Satisfaction Guaranteed

by Blakely, Lauren

  Sloane plucks at the gray fabric. “This thing? Yeah. It might as well say walk of shame.”

  Olivia holds up a hand to high-five. “Own it, girl.”

  Sloane smiles. “It’s worth a ten-mile walk if I have to.”

  Herb’s eyes widen, and he high-fives me. “That’s downright impressive.”

  I preen, damn glad we made a pit stop here.

  Sloane slides right into the chitchat with my friends.

  This is how it could be.

  This is what I could have.

  This is what I want.

  I try to shake away those notions when we leave, but they linger, chasing me as I put her in a cab and tell her I’ll see her at the office later.

  They follow me as I head into work, saying hi to Jonathan and Sam, who are deep in conversation.

  “And listen, if your mom gives you a hard time, just tell her you damn well know how to decorate your own apartment,” he says to her.

  “You’re right. That’s what I’m going to say.”

  I smile inside at how easy they make it seem. They’ve slipped so seamlessly into being together, they make it look like walking on air.

  Inside my office, I pick up the photo of my dad. “What would you do?”

  The thing is, I think I know. I just wish I had another opinion.

  But I put the question aside as I get to work on the day’s spays and neuters. I can’t have anything on my mind but snipping and clipping.

  When I’m done, I blot my forehead with my sleeve, wash my hands, and take a deep breath.

  I should call Truly. See her tonight. Ask for advice.

  I’ve turned toward my office to make a call, when Doug strides out of an exam room, saying goodbye to the last patient of the day.

  He tips his chin in my direction. “Do you have a few minutes to chat?”

  My heart drops, and guilt washes over me in a hot wave.

  He knows.

  He’s found out.

  And I’m about to be fucked.

  38

  Sloane Elizabeth’s Notes to Self on ALL THE THINGS

  Let’s review the facts as we know them.

  Your father wants to talk.

  Your father specifically said he has something he wants to discuss with you and Malone.

  You’re sleeping with Malone.

  Don’t even try to deny it on a technicality. You slept with him, and you intend to sleep with him again, and you’d like to sleep with him every single night from now until eternity because you’re wild about him.

  But there’s that little matter of working in close quarters with him.

  And then there’s the bigger matter of banging your dad’s business partner.

  Your dad is either going to kick your rescue out of his office space and tell you you’re a trollop, or he’ll say he isn’t mad, just disappointed.

  All of which suck.

  Chin up, girl. Put on your best socks.

  39

  Doug is imperious, perched in his chair, positioned behind his desk, his face impassive.

  My stomach plummets all the way to my feet, which have turned cold and heavy like concrete.

  There are no two ways to spin this. He’s my business partner, and I’ve been screwing his daughter.

  He could yank the rug out from under me, toss me to the street, and slam the door closed.

  I love this clinic. I love the clients and the patients and the employees, and yet I’ve been thinking with my little head.

  I drag my concrete feet to the chair in front of his desk and sit. A second later, Sloane walks in. “Hi, Dad.”

  She sounds as if she’s doing her damnedest to stay strong, not to let on that she did the walk of shame earlier today.

  But he has to know, or why call us in here?

  “Shut the door, please,” he says coolly.

  She shuts it with a dull thud before taking the chair next to mine.

  Doug folds his hands. “I should have arranged a dinner or done this outside of work, but it’s about Helena.”

  I blink. That’s not what I expected. I sit up straighter.

  Sloane leans forward. “Is she okay, Daddy?” Worry threads through her tone, and in this instant, I see her fully as his daughter. She’s his anxious child, concerned about his wife, calling him “Daddy.”

  Doug clasps his hand to his chest. “She’s great. Didn’t mean to scare you. She’s the picture of health.”

  Slumping back in the chair, Sloane lets out a deep sigh. “Don’t talk like that, then. You had me terrified she was sick.”

  Doug’s face turns ashen. “No, God no. She’s great. Thank the Lord.” He pauses. “But she is worried sick about me.”

  “Why?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

  He thumps his fist on his sternum. “Fit as a fiddle.”

  “That sounds like a good thing, Doug.” I keep my voice steady because now I have no clue what’s going on. “Why is she worried?”

  “Here’s the deal. Remember when I asked you where you thought I should take Helena on vacation?” he says to Sloane.

  “Yes, and I suggested you ask her what her dream vacation was,” Sloane supplies.

  “And I did just that. I asked her. Want to know what she said?”

  I’m dying to. I’m still in the goddamn dark.

  Doug holds his hands out wide, then a smile spreads slowly across his face. “She wants to go to Europe. For three months. Maybe more. She wants us—her and me—to go. Because she’s worried I work too much. And you know what I said?”

  I narrow my brow. “No?”

  He laughs, shaking his head and reaching into his desk drawer. He grabs a red beret, positions it jauntily on his head, and says, “Mais oui,” in his best French accent.

  “You’re leaving?” I ask, incredulous. Is he for real?

  “Yes. Well, I hope you don’t mind. But I need to do this. What the woman wants, the woman gets. And she wants me in Europe, and she has to be the priority.” He gestures to me, earnest and open. “Honestly, you do most of the work here anyway. So I thought I’d just take some time off and let you two run it.”

