full-time position with a firm. Unfortunately, temporary clients willing to take her on between jobs were not the kind to spend a lot of money, and life had become a struggle. Carly knew that Phil felt sorry for her, so borrowing another page from Big Girl Panties, she had used that to her advantage and had asked him for a huge favor.
How the hell had she gotten her days mixed up? How could it be Tuesday? She thought it was Monday. Where did Monday go? How did a person forget a Monday . . . unless, maybe, you were working every day, including weekends. The last time she and Lydia spoke, Lydia had insisted Carly was the one with the scheduling problem. “You work all the time,” she’d complained.
Wait—Tuesday was also the day her dog walker took Baxter on his walk. “You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered as the imposter dog padded out of the kitchen, water dripping from her jowls and leaving a trail across Carly’s hardwood floors.
She texted Phil back, said she’d see him at the studio at five, which was impossible, then squatted down and started shoving things back into her tote bag. She had schedules to keep. Deadlines to meet. These photos of a young fashion designer’s collection were going to Ramona McNeil, the influential creative director at Couture magazine. Couture was one of the premier fashion magazines in the country, and it was the holy grail for someone like her client Victor Allen.
It was the holy grail for her, too. Carly currently had two applications submitted for vacant positions at the magazine. One, in marketing and publicity. One, in the creative department. In the meantime, she’d worked her ass off to get Victor noticed, and considered it a feather in her cap that she’d succeeded.
Carly needed these photos and she was not going to be derailed by an imposter dog. She shoved her bag onto her shoulder and ran down the hall to find the dog, grabbing a leash off a peg in the entry on her way.
She found the basset hound in the bathroom with one of Carly’s very expensive shoes between her paws. Carly cried out with alarm. She dove for the shoe as the dog’s tail wagged. “Are you crazy? You must have a death wish,” she said, and tossed the shoe onto her bathroom counter. “Come on. You’re riding along. I obviously can’t leave you here alone and, by the way, you owe me a couch pillow,” she said as she hooked up the leash on the dog’s collar. “An expensive couch pillow, too, because I bought that one when I had a job.” She rubbed the dog’s head and caressed its back a moment. “We have to get out of here before you eat my house.”
The dog responded with excited tail wagging as she trotted alongside Carly on their way down the hall. “If you’re wondering who is responsible for this disaster? It’s Brant, your former dog walker.” She opened her front door. “Just so you know, he’s a dead man walking, so FYI, you may not be romping around Lady Bird Lake next week. He’s dead just as soon as I get Baxter back.” The dog gazed up at her with adoration. “No offense, Bubbles.”
Judging by the wag of her tail, it didn’t appear that any offense was taken.
* * *
On the way to the studio, Carly cautioned Little Miss Sunshine in the back seat to be on her best behavior when they arrived. Her client, the youthful and phenomenal fashion designer Victor Allen, was doing some different and colorful things with his hair these days and, on occasion, he appeared to be dressed for Halloween.
“So no barking,” Carly said. “I have only two clients and I can’t afford to lose either of them. Got it?” She looked in the rearview mirror, but all she could see was the back half of the dog and that furiously wagging tail. Bubbles had her head out the window.
“Victor is going to be huge in the fashion world if I can get him through the New Designer Showcase without killing him. And, yes, that is why I am wearing this mess,” she said as they inched across town in heavy traffic. “Don’t judge.”
Bubbles surged forward to lick her face. “Yeah, okay,” Carly said. She pushed the dog back before she wiped her cheek of her slobbery kiss. “I still can’t believe this happened, can you? I mean, having the