmaids. She had agreed to let him take Bubbles because she’d had to find Baxter.
She found them soon enough, and discovered she wasn’t nearly as confused about the overuse of denim on Max Sheffington as she was about discovering Phil had dressed Bubbles in a glittery white tutu. “Why?” Carly asked, gesturing to the offending garment.
“One could ask the same of you,” he said, giving her the once-over.
“Okay, fair question, but I have a client who asks me to wear these things, remember? What’s your excuse?”
“Also a client.” With a sharp jerk of his head, Phil indicated a bride and twelve bridesmaids gathered around a sculpture of a man and woman kissing. The bridesmaids wore identical white crop pants and black T-shirts that said Bride Tribe in cursive. The bride wore