by Koko Brown
“You better make that backhand you bragged about happen. We’re still on for Table Top?” Keith looked at him expectantly.
Without contemplating the consequences of office fraternization to his reputation, Patrick confirmed their bro date, “Thursday, right?” At Keith’s nod, he continued, “don’t come empty handed. I’m expecting you to put your money where your mouth is.”
“I’m bringing coins, Daddy Warbucks. Remember, I’m slumming it in finance.”
“Maybe you should switch sides. The grass is greener.”
“Come over to the dark side?” Keith snorted. “Not in a million years.”
Patrick didn’t blame him. His personality didn’t suit the backstabbing, cutthroat atmosphere running rampant through Acquisitions.
Speaking of making things happen….
Why was he dragging his feet on Shoshana Haufman? Like corporate takeovers, he saw a woman he made his move. A lingering look, a half-cocked smile, and the feminine sex became putty in his hand. Miss Haufman had been no different. Only she hadn’t come begging him for seconds. And it perplexed him to an undue degree.
An avowed bachelor with more notches on his bedpost than most trees, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d pursued a woman. Once contact information was exchanged, they made sure they got caught. They rearranged their schedules, freeing up time to be with him. He ran into a few of them in the most unlikely places. One even bribed his condo’s former doorman to tip her off regarding his comings and goings.
All too common, he’d come to expect the one or two delusional lover. He handled them in stride by shutting down all communication. No last goodbyes or coming to pick up one’s things. It only bought him another four weeks of unwanted attention.
Chuckling, Patrick stroked his hand across his jaw. There was something to be said about getting a dose of your own medicine. It could be a bitter pill to swallow--one on which he was practically floundering. Suddenly reminded of his father’s constant dithering and cowardice, Patrick’s smile slowly faded.
“Vanessa, how about you go on ahead.” He pulled out his cell as they stepped off the elevator. “I need to make a phone call.”
“Want me to meet you in the conference room?”
“That would be great,” he said while scrolling through his contacts. “I’ll be right there as soon as I take care of this.”
Patrick watched his assistant slip into their office. A moment later she emerged with several manila folders and a steno pad. He waited for her to disappear down the hall before he hit send.
“Haufman Clothiers,” an older woman answered much too soon on the other end, “How may I help you?”
“Shoshana Haufman.”
“May I ask whose calling?”
“Patrick Kelly. I’m one of her clients,” he said somewhat rankled that he was one of many. After today hopefully, that would change.
“Hold please.”
In the pregnant pause, Patrick shoved his free hand in his pocket and started to pace. He hadn’t thought this through. He could pretend to be calling about his suit. That would be the most rational thing to do but it wouldn’t get him anywhere. He could express his obvious displeasure in not hearing from her since their last meeting then suggest a way she could make it up to him by having drinks and dinner.
“And how are you, Mr. Kelly?”
Patrick frowned. “Shoshana?”
The slightly masculine voice chuckled. “Nope. This is her assistant, Tyson. What a pleasant surprise that you called.”
Impatient and not in the mood for small talk, Patrick cut to the chase, “Is Miss Haufman around.”
“She is…”
Patrick felt the hackles on the back of his neck stand up. Was she fencing her calls? Mood soured because she was doing him like he’d done so many others, he gritted out, “Can I speak with her?”
“Can you hold, please?”
Another lengthy pause. Only a second or so, but to Patrick, it stretched on far too long as he strained to piece together a muffled conversation between Tyson and someone else. His thoughts ran away from him, lingering on images of her talking about him like he tended to do with his assistant whenever one of his numerous lovers tried to get past her to him. In an even darker mood, his hand strangled the phone.
“Mr. Kelly?”
Patrick cursed his racing heart. “I’m here,” he exhaled in a rush. He’d been foolishly holding his breath in anticipation.
Pussy.
“I’m sorry. Miss Haufman’s unable to come to the phone. Maybe I can help—”
“You can’t.” Rude? Yes. Did he give a fuck? No. Feeling like he’d been kicked in the gut, he pocketed his cell then stalked to his meeting with R.W.
