Luxe Glamour (The Glamour Series Book 5)

by Maggie Marr

  “The reason is because it’s always the problem child that needs the rehabilitation.”

  “It was that way in our family, too.” Angie pulled two plates from the cupboard beside the stove and rolled toward the table.

  “I did my rehab. Three times. I finally got it right. Now look where we are.”

  Angie glanced around her two-bedroom ranch-style home. “The highlife.” A smile cut across her face. While it wouldn’t work for a lot of people—living out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of furry-footed critters that needed forever homes—after all we’d gone through together it worked for us.

  “So you’re on board?” I sliced the bread. “It’s a yes from you? Because I can’t do this if you’re not on board. There are going to be cameras and possibly press and questions and—” My hand gripped the wooden handle tighter and I sucked in a deep breath. Questions. So many questions that I’d dodged and avoided and, after a while, everyone seemed to lose interest. But now? If we sought out the public, if we had a show that focused on our lives here, wouldn’t we have to answer questions? I searched Angie’s face. She’d rolled over from the table and was now beside me.

  “We got this.” Angie grasped my hand.

  I understood needing to be forgiven. I understood accidentally hurting someone when you didn’t mean to. My eyes glanced over her legs. Legs that couldn’t move, hadn’t moved in years.

  How did Angie do this every day? How had she forgiven me? I was asking her to go back into that world. The world of cameras. A world that I hadn’t been equipped to manage back when I was in it. I was bringing the fame and the attention into the sanctuary we’d created. A tiny place in the world where we could live, and help creatures and humans, and do our part to help the world. Now I was talking about including a semi-crazy, damaged woman into this special place? What the hell was I thinking?

  “We can do this.” Angie said.

  The anxiety sat in my stomach like a loaded trip wire. I wasn’t so certain, but I forced a smile onto my face. I’d asked Angie for the yes. She was the voice of reason, had always been the voice of reason, so if Angie said all was good then I had to believe her. She rolled backward and took down two water glasses from the cabinet.

  “She gets to shovel shit for the first week, though.” Angie’s eyebrow lifted. “And scrub kennels. Then, maybe I’ll think about forgiving her for the cripple comment.”

  A supermodel shoveling shit and scrubbing dog kennels? I pressed the garlic under the flat of the knife blade. Yeah, Angie knew just how to put people where they needed to be. She’d saved my ass and I didn’t doubt that she could save Sophia’s, too. “Sounds more than fair to me.”

  Chapter 9

  Sophia

  How did people allow these beasts into their homes? The bitter smell of dog pee had seeped into my pores and no matter how hard I scrubbed my skin each night I couldn’t get this stink out. I wheeled my bright yellow bucket across the cement and through the metal gate of kennel number two, across the hall and into kennel number three. Wretched. I finally understood what that word meant. Ack. The dog poop was cleaned out of all four kennels. I’d scooped the poop before mopping. The routine was scoop, scrub, and then spray. Disgusting. Every bit of this “job” I’d been assigned when I’d arrived at Pawtown was utterly disgusting.

  I dropped the mop into the graying water. My throat tightened. Oh, that smell. Wet dog mixed with the ammonia of pee. My nose crinkled. My gag reflex had been on overdrive since I arrived. I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth. Strands of hair fell out of my bun and a cold drop of sweat trickled between my shoulder blades.

  I hadn’t eaten since I’d arrived at Pawtown. My appetite had remained in Los Angeles. I could be thankful for that; I would still be model-size when I went back to work. If I went back to work. If there was work for me to go back to. My numbers were horrid. My approval rating was in the tank. There were absolutely no offers for any work.

  This was the worst experience of my life. How did I deserve this? A long stream of air passed over my lips. Fresh water. I had to get fresh water and some air. I plopped the mop back into my bucket and rolled it out the metal door of the kennel and down the hall to the front door. Each of the four kennels had a doggie door that led to the outdoor pens, but the only ways in or out of the kennel buildings, for humans, were the doors at either end of the hall.

