In Dog We Trust

by Beth Kendrick

  She opened the closet and perused the contents, trying to decide what to wear for dinner tonight. Given the venue, her options were limited: V-neck little black dress or strapless little black dress with silver edging. She’d already worn each of them multiple times with Chris, but she had no other cocktail dresses. Nor did she have the budget to buy more. Nor the time to shop.

  She assured herself that men didn’t notice things like how often their dates recycled dresses. She would switch up her shoes and jewelry and hairstyle. As Bree often said, No one’s going to notice what you’re wearing if you’re walking right.

  With a burst of renewed optimism, Jocelyn pulled the black and silver dress from its hanger, turned on the shower, and made a conscious decision to have a good time tonight. She wouldn’t worry about the future. She wouldn’t try to justify her romantic choices. Just for tonight, she would stop focusing on everything that might go wrong and be happy about everything that was going right.

  chapter 6

  “You look stunning,” Chris murmured into her ear as they entered the beachfront ballroom. Jocelyn knew that tonight’s gala was some sort of fund-raiser for the Cantors’ animal shelter, but she wasn’t certain how it all worked. How did lots of rich people in fancy clothes eating fancy food translate into cold, hard cash for stray dogs and cats?

  “Break this down for me,” she said to Chris. “You guys hire event planners and florists and caterers, right?”

  He nodded.

  “And musicians and waitstaff and whoever else. And then people come and have a grand old time.” She paused. “And then what? They write checks? Who do they give them to?”

  He brushed a bit of lint off the lapel of his black suit jacket. “I’m not sure.”

  “How does profit and loss work?” Jocelyn pressed. “Do you guys use some of the donation money to reimburse yourselves for the party expenses, or do you write it off as an in-kind donation?”

  Chris dropped a kiss on her forehead. “You’d have to ask my father’s accountants.”

  “Do people have to buy tickets? Or spend a certain amount to reserve a table?” Her mind flashed back to the sparkle of the diamond-and-emerald ring. If she was ever going to blend into high society, she’d have to figure out how to run such events.

  Chris stared down at her, his eyes wide and slightly panicked.

  “What?” She patted her hair, checking for anything out of place.

  “Nothing. It’s just . . .”

  She tilted her head, waiting.

  “We don’t usually talk about money.” His expression turned apologetic. “My sister or my mother handles the details, and my father and I don’t ask questions. I should know how it all works, but I don’t.”

  Jocelyn made a mental note to herself: People who had the most money didn’t talk about money. How did that work?

  Chris gave her another kiss. “Come on, let’s go inside. I heard a rumor that Smitty’s adopters RSVPed yes.”

  “They did?” Jocelyn hopped for joy, nearly twisting her ankle in her high heels. “I can’t wait to meet them. What are they like?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll find out soon enough.”

  “But haven’t you met them?”

  He seemed confused by the question. “Not yet. The rescue center employees do all the adoption screenings. I’m just the finance guy.”

  “But I thought that you kept him with you until you found a good home for him?” she persisted.

  “Right.” He paused for a beat. “I did. But he stayed at the shelter for a few days while I had to run back to the city. I told you about that, remember?”

  She racked her brain. “No.”

  “I’m sure I mentioned it. In any event, let’s go find his lucky owners. I’m sure he’s living in the lap of luxury.”

  Jocelyn tried to shake off her niggling doubts. “Did they bring Smitty? Is he wearing a tiny designer dog bow tie?”

  “No.” He smiled at her chagrined expression. “If we let them bring a dog, we’d have to let everyone bring their dogs, and those crazy mutts would bogart the whole champagne fountain.”

  Her mood picked up again. “There’s a champagne fountain?”

  “Stick with me, baby.” He tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and strode across the dance floor.