Thirty minutes earlier
“Here’s your ten o’clock with a double shot of espresso.”
“Give me…give me.” Opening and closing her hands like a hungry toddler, Shoshana welcomed her mid-morning refill. “Coffee should be reclassified as the sixth food group.”
“Amen to the nth power,” Tyson agreed, tipping his monogrammed thermos to his lips. Her compadre in coffee addiction, he matched her cup for cup. It contributed to his ability to multitask better than most people breathed. Like how he’d turned his attention from the coffee in his left hand to the baby blue clipboard in the right. He bounced it a couple of times flipping the pages as they walked.
“The spring samples arrived last night. Have time to take a look?”
“Did you throw out the ones sent by the Diamonds?” After her last clusterfuck with them, she couldn’t afford to make the same mistake twice.
Tyson made a sucking sound with his front teeth. “I personally trashed the Blunder Twins’ fuckery. They didn’t even make it to the work floor. I also called them up and told them to remove us from their distribution list.”
Shoshana held her fist up and he bumped it. “You just earned yourself an end-of-the-year bonus.”
“A-a-a bonus?” He stammered. “Those are always reserved for production.”
“You produced today, didn’t you? Possibly saved us a few thousand dollars.”
“Put that way,” he looked heavenward with a euphoric expression, “Papa wants a pair of Prada slip-ons!”
“Boy you look like you’ve already started your weekend,” Flo mumbled around a mouth of stick pins.
Shoshana eyed the crisp navy pinstripe covering her head seamstresses’ worktable. Unable to resist, the feel of fabric pushed just as many buttons as a well-dressed man—particularly one who stood over six feet with brilliant baby blues and salt and pepper gray hair—she fingered the cloth.
“Stop molesting my work.” Flo slapped her hand away. “Father like daughter, I see. I couldn’t keep his paws off my draping and you’re—”
Flo suddenly leaned over, craning her neck. “Isn’t that your fur baby,” she nodded toward the aisle.
Stomach tying in knots, Shoshana whirled around. Sure enough, Gryff coasted up the aisle headed toward the door.
“Gryff,” she barked, hurrying behind him and wondering how he’d escaped their apartment. “Gryffindor if you don’t come back here right now.”
Hearing his full name, the ten-year-old miniature schnauzer hesitated. Tongue wagging out of his mouth, he turned slightly enough to keep both her and the door in his sight of vision.
“Hey, boss lady,” From the safety of his perch overlooking the work floor, Joe wiggled the phone receiver at her. “You got a call. Says, it’s a Patrick Kelly.”
Shoshana’s breath caught as memories of their last meeting flooded her brain.
“Why are you just standing here?” Tyson gushed. “Your man is on the phone.”
“He’s not my man.” Deep down, she secretly wished it otherwise. Patrick Kelly had a way with his fingers even a nun would forsake her habit.
“He’s something, Miss Thing. You forget I had to clean up the tea room afterward,” he leaned in close, “It smelled like expensive cologne and hot se�
��”
“—shhhh!”
Cheeks hot with embarrassment, Shoshana glanced at Flo. Head bowed and hands moving, the expert seamstress appeared to be minding her own business, but she knew better. Not wanting to allow a brief lapse in judgment blossom into workplace rumors, she decided to kill three birds with one stone.
She turned back to Tyson. “Take the call. Mr. Kelly’s calling about his suit.”
“I’m on it.” He acquiesced far too easily, and the twinkle in his blue eyes before he sauntered away only confirmed he’d simply humored her. She’d deal with him later. She had a different kind of problem—a seventeen pound one--on her hands.
Things somewhat handled, Shoshana sidled down the aisle careful not to make any sudden moves. “Come. Here. Now,” she ordered, reminding the miniature schnauzer of her alpha status.
Finding her approach amusing, Gryff’s salt and pepper muzzle twitched.
“When I get a hold of you,” she edged closer, “I’m going to wipe away that smirk.”