  Once outside I sucked in a big breath of fresh air, turned my face toward the sky, and let the sun beat into my skin. Much better. I wheeled the bucket across the small gravel path to the side of the building, turned my head away from the oncoming stench, and dumped the water into the sand. The smell wafted up to me. I swallowed and again pressed the back of my hand to my mouth.

  Was my career worth this?

  I walked to the back of the building and grabbed the hose. A cool breeze brushed my forehead. Only three more days before the crew arrived to begin filming Pawtown: A Dogumentary. This was my penance. My payback. My hard time. Scooping poop and scrubbing kennel floors. I’d seen the wicked smile on Angie Williams’s face as she’d described to me the work I’d be doing until the crew got here. “Learning about Pawtown from the ground up” was how she’d put it. What a bitch. There’d been pleasure in her eyes just this morning when she’d wheeled by me and yelled good morning as I hefted a plastic bag full of poop into the poop bin.

  Fine. I got it. They were punishing me. All of them. Choo, Dillon, Angie, Trick, the entire staff at Pawtown. Punishing me for not being canine-crazy like they were. This, the job I was assigned, wasn’t just research. I placed the hose into my yellow bucket. Research would have been me following the trainers around and seeing how Pawtown worked. Research wasn’t the same as indentured servitude. Servitude that included me picking up tons of dog poop and scrubbing kennel floors, sleeping in a dorm with some woman from Istanbul or Austria or whatever country she was from where they spoke no English. Take that back … Lisel spoke no English to me.

  No. Choo and Dillon and Lane and even my hosts Trick and Angie were punishing me for not loving dogs … and for hitting that barky brat that had jumped in front of my car. Both were not my fault. Not at all. Clean water slowly filled my bucket. Not liking dogs was because of the damn Boxer that bit me for no apparent reason. And the dog I’d hit had darted in front of my car. I didn’t do a damn thing in either case.

  I leaned against the adobe wall of the kennel. Warmth pressed through my shirt and loosened the tightened muscles in my back. They couldn’t possibly treat me this badly once the cameras began to roll, could they? I pressed my forearm to my forehead. Maybe they could. Maybe that was what the public wanted, what they needed to see. My penance. My servitude to the dogs. Helping the very animals I’d hurt.

  I bent down and turned off the hose. I rolled the bucket and the mop back toward the kennel door. At least all the dogs were gone from the kennels when I was cleaning. The one bright spot in my dark and abysmal existence.

  “Hey, Sophia, how are those kennels coming?”

  A tremble rushed up my spine and not because Trick had startled me. Why lie? He wasn’t what I was after in a man, but my body? My body definitely responded to him. There was this deep want that claimed the pit of my belly when he was nearby.

  I turned. A giant dog lunged toward me.

  My heart burst in my chest.

  “What the hell!” I bolted toward the building and pressed my back to the adobe wall. The dog barked and slobber flew from his mouth. He jerked at his leash and strained to get to me.

  “Austin just wants to say hi.” Trick bent down and petted the beast. How could Trick possibly trust that the giant wouldn’t use those teeth to take out his jugular? “Don’t you, big boy?” The disgusting creature took his tongue, the same tongue that every dog I’d ever seen used to lick their own business, and slapped it against Trick’s cheek.

  “See!” Trick called, as though that slimy little moment was a sign of affection when really it could be called an appetizer. “
He’s so gentle. He loves everyone.” Trick turned back to the dog and placed a hand on either size of his giant head. “Don’t you big guy? Don’t you?” Trick used the voice that dog lovers reserved only for talking to dogs. Of course the beast’s tail started to wag.

  I stayed by the building. Austin might like Trick, but he wouldn’t like me. My disdain for canines was mutual. I preferred their absence and they preferred mine. Kind of a problem now, what with the puppy that Ellen had adopted taking up residence in my condo.

  I cleared my throat to try and interrupt the love-fest between Trick and Austin. “I’m nearly finished. One and two are done. Could you give me thirty more minutes to do the runs in three and four?”

  “You’ve got plenty of time. I don’t think any of the residents of A Dog’s Life will be back for another forty-five minutes.”