  Jocelyn held her head high and tried to mimic the casual grace of the socialites surrounding her on all sides. Chris let go of her hand long enough to pluck two glasses of bubbly from a passing server. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.” She lifted her glass toward his, but didn’t clink. She’d read that proper etiquette forbade the actual touching of glasses during a toast. In a book she just happened to be glancing through. While obsessively memorizing Miss Manners and Emily Post every night before bed.

  Chris leaned close again, brushing his cheek against hers. “Here’s to Paris.”

  “There you are! I’d nearly given up on you!” A bright, feminine voice interrupted their cozy tête-à-tête.

  Chris flagged down a server for an extra glass of champagne as they faced a fine-boned porcelain beauty with high cheekbones and even higher blond hair. “Joss, this is my sister, Fiona.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Jocelyn offered a handshake. Fiona pulled her in for a hug and a barely-there kiss on both cheeks.

  “Goodness, darling, no need to be formal with me.” Fiona accepted the champagne flute her brother offered. “I’ve been dying to meet you. We’ve heard so much about you.”

  Jocelyn glanced over at Chris. “You have?”

  “Nonstop,” Fiona assured her. “It’s been Jocelyn this, Jocelyn that.” She smiled warmly. “Chris tells us you’re quite the businesswoman.”

  Jocelyn glanced down at her feet and noticed that her big toe was scraped from crawling along a rooftop that morning to retrieve a beach towel that a tenant had left flapping from a weather vane. “I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

  “Don’t be shy, go on and brag,” Fiona urged. “He said you’re an entrepreneur.”

  Jocelyn felt her face flush.

  “She’s amazing, runs her own business. She’s coming to Paris with us,” Chris informed his sister.

  “Magnifique!” Fiona raised her glass in celebration. “I adore Paris, don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure,” Jocelyn admitted. “This will be my first time overseas.” She watched Fiona’s expression closely but didn’t detect any trace of disapproval or derision.

  “Oh, you’re going to love it.” Fiona squeezed her hand. “I’ll bring you to some of my favorite shops and cafés.”

  Chris waved to a trio of gray-haired men in tuxedos across the room. “Joss, you should take her up on that. Fiona spent a year at the Sorbonne.”

  “Wow.” Jocelyn’s eyes widened. “That’s my dream come true. What did you study?”

  “Good-looking Frenchmen, mostly.” Fiona laughed. “Plus the occasional Italian and German.”

  Chris put his hands over his ears. “I’m not listening.”

  “I’d love to hear about it,” Jocelyn said.

  “Let’s have lunch this week,” Fiona suggested. “We can figure out which art galleries we want to visit.”

  “Thank you, I would love that.” Jocelyn beamed and for a moment, she wondered what kind of bridesmaid’s dress a woman like Fiona would want to wear. Something simple but elegant, perfectly cut. “Your gown is amazing.”

  Fiona glanced down at the cream silk column set off with lustrous golden pearls. “Thanks. I like yours, too.”

  Jocelyn forced herself to say “thank you” without demurring or trying to explain away her department-store sale-rack score amid a roomful of haute couture.

  “I like her.” Fiona turned to her brother with a tiny nod. “So will Mom and Dad.”

  Chris stiffened slightly.

 
Jocelyn looked from one sibling to the other, trying to determine the source of the underlying tension.

  Fiona sidled closer and lowered her voice. “Seems as though it’s getting serious between you two?”

  Chris stared at the chandelier across the room. “We’re just enjoying each day as it comes.”

  Fiona rolled her eyes. “The soul of discretion as always, I see.”

  Chris blinked at her, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

  Now Fiona looked confused. “Never mind. May I steal you away for a moment?” She slipped her arm through Jocelyn’s and led her away from the crowd. “It’s okay, I already heard.”

  Jocelyn struggled to draw a breath. “Heard what?”

  “You were trying on engagement rings at that little shop by the beach.”

  Damn the small-town rumor mill. Jocelyn didn’t know where to look.