“I hate to interrupt you while you’re so busy, Miss Haufman, but Mr. Kelly wants to only speak with you.” Tyson’s overly formal tone and emphasis on so busy, Miss Haufman, and Mr. Kelly pulled her attention away from Gryff. At least he remembered his manners and held the receiver against his chest.
“My hands are kind of full right now.”
“What do you want me to tell him?”
“Tell him what you tell all our customers when I’m busy,” she instructed as if to a child. When he hesitated, she blurted, “Take a message.”
“M’kay.”
This time Shoshana found it hard to turn her back on Patrick Kelly. Strangely, she even felt guilty. But why? She didn’t owe him anything. They’d had sex but that didn’t mean he had a hold on her or her on him. Plus, Patrick Kelly didn’t fit into her nice orderly life. Things were chaotic enough as it was without adding a romantic entanglement to it.
“That boy is messy,” Flo mumbled as she slipped stick pins between her lips. “I have no clue why you put up with him.”
For one, the twerp aided and abetted her obsessive compulsive behavior. And two, he aided and abetted her obsessive compulsive behavior.
In surprisingly short order, Tyson ended his phone call with Patrick then rejoined her. “That was quick.”
“I wasn’t the one Mr. Kelly wanted to speak with, so he gave me a one-way ticket to Dial Tone City.”
“How rude.” Add one more reason not to pursue anything more with Patrick Kelly. If she didn’t fall in line or make herself readily available he pitched a freakin’ tantrum. Sure, a part of her wanted to call him back giggle over the things they did but then that meant their liaison meant something more.
“Guess he thought I was cock blocking him.” Tyson followed her gaze. “How did little man get down here?”
Shoshana glanced over her shoulder at Flo. “Can you go up and check on my father?”
“Sure thing, honey.”
Although he was her dog, Shoshana never allowed him on the factory floor. A four-legged, small animal underfoot would only result in a slew of worker’s compensation claims. On top of that, she’d have to keep a vigilant eye on him since an open door tended to be an open invitation to freedom.
“Gryffie,” Tyson blew kisses at the dog, earning himself an upturned snout.
“Why you apple-headed, little sh—”
“Crap!”
Raul, one of her sample makers, stood on the other side of the glass door. Cigarette in hand, he was probably coming back from a smoking break. He took one final drag before slipping the butt into a wall-mounted receptacle by the door.
Shoshana calculated the time it would take to scoop up Gryff before Rupert punched in the door’s security code. Not enough, she deduced.
She placed her hands on her knees, changing her tactic. “Want a Chewy, Gryff?” The minty toothbrush-shaped dog treats proved to be right up there with open doors on his list of favorite things.
To her relief, he faced her, his docked tail wagging frantically. “Yeah that’s your kryptonite isn’t it?” She waved her hand in front of her, pretending to possess one of the snacks.
She edged toward him while her gaze crept to the door opening behind him.
“Come on over here and get it.”
To her dismay, he planted himself into downward dog.
“When I get my hands on you,” she threw him a phony smile, her voice dripped with honey, “You’re gonna—”
“Que paso, perrito,” Raul gushed in the doorway.
It only took a split second. Her dog spun about and shot through Raul’s bowed legs.
“Gryff!”
“I’m so sorry,” Raul lamented when she pushed past him.
“No worries,” she flung over her shoulder. And yet, deep down, she didn’t mean it. Her dog was on the run in the biggest and busiest city in the world. Heart racing, she caught sight of a familiar ball of fur bolting up the sidewalk. He expertly weaved in and out of foot traffic, heading straight for the intersection.
In hot pursuit, her gaze flew to the crossing signal on the opposite corner. “Nononono!” The light would change in t-minus sixteen seconds.
“Gryff,” she yelled. He must have sensed the urgency in her tone. He slowed his pace from an all-out trot to look back at her. Panting, mouth open, he slowly ambled backward.
Despite her three and a half inch heels, she’d caught up to him. Just a few more steps and she’d have the four-legged demon in her arms.
Unwilling to give up on freedom so soon, he suddenly whirled around. A flash of his padded paws, he launched into oncoming traffic.