  Here at Pawtown every kennel building had its own special name, a play on famous films. Way too cutesy for me. I crossed my arms over my chest. My heart hammered and my breath was short, but there was no reason I had to tell Trick just how terrified I was of Austin.

  Trick walked closer. “Want us to stay? You could throw the ball to him.”

  I took two steps back and my shoulders brushed against the rough warm wall. “I’m sure he gets plenty of exercise with you. Besides I still have two kennels to complete.” I turned toward the door and rolled my bucket in front of me.

  “How are you liking it so far?”

  I turned back toward Trick. “Seriously?” Even though Trick was good-looking and he caused a thrill to rush through my body, that didn’t mean I was happy with him. Pawtown was half his, so any scapegoat work that I was assigned to do was because of him, too. Trick nodded.

  “This job sucks.”

  His head jerked back. An eyebrow cocked upward, like he was surprised by my bluntness. Fine, be surprised. My job did suck.

  “I think I’m being punished for disliking dogs.”

  The beast beside Trick lay down, as if to prove that I must be insane for disliking a creature so obedient and loyal.

  The corner of Trick’s mouth curled up and he tilted his head to the side. “I’ll admit that you’re pretty much alone with that opinion here at Pawtown.”

  My gaze went beyond him toward the main administration building where I checked in each morning before I started my poop scooping and kennel scrubbing. I heard the titters and saw the unkind knowing looks from the permanent staff. While most people might think I was only a pretty face, I wasn’t stupid. Besides, when you looked like me you got used to people not liking you for no reason other than your face.

  “So how much poop do I need to scoop before I reach payback?”

  He shifted his weight and the muscle in his jaw flickered. A smile formed on his face. “That would be the boss’s decision.”

  “By boss you mean your sister?”

  “The one and only.”

  Again my gaze drifted beyond Trick’s gorgeous face. “Then I’ve got a whole lot of shit to shovel.”

  A loud laugh broke from his lips. Warmth blossomed in my chest. I couldn’t help but smile. My predicament at Pawtown was funny, in a sad sort of way, and I might seriously laugh if it was happening to any other runway model but me.

  “Probably the truth.”

  “So accidentally hitting Drummond is how I got on your sister’s shitlist?”

  Trick shook his head. “That’s part of it, but nobody here, at least, thinks you hitting Drummond was intentional.”

  I winced at his words. Yep, there were people on my Twitter feed who thought I’d run down Drummond on purpose. I might not like dogs, because I was scared of them, but I wasn’t a sociopath. I didn’t torture puppies or hurt cats. When I was a kid, I’d cried when my goldfish died. “So there’s something other than hitting Drummond? What did I ever do to your sister?”

  Trick lifted his shoulder and tilted his head.

  “You used the ‘C’ word.”

  “C word? I don’t ever use the C word.”

  “Not that C word.” Trick took a couple steps closer and my gaze went from him to the dog still lying at his feet. “Don’t worry, Austin won’t jump at you again.”

  Trick was closer now. Close enough for me to see the scruff on his face, close enough to feel the heat pulsing off his skin, close enough for me to smell his outdoorsy scent, close enough to see the fine golden hairs on his forearms and wonder if there was a trail the same color that led down his abs to his—

  “You called Angie a cripple.” Trick interrupted my thoughts of running my hands over his chest and abs.

  My gaze jerked from his T-shirt to meet his eyes. “What? When?”

  “You don’t remember? Wow. You must have been a complete mess at the fundraiser.”

  Cripple? I’d called Angie a cripple? My mind raced through the memories of that day at the Pawtown Fundraiser. Telling Ellen she couldn’t adopt her dog—which she’d adopted anyway. Trying to take the mongrel back to the adoption table. Threatening to move out of the condo. Racing away toward the car …

  Oh, no. I pressed my fingertips to my mouth. My gaze met Trick’s. Heat flamed up my neck and into my cheeks. “I did say that.”

  “Yeah, Angie wouldn’t get that one wrong.”

  “I was mad about Ellen and the dog she wanted to adopt and I told her to take the puppy back to the …” My words drifted away. I wouldn’t say it again. My heart tightened. I was horrified.