  She spotted an open door on her right and fled to the outdoor patio. Even at this late hour, the air was humid and stifling. She sagged against the sturdy stone balustrade, struggling to catch her breath and gather her thoughts. She pressed her fingertips, still cool from holding the glass of champagne, against her cheeks.

  Fiona followed her out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ambush you. It’s really none of my business, but after I heard about the rings, I thought . . .”

  Jocelyn found her voice again. “We’re just dating, that’s all.”

  Fiona seemed a bit crestfallen to hear this. “You’ve been dating for quite some time, though?”

  “About seven months.” Jocelyn finally regained her composure. “Why do you seem so shocked?”

  “I suppose I’m not.” Fiona sighed, her pearls still gleaming through the darkness.

  In that moment, Jocelyn saw herself as the other guests must see her: cheap dress, last year’s shoes, drugstore makeup, work-chapped hands.

  But Fiona’s discomfiture seemed genuine. “You seem lovely, inside and out. So different from Chris’s other girlfriends.”

  Jocelyn cocked her head, unable to quell her curiosity. Chris hadn’t mentioned anything about his previous relationships. He was indeed the soul of discretion. A perfect gentleman.

  Or so she’d assumed.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, wincing in anticipation of the response.

  “Well.” Fiona adjusted her necklace. “He was forever bringing home these tarted-up, silicone-enhanced Barbie dolls.”

  Jocelyn glanced down at her non-enhanced bustline. “Really?”

  “It was awful.” Fiona shuddered at the memory. “We tried, God knows, but you couldn’t talk to those girls about anything.” She paused, then laughed drily. “That’s not true; they were quite well versed in fashion and designer logos. But, as my father said, they were purely decorative.”

  Jocelyn glanced behind her and realized there was no more room to back up. She was sandwiched between the patio railing and the beautiful heiress delivering a rapid-fire round of cold, hard truth.

  “Well. As you can imagine, I’m thrilled that Chris finally found someone with some substance. Honestly, you’re the woman we’ve all been waiting for.” She seemed nearly teary-eyed with gratitude. “You have a job, you make your own way, you live in the real world.”

  “That I do.”

  Fiona touched Jocelyn’s shoulder. “I hope he does marry you. I’ll go pick out rings with you myself, if you like.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Jocelyn assured her.

  But Fiona wasn’t listening. “My parents will be over the moon, believe me. My father went so far as to threaten to cut Chris off if he didn’t get his act together.”

  “Ah.” Jocelyn tried to sound as if this weren’t all new to her.

  “I know how this looks.” Fiona gestured to the glittering gala and sequined gowns. “But my family isn’t snobby. We know what’s important. We have excellent values: hard work, philanthropy, education. We’d be so relieved if Chris settled down with a sweet, sensible, working-class girl.”

  Jocelyn made a little choking noise.

  “Oh God.” Fiona clapped her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. All this champagne is going to my head. I didn’t mean—”

  “I need a moment, please.” Jocelyn stepped forward, forcing Fiona to step back. “I’ll see you inside.”

  Jocelyn watched the willowy blonde wend her way back into the ballroom, then let her shoulders wilt and her head hang low.

  She drew in a deep, slow breath, lifted her head . . . and realized that there had been a witness to everything that had just transpired. Through the darkness, as the clouds shifted and moonlight filtered down, she glimpsed a bright flash of white. A spotless shirt beneath a tailored tuxedo jacket.

  Mr. Allardyce stood on the far end of the patio.

  They locked gazes for a long moment, and then both looked away. Neither broke the silence. Jocelyn knew that adjusting the bodice of her non-designer black dress and rejoining Chris would be awkward. But remaining out here with the filthy rich man who paid her minimum wage—less than minimum wage, actually—to care for his dogs would be worse.

  So she put one high-heel-clad foot in front of the other and strode back in to rejoin the man she’d been stupid enough to fall in love with. The man she might not know at all.

  chapter 7

  Jocelyn woke up bright and early the next morning to take care of the day’s laundry piles before heading over to Mr. Allardyce’s house. She wrote a reminder on her phone to pick up more bleach, then got into her car, cranked up the air-conditioning, and drove toward the beach.