  I freeze.

  Run it?

  He wants the two of us to manage the clinic?

  “Excuse me?” Sloane asks, shock coloring her tone.

  He looks at his daughter. “I thought you two could keep the ship running while I go. You’ve been operating the rescue out of here, and it’s going great. The practice is running smoothly, thanks to Malone. If you can pick up a little of the slack on the business side for me, that would be great. Any business decisions I would’ve had a hand in if I were here, I know you can handle.” He looks to both of us now. “And all you have to do is keep working together like the pros that you are, and it’ll be fine, right? Surely no one will miss me that much. I’ve been cutting back anyway.”

  “But you’re still the partner?” I ask carefully, since I got ahead of myself last time, hoping he was about to hand me the keys.

  “Of course. I’m not ready to sell it. But you’ll collect the profits since you’ll be doing the veterinary work. The practice is yours to run.” He turns to Sloane. “And you can keep running the rescue out of the clinic too, and the pair of you can make the bulk of the decisions. It’s gone well with you working in tandem so far.” He beams. “This will work out perfectly.”

  I’m not so sure about that.

  * * *

  After Doug leaves, I head to my office, trying to process what just happened. The clinic is closed for the night, and Jonathan and Sam are gone, probably partaking of pizza and a movie.

  Enjoying their easy, breezy romance.

  Meanwhile, I don’t know what the hell to make of Doug’s capriciousness.

  He changes his mind on a dime.

  Here’s the practice. Wait, it’s mine. Wait, my daughter is running it. Wait, wait, wait.

  Knuckles rap softly on my door. “Hey.”

  I look up to see Sloane.

 
“That was quite a surprise,” she says as she steps in tentatively then leans against the doorframe.

  I heave a sigh. “He seems to love surprising me. First, I think he’s going to retire and let me buy him out. But nope, he’s bringing you in. Then, I think he’s found out about us. But nope, he’s jetting off to Europe. And nope, I can’t buy the practice, because we’re running it together. Because he declared it so,” I say, more vitriol in my tone than I intended.

  More bitterness than I want her to hear.

  Sloane tenses but nods, taking it on the chin. “It’s frustrating. I understand.”

  “I thought things were going to be one way, and now it’s another, and he does whatever he wants,” I blurt. “I don’t know what he expects from me sometimes. The man is always moving goalposts, ever since he started talking retirement. He’s a great vet, and he was a great mentor when I needed one, but lately, he’s been making me jump through hoops with no warning they’re coming my way.”

  “Would it help if I worked elsewhere? Do you want me to operate Best Friends out of a different space?”

  I meet her gaze, give her a you can’t be serious look. “No. I don’t want that.”

  But as soon as the words come out, I do want that. Because I don’t know how the hell to make this work. To balance running the practice, and running it with her, and not falling further and further in love with her every single day.

  I glance at the photo of my dad. What would he do?

  He’d keep his act together.

  I have a clinic to run. Patients to tend to. Clients who need me to be at the top of my game. I can’t take care of their four-legged family members if I keep thinking with my dick.

  And that’s what I’ve been doing.

  I’ve been playing a no-strings-attached game when I have a real business to manage, one with all sorts of strings, which are wildly entangled.

  I drag a hand through my hair. “I don’t know how to keep working in the same space with you and not want to bring you into my office every second and kiss the breath out of you,” I say, even though that barely covers the truth of my feelings.

  The reality is I don’t know how to work with her and not tell her that I’ve fallen so hard and gotten in so deep that I can’t tell up from down anymore.

  “Do you want to cool things off? That was always the plan,” she offers, her tone carefully even, as if she’s modulating it.

  Do I want to? No fucking way. Do I have to, so I don’t crack open my heart every time I see her?

  So I can run this business like an adult?

  So I can make responsible choices?

  I glance at the wall, at the floor, at the door. I dig deep, wishing there were a magic token or key. “I want to do what’s right for this clinic. I want to run it like a professional. I can’t think straight when my head is full of wanting you, of constantly wanting to get my hands on you. And now he wants us to run it together, so we’re going to be working even more closely.”

  I stand and walk around the desk, wishing I could take her in my arms. Her lips quiver, and she purses them tightly.

  “We always planned for this to be a one-week trip. I guess we got to Tahiti and back sooner.”

  She licks her lips then nods with a jerky motion. “You definitely got me there.” She swallows, and it sounds like her throat catches. “I need to go.”

  She turns and leaves.

  Later, when I go home, I tell myself I did the right thing.

  I call bullshit on myself.

  How can this be right when everything feels wrong?

  40

  Working with a woman you can’t have is awesome.

  Said no one ever.

  But a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.

  The next day, I have to go to work.

  I treat patients, tightly focused on the needs of my four-legged clientele all morning, saying a curt hello to Sloane when I see her.

  Apricat’s new owner—since he was adopted quickly from the rescue—comes in that afternoon for a follow-up. The redhead is nervous and kind, asking a ton of questions about her cat. I reassure her that all is well in kitty land. “I promise—the little guy is doing great.”

