Read Online How to Wash a Cat by Rebecca M. Hale - Free Book Online
Authors: Rebecca M. Hale
Ads: Link
days.
“Sure—I mean, I can be,” I responded.
Monty’s head popped up hopefully.
“You’ve got a lot of work to do to get this idea of yours dressed up into a proposal for the board,” Harold said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t have time in my schedule for all that, but I can send over my assistant, Ivan.”
“Great,” I said, “How about two . . .”
“Ivan? Ivan Batrachos?” Monty broke in with feverish excitement.
Harold threw Monty a withering glance.
“He’s one of the best craftsman in the city,” Monty enthused, tapping me on the elbow authoritatively. “He’s worked on almost all of the renovations in Jackson Square.”
Harold sighed heavily, this time the air limply expelling from the loose, flapping skin of his cheeks.
“ The Ivan Batrachos! Imagine that.” Monty put one hand up against the wall, the other on the angular hip protruding through his unbuttoned suit jacket. He tipped up the toe of his shoe, crossing one stork-like leg over the other.
“Ivan Batrachos,” Harold said, pursing his lips together and spitting on the sidewalk. “My assistant.” He turned and limped off down the street, calling out crankily behind him, “Two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”
I stared at Monty, rubbing the side of my head, looking forward to Monday morning and the four, peaceful corners of my quiet cubicle.
Chapter 7
TAP, TAP, TAP. Persistent knuckles rapped on the iron framing of the door to the Green Vase.
It was Sunday afternoon. I’d seen the tapper traipsing across the street from his art studio, but pretended not to hear him as I bent down into the waist-high pile in front of me, searching for a flash of the metal piece Isabella had stolen the day before. She had stuck her head into one of the open cardboard boxes in the middle of the showroom when we’d arrived—a suspiciously furtive look on her face—but I’d rummaged through it to the bottom without success.
I looked up, reluctantly, as Monty wrapped an arm around the edge of the open door and swung himself into the room, pivoting on his planted feet like hinges.
“You’re very welcome,” he said, tipping his head to doff an imaginary top hat that he caught with his free hand and swept grandly across the floor.
“Thanks,” I said warily, worriedly wondering what blessing had just been bestowed upon me.
“You’re like a little bird,” he said, fluttering his eyelashes, “that I’ve taken under my wing.”
I bit my bottom lip skeptically as Monty pulled the door shut and leaned against the cashier counter. He coughed lightly into his flattened palm. “I’ve polled almost all of the members of the board about your renovation proposal.”
He waved his hand in the air, dismissing the look of protest he anticipated on my face. “Don’t worry, they’ll be fine with either an antiques shop or an accounting office.” He pumped his eyebrows up and down. “Or—a combination of the two.”
I stared at him sternly, my hands on my hips, as he sauntered around the counter and hopped up on a stool.
“The thing is, it’ll be best if you can get it over with at the meeting this coming Tuesday. Frank Napis—,” he paused for effect, “is out of town.”
I looked up at the ceiling, at a loss for words. Tuesday was only two days away.
“And, this will be the last meeting for the chairman. Gordon Bosco’s about to step down. Who knows how the dynamics will change once they bring in someone new?”
A cool breeze ruffled the curls on the top of Monty’s head as the front door re-opened. He whipped around, nearly falling off of the stool as he leapt up to greet the new arrival.
“Ivan Batrachos,” Monty gushed, jutting his hand out, “so good to see you.”
I was standing midway towards the back of the store, still hip deep in the pile I’d emptied from Isabella’s box. I could just make out the solid shoulders of the man anchoring Monty’s bouncing torso. I wound my way towards the front
“Sure—I mean, I can be,” I responded.
Monty’s head popped up hopefully.
“You’ve got a lot of work to do to get this idea of yours dressed up into a proposal for the board,” Harold said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t have time in my schedule for all that, but I can send over my assistant, Ivan.”
“Great,” I said, “How about two . . .”
“Ivan? Ivan Batrachos?” Monty broke in with feverish excitement.
Harold threw Monty a withering glance.
“He’s one of the best craftsman in the city,” Monty enthused, tapping me on the elbow authoritatively. “He’s worked on almost all of the renovations in Jackson Square.”
Harold sighed heavily, this time the air limply expelling from the loose, flapping skin of his cheeks.
“ The Ivan Batrachos! Imagine that.” Monty put one hand up against the wall, the other on the angular hip protruding through his unbuttoned suit jacket. He tipped up the toe of his shoe, crossing one stork-like leg over the other.
“Ivan Batrachos,” Harold said, pursing his lips together and spitting on the sidewalk. “My assistant.” He turned and limped off down the street, calling out crankily behind him, “Two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”
I stared at Monty, rubbing the side of my head, looking forward to Monday morning and the four, peaceful corners of my quiet cubicle.
Chapter 7
TAP, TAP, TAP. Persistent knuckles rapped on the iron framing of the door to the Green Vase.
It was Sunday afternoon. I’d seen the tapper traipsing across the street from his art studio, but pretended not to hear him as I bent down into the waist-high pile in front of me, searching for a flash of the metal piece Isabella had stolen the day before. She had stuck her head into one of the open cardboard boxes in the middle of the showroom when we’d arrived—a suspiciously furtive look on her face—but I’d rummaged through it to the bottom without success.
I looked up, reluctantly, as Monty wrapped an arm around the edge of the open door and swung himself into the room, pivoting on his planted feet like hinges.
“You’re very welcome,” he said, tipping his head to doff an imaginary top hat that he caught with his free hand and swept grandly across the floor.
“Thanks,” I said warily, worriedly wondering what blessing had just been bestowed upon me.
“You’re like a little bird,” he said, fluttering his eyelashes, “that I’ve taken under my wing.”
I bit my bottom lip skeptically as Monty pulled the door shut and leaned against the cashier counter. He coughed lightly into his flattened palm. “I’ve polled almost all of the members of the board about your renovation proposal.”
He waved his hand in the air, dismissing the look of protest he anticipated on my face. “Don’t worry, they’ll be fine with either an antiques shop or an accounting office.” He pumped his eyebrows up and down. “Or—a combination of the two.”
I stared at him sternly, my hands on my hips, as he sauntered around the counter and hopped up on a stool.
“The thing is, it’ll be best if you can get it over with at the meeting this coming Tuesday. Frank Napis—,” he paused for effect, “is out of town.”
I looked up at the ceiling, at a loss for words. Tuesday was only two days away.
“And, this will be the last meeting for the chairman. Gordon Bosco’s about to step down. Who knows how the dynamics will change once they bring in someone new?”
A cool breeze ruffled the curls on the top of Monty’s head as the front door re-opened. He whipped around, nearly falling off of the stool as he leapt up to greet the new arrival.
“Ivan Batrachos,” Monty gushed, jutting his hand out, “so good to see you.”
I was standing midway towards the back of the store, still hip deep in the pile I’d emptied from Isabella’s box. I could just make out the solid shoulders of the man anchoring Monty’s bouncing torso. I wound my way towards the front
Similar Books