“Gryff!”
She stepped off the curb, meaning to go after him. The angry bleat of a car horn made her jump back. Frantic, she watched Gryff get swallowed up by dented car fenders and dirty bumpers. She heard the sudden screech of tires and her heart tumbled to her feet.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Shoshana ran into the street. She sidestepped a laundry truck. She dodged an Uber driver. She even avoided a bicycle messenger. But her good fortune didn’t extend to Gryff. Eyes closed, he lay prone on the sidewalk.
“Oh, Gryff.” Tears stinging the corners of her eyes, Shoshana dropped to her knees. He was so still.
“I saw him.” The driver stood half in and out her car, her tightly curly red hair floating around her head in an afro. “I even hit the brakes. I’m so sorry. I got a couple of dogs at home.”
“It’s okay. At least you tried.”
Hands shaking, Shoshana reached out and touched his tiny body.
“Is he okay?”
How did you take a dog’s pulse? “I-I don’t know.” Why’d this have to happen to her baby?
“You two done holding your wake?” some greasy bohunk driving a taxi bellowed. “Move the fuckin’ cah!”
“Go around, you asshole,” the woman countered. And then to her in much less tone, “Can I give you a ride to the doctor, honey?”
Numb, Shoshana ran her fingers through Gryff’s wiry fur and marveled at the warmth. “That’s okay. His vet is just a few blocks up the street. I’ll take him.”
The woman hesitated a moment, then climbed back into her car. “Again, I’m sorry.”
Loathe to move him, yet knowing she couldn’t let him suffer, Shoshana slid her hands underneath him. The yelp he let out had to be the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard.
“Shhh…it’s going to be okay,” she murmured against his leather collar. Careful not to do too much damage, she cradled him with one hand beneath his belly, the other supporting his neck and head. “We’re going to get you patched up. Just you hold on, you little monster.”
The way to Dr. Diaz’s office would take her back past the factory. Wanting to affect a brave front, she lifted her chin and batted back a melee of unshed tears. The way was slow going—a crawl compared to their mad dash—and with each step, she cooed words of encouragement.
Halfway up the block, Tyson inte
rcepted her. “How bad is it?”
One simple question, nothing more, and her well-erected world crumbled around her. “I-I don’t know,” she stammered. She turned her head, batting back tears. “I’m on my way to Dr. Diaz to get him checked out or…or…put him to sleep.”
“Oh, no you don’t!” Tyson wrapped an arm around her waist as they walked. “Stop with the negative thoughts. Your little man is going to be okay and be a pain in our asses another day.”
In the face of the present circumstances, his words did the trick and Shoshana smiled.
“That’s more like it,” he said, rubbing her arm. “Want me to come?”
Not used to leaning on someone else. Forever carrying the weight on her shoulders, she took longer than usual to answer. “I’d appreciate that.”
They walked a bit more then Shoshana hesitated. Most of the staff had their noses crushed up against the glass. Raul still stood in the doorway. She couldn’t fault him but she wasn’t quite ready to face him either. Not with Gryff lying helpless in her arms.
“Do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Pop in and give everyone an update. I’m going to keep going.”
“Done and done,” he acquiesced. “The peanut gallery would only slow you down with silly questions. I’ll catch up. ”
***
Eyes constantly going to the door, Shoshana paced in the small space.
“Maybe you should sit down?” Tyson patted the seat beside him. “Wearing the floors down to the studs isn’t going to bring the doctor in any sooner.”
Shoshana took his advice. More so because her head had started to spin. “I’m sorry.”
“And stop saying you’re sorry. None of this is your fault. Your father on the other hand—”
Dr. Diaz entered the examination room with a flurry of squeaking sneakers and a white lab coat. “Do you want the good news first or the bad?” she announced.
Shoshana stopped chewing at her ruined manicure. “Good news first.”
Dr. Diaz placed her doctor’s chart on the metal examination table then removed her red glasses. “Gryff sustained a broken hind leg. He’ll need a couple of pins and he’ll have to wear a cast for about twelve weeks.”