  The streets were nearly deserted at this hour, save a hard-core jogger or two. The vacationers were sleeping in and the locals were still brewing coffee. She cruised down Main Street and noticed that there was a fresh coat of paint on the Whinery, the town’s infamous watering hole. She’d often peeked inside the raucous, feminine bar when she picked up and dropped off their linens, but she’d never sat down for a drink. The place was a tourist trap, and besides, she couldn’t justify paying fifteen dollars for a cocktail.

  When she turned into Mr. Allardyce’s driveway, an unfamiliar SUV was parked in the middle of the cobblestones, blocking her path to the house. She had to pull over, park on the shoulder of the main road, then walk up the long, winding drive.

  Beads of sweat had formed on the back of her neck by the time she made it to the front door. A man stood on the welcome mat and she called out to him. “That your car?”

  He turned to face her. With his rangy frame, broad shoulders, and thick dark hair, he was probably objectively handsome. Probably. It was hard to tell, what with his frown and obvious annoyance.

  Then she noticed the boating shoes. Supple leather uppers, pristine white soles. Another wealthy summer visitor in his fancy footwear, making life difficult for everyone else.

  “Yes.” He turned his back on her.

  “You’re blocking the whole driveway.”

  He didn’t reply.

  Her patience ran out. “What an old-world gentleman.”

  His expression flickered. “Who are you?”

  “Who are you?” She sidestepped around him and rang the doorbell. Inside, she heard barking as the dogs went bananas.

  “No one’s going to open the door,” the stranger informed her.

  “That’s okay.” She fished the house key out of her handbag. “I’ll let myself in. Ringing the bell is a courtesy.”

  His frown deepened as she slid the key into the lock. “Who are you?” he demanded again.

  “No one of consequence.” Jocelyn eased the door open an inch, only to have it slammed in her face.

  She blinked and snatched her hand from the knob.

  “Don’t open that!” Mr. Allardyce’s voice boomed from the other side of the door.

  “It’s just me,” she called. “Jocelyn.�
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  “Go around the side,” Mr. Allardyce commanded. “And don’t let him in.”

  Jocelyn glanced over at Boat Shoes. “I’m assuming he means you.”

  Boat Shoes’s jaw twitched. Jocelyn pocketed the key, strolled around to the side door, and unlocked it. Mr. Allardyce met her on the threshold and shut the door behind her as soon as she was in.

  “I brought freeze-dried liver, just like we talked about last time,” she told the dogs, doling out pats and scratches. To Mr. Allardyce, she said, “Who’s the surly stranger?”

  He ground his molars together so loudly, Carmen glanced up at him to see what was wrong.

  “Should I be calling the cops here? Is this some summer resident feud over, like, who’s responsible for trimming the tree on the property line?”

  Mr. Allardyce sniffed. “He’s just one more person who wants something from me.”

  Jocelyn grabbed the dog leashes. “So you know him?”

  The old man didn’t answer.

  “Okay, then.”

  “Everyone wants something from me,” Mr. Allardyce said. “And everyone has a reason they feel entitled to it.”

  “Well, right now, these dogs want a run, and they’re going to riot if they don’t get it.” Jocelyn clipped three leashes onto three collars with practiced precision. “Is that guy still going to be here when I get back?”

  “If he is, I’ll call the police myself.”

  “Then I’ll assume everything’s under control.” Jocelyn let the dogs tow her over to the door. She paused and looked at her employer. She wanted to ask how much he’d heard on the patio last night. She wanted to ask for a raise. She wanted to ask why he had so many canine companions but no human family or friends.

  “What?” he demanded.

  Maybe this wasn’t the right time to explain that she, too, wanted something from him and felt entitled to it. “Nothing. We’ll be back soon.”