  “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “I’m not the one in the wheelchair,” Trick said. His tone held an edge. “There’s someone else you need to apologize to.”

  Damn. Not what I wanted to do. Apologies weren’t really my thing and especially not to women who disliked me. Trick was right. If I ever wanted to get off poop-scoop duty I had to apologize. Plus, even I knew it was the right thing to do.

  Trick backed away from me and gathered the extra length of leash around his hand. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

  I nodded and rolled my bucket toward the door. A trickle of cold sweat dripped down my back. I pressed my hand to my forehead. Wow. I was hot. I was cold. I was …

  “Hey, Sophia? Are you okay?”

  Trick’s voice sounded so far away, as if he’d climbed into a well. I nodded and pressed my palm against the warm wall. Just a second. I just needed a second. My jaw locked. A loud ring started in my ears. The dirt, the sand, the pebbles, the sun. Were they having an earthquake? I reached out to wave to Trick, to let him know I was fine. I would be fine. I was a Legend, I would do what I had to do. Then the earth shifted and jolted beneath my feet. The next thing I knew I felt tiny pebbles biting into my hands.

  Trick

  “You said we should make her clean the kennels for a week.”

  “Right.” Angie rolled her chair closer to the examination table in the vet clinic. “But I didn’t know it would be this hot every day.” Her gaze traveled over Sophia. Angie might not like Sophia, but my sister had a giant soft spot in her heart for wounded things. And, I could see in the crease of Angie’s brow, and the tight line of her lips, that soft spot even included runway models who had insulted her.

  Angie rolled back from the examination table and lowered her voice. “I don’t think she’s eaten since she arrived. At least that’s what Thelma tells me. Her plates keep coming back full of food. Unless she’s got a secret stash of power bars in the volunteer bungalow, then she’s not eating.” Angie sighed and turned her chair back toward the Pawtown vet who had her stethoscope pressed to Sophia’s chest. “How’s she seem, Doc?”

  “I mean, I’m a vet, but she looks good to me. Her heart is strong and stable. Her pupils are responsive. This glucose IV ought to do the trick. You think she’ll be pissed she’s in a doggy hospital and not a real one?’

  “A what?” Sophia opened her eyes and glanced around the room. She pulled herself up onto her elbows and panic raced through her eyes.

  “It’s okay. You’re okay. You were dehydrated and you passed ou
t in the heat.” I reached out and placed my hand on her shoulder. My fingers tingled. Sophia’s eyes landed on my hand. Shit. Did she feel that too? Not good. Definitely not good. I was trouble when I got involved with women like Sophia. I pulled my fingers away from her skin.

  Sophia squinted. “Am I in the dog clinic?” Her eyes swept the room and her mouth dropped open. Her gaze went past me and to the rows of cages where our sick pups recuperated.

  “What the hell?” Sophia swung her legs off the examination table and started to stand. Her legs wobbled and she reached out and grabbed for the air. I grasped her hand and put my arm around her waist.

  Oranges and mint. She smelled of oranges and mint and she was way too close to me.

  “Oh, hey, no!” Tessa, our vet, called. She walked from where she’d been whispering to Angie in the back of the room. “I don’t think you’re quite ready for that.”

  I held her tight to keep her from falling. Her lips were so close to mine. My heart stopped. Breath stalled in my chest. It was as though … deja vu? As though she was built to be in my arms and that I was built to hold her in mine. I backed her to the examination table and sat her down.

  Angie shot Tessa a look that I chose to ignore. Okay, so this attraction was obvious to me, to my sister, to Doc, but was it obvious to Sophia? My gaze caught hers and she intentionally looked away from me. Maybe, maybe not. That attraction was instantaneous. I felt it the moment I held her.

  Angie pulled a power bar from the black leather bag that hung from her chair. “Eat this.”

  “Food disgusts me right now.” Sophia held out her hand to stop Angie from handing her the power bar. “I can’t get the smell of dog pee off my hands no matter how hard I scrub.”

  And she had been scrubbing. Her hands were red and raw.