  A little later, Quinn and his person arrive. I give that cat a thorough exam and pronounce him on the mend. When I escort the owner out of the exam room, Sloane is in the reception area with Sam, deep in discussion, maybe about a barista, maybe about a band.

  I don’t know.

  I don’t try to listen.

  But Quinn does. As soon as he hears Sloane’s voice, he meows and scrabbles at his crate door. “Meow!”

  Sloane spins around, a smile lighting up her face. “Hey, Quinn. I missed you, buddy,” she says. “You sure look good.”

  Kneeling down, she pets him through the front of his carrier. My heart speeds up, running toward her. It handsprings in my chest when she sings, “After you've gone and left me cryin’. After you've gone, there's no denyin’. You'll feel blue, you'll feel sad.”

  She raises her face on the last line, catching my gaze for a fleeting moment.

  It’s the same for me, I want to say. It’s absolutely the same.

  41

  Sloane Elizabeth’s Post-It Note for Yet Another Day

  1. Chin up.

  2. Eyes on the prize.

  3. Keep going.

  4. Be strong. Everything is fine. Everything is fine. Repeat after me—everything is fine.

  5. After all, you found a home for Mr. Fox plus five new animals this week alone.

  6. Keep thinking about that.

  7. Keep saying it.

  42

  Damn.

  Music is so much better when love has kicked the shit out of you. I’m rocking my set tonight at the Lucky Spot.

  This Midtown watering hole is owned by my cousin Nick’s good buddy Spencer, and Spencer’s wife, Charlotte. They expanded and added a lounge to their bar, and now and then I sing here.

  I finish out my set with Harry Connick Jr., then make my way to the table where my crew is waiting. Nick’s wife, Harper, touches my arm and makes a sizzling sound. “You are on fire, A Good Man,” she says.

  I smile faintly. “Thank you very much,” I say in my best Elvis impression.

  Spencer and Charlotte are at the table too, and so are Jason and Truly, along with Herb and Olivia. The bartender brings us drinks, and we thank her, then I take a swallow of my whiskey.

  Spencer claps me on the shoulder. “Such a shame you have no talent.”

  Charlotte glances at her husband, then at Truly and Harper. “Can you imagine if he could croon for real? A hot singing vet? He’d win hearts everywhere. It’s a good thing you can’t sing for shit,” she says.

  “He’d win all the ladies if he could croon halfway decently,” Jason remarks.

  Truly jumps in. “We’ll just leave the lady-winning to you, Jason.”

  Jason leans across the table, giving my sister a flirty stare. “But you know you’re the one I truly want.”

  My sister rolls her eyes. “As if I’d give you the time of day.”

  Charlotte laughs, pointing from Truly to Jason. “Are you two doing this again? That thing where you flirt but pretend you’re not flirting?”

  Truly crosses her arms indignantly. “I do not flirt with him.”

  Jason informs the whole group, “She definitely flirts with me.”

  Harper pats his arm. “Just ask the woman out. Put us out of our misery.”

  Jason laughs. “It’s much more fun this way.”

  I sit back and drink my whiskey, observing the theater of my friends, especially since I don’t think a damn thing will ever happen with Jason and Truly, despite the rampant flirting. There are plenty of reasons why it won’t happen, or, really one reason, but that’s a story for another time. For now, I do my best to enjoy their antics while I wish a certain someone could be here.

  “So,” Olivia says, tapping the table with her nails and staring at me like
she just read my mind, “how’s everything going with your lovely lady?”

  I shake my head adamantly. “It’s not going.”

  Herb frowns like that’s confusing. “Hold on. Is this the sweatshirt woman? You guys looked like you were together when we last saw you.”

  Truly jumps in, squeezing my arm, trying to deflect. “How about them Yankees?”

  Subtle. But I choke out a mirthless laugh and answer my buddy. “We had a short fling. Her dad is my business partner. We work together in close quarters. End of story. It’s not going to work.”

  Harper leans across the table and puts a hand on my forehead. “Yes, you do have a temperature.”

  Charlotte studies me quizzically. “But you love her, so why aren’t you going after her?”

  I cock my head to give her a sideways stare. “Did I say I loved her?”

  She rolls her eyes. “It’s obvious.”

  Olivia nods. “It was certainly obvious when we saw you. You absolutely do need to go after her.”

  “Didn’t you guys hear what I just said? There are a ton of issues in the way. We work together every day. I have employees to supervise. Her dad is my business partner,” I emphasize once again. “Hell, the man told me she was off-limits more than once.”

  Jason leans forward, giving me a hard stare. “Let’s be honest—you’ve never been this sullen before over a woman. You’ve broken up with others and been more fun than a barrel of monkeys. Maybe it’s worth taking a good look at all those issues.” He sketches air quotes. “Are they truly still relative? Is she really still off-limits, seven years later, after all you’ve proven to Doug?”

  Nick coughs and points his thumb at Harper. “I fell for my best friend’s sister. We figured it out.”

  Spencer drapes his arm around his lovely wife. “We own a bar together. And we were best friends. Yet we still made it work.”