room. He squinted at the screen and said, “Oh,” as if he hadn’t known who it was. “Hi, Carly.” He leaned closer, squinting. “Oh, wow . . . has something happened?”
“Oh,” she said, nodding hard, “something has happened.” She pointed the phone at the fish oil catastrophe, and then to her ruined shoe, then turned the phone back to her. “Did you see it?”
“See what?”
“The fish oil! The dog barf!” she exclaimed, gesturing to the mess on the floor, probably with a hand he could not see.
“The what?”
“Those two ate an entire bottle of fish oil supplements! And not the cheap kind, the good kind! And then Baxter barfed on one of my Jimmy Choos!”
“Okay,” he said slowly, like he thought he was going to have to call security from a thousand miles away. “Are you okay?”
She blinked. She glanced down at herself, and the old, oversized T-shirt that had belonged to a boyfriend. At the thick tangle of hair draped over one eye. “Are you . . . are you judging the way I look right now?”
“No,” he said, rather unconvincingly. “But you look . . . different.”
“Well maybe it’s because those beasts give me like one inch of my very own bed, like I’m supposed to get any sleep like that. And they had fish oil on their paws and my bedspread is . . . What are you looking at?”
Max was looking over his shoulder. “Umm . . .” He turned back. “Is there something I can do for you from here? Someone you need me to call, or . . .”
Or what. That’s what he was wondering—or what. Either he’d forgotten that he’d told her to call him, or he never meant it. “Nope. Nothing. Just thought you’d like to see how it’s going with this giant favor I am doing for you that you said would be a piece of cake.”
“I’m sorry. It definitely looks like you have your hands full.” He glanced over his shoulder again. “I will replace anything you’ve lost, and I hate to do this, but I’ve really got to go.”
He was in an awfully big hurry. Antsy, really. Wait a minute . . . Did he have a woman in there? Had he given her some sad story about his brother so he could actually go off with a woman? For heaven’s sake, was she that gullible? “What’s going on?” she demanded.
“What, here? Just getting ready to go to the dog show,” he said. “Would you mind if I call you back?”
She was such an idiot. Of course that was what he was doing. “Fine. Whatever,” she said. “Go and have a grand time.” She clicked off in a huff and looked down at the mess again. She couldn’t believe that jackass, off on some romantic weekend with a woman while she dog-sat. She was so stupid sometimes.
This was her fault, really—she’d forgotten the fish oil was on the edge of her dresser. She’d been so tired lately, so scattered. It was one thing to be busy, but add money worries to it, and things like where she put the fish oil were the first to fly out of her head.
She had to throw her shoes out—they were ruined—and clean up the mess. She was washing up the last of the oil when someone pounded on her front door. She sat back on her heels and looked at the clock. It was ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. Who was it? No one should pound on anyone’s door at ten on a Saturday unless the plague and locusts were coming through the neighborhood.
One of the dogs gave a half-assed bark. They were exhausted, too.
Carly hopped up, pulled on some shorts under the T-shirt she’d slept in, and hurried down the hall to the door, pausing only to cast a withering look at Baxter and Hazel, who’d made themselves at home on the couch, their crimes apparently forgotten, and clearly not inclined this morning to ward off intruders.
She carried on to the door and peered out the peephole.
Victor was standing on her porch, his head down, one hand braced against the jamb. He lifted his hand, apparently to bang again. Carly opened the door before he could. He took a step back. His gaze flicked the full length of her. “Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “Didn’t know you had this side to you. Did you go out last night? Tie one on?”
“Ha ha, Victor. It’s Saturday morning. I wasn’t expecting