Read Online The Devil's in the Details by Kimberly Raye - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kimberly Raye
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thing to cheer you right up.” She reached into her massive handbag, which I’d thought was now empty. No such luck. She pulled out a miniature black Yorkie with loads of hair and a black-and-white polka-dot bow on top of its head.
The canine version of Snooki took one look at me and started yapping frantically.
“She’s my last one,” Tammie said.
“I’ll have to pass.”
“Come on. She’s a cutie, and if I come home with this dog, my husband will shoot me. He says our house is too full as it is, what with the kids and four dogs.”
“I thought you had two dogs.”
“I had to keep a few puppies for myself. Anyhow, she’s nine weeks old and guaranteed to keep you so busy you don’t have a second to think about all the nooky you’re giving up.”
I had no doubt. She was sure to raise such a ruckus on account of my demon vibe that the only thing I would be thinking about was smothering myself with a pillow.
I shrugged. “I’m not much of a dog person.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Go on and hold her. She likes you.”
“She’s growling at me.”
“She just needs to warm up to you a little.”
“My building has a no-pets policy, but thanks anyway. Have a brownie.” I shoved a piece into her mouth when it dropped open to argue and beat a hasty retreat to the other side of the room just as Sherrie called the meeting back to order.
No way was I getting stuck with a dog. Even if it was the last one. And kind of cute.
And sitting in a cardboard box on my front seat when I walked out of the building and opened the door of my Cube.
She’ll be the best thing that ever happened to you.
I read the note sitting on my dash before my head jerked around the parking lot, searching for Tammie. But I’d stayed a few extra minutes to gather up my brownie plate, so the parking lot was all but empty.
Just yours truly and a yapping Snooki, who eyeballed me as if she fully expected my head to do a three-sixty.
“You don’t want to go home with me, do you?”
She growled and barked that much louder.
“I didn’t think so.”
Which meant I had to call animal control.
Problem solved, I told myself as I reached into my purse for my phone. I punched in the digits for information. The experts would come and pick her up.
And possibly send her to a shelter where she would be the smallest and most vulnerable among a cage full of big, starving dogs who would rather eat her than look at her.
“You have to come home with me,” I heard myself say as I killed the phone and stuffed it back into my purse.
I fought down a thousand years of instinct that told me this was a bad idea and pushed the box over onto the passenger’s seat.
Demons and dogs were like water and oil. They just didn’t mix, and to even try would be a major catastrophe. Besides, I had stuff to do. I still had hours’ worth of venue details to work on before tomorrow. Add to that the demon-proofing job that lay ahead of me courtesy of Sassy and her magic powder, and the last thing I had enough time (or nerves) for was a yapping dog.
But as busy as I was, and as loud as she was, I still couldn’t let her end up a midnight snack for some depraved Doberman. Talk about screwing up my searching-for-true-love mojo.
It was one night.
I could figure something else out tomorrow.
Holding tight to the thought, I slid into the front seat, glared at Snooki until the yapping faded into a low growl, and headed for a nearby twenty-four-hour Walmart for doggie supplies, including a pink ceramic Diva Pooch bowl, a bag of high-protein dog food, a doggie gate, and the cutest rhinestone collar.
What?
She was destitute, and I wasn’t equipped to play hostess, even for one night.
Or two.
8
I’d read a news poll once that claimed Monday was the most hated day of the week.
The big M meant the tragic end of the weekend and the start of another grueling work fest. It marked the slowest and most painful eight hours of the proverbial forty plus. It was also
The canine version of Snooki took one look at me and started yapping frantically.
“She’s my last one,” Tammie said.
“I’ll have to pass.”
“Come on. She’s a cutie, and if I come home with this dog, my husband will shoot me. He says our house is too full as it is, what with the kids and four dogs.”
“I thought you had two dogs.”
“I had to keep a few puppies for myself. Anyhow, she’s nine weeks old and guaranteed to keep you so busy you don’t have a second to think about all the nooky you’re giving up.”
I had no doubt. She was sure to raise such a ruckus on account of my demon vibe that the only thing I would be thinking about was smothering myself with a pillow.
I shrugged. “I’m not much of a dog person.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Go on and hold her. She likes you.”
“She’s growling at me.”
“She just needs to warm up to you a little.”
“My building has a no-pets policy, but thanks anyway. Have a brownie.” I shoved a piece into her mouth when it dropped open to argue and beat a hasty retreat to the other side of the room just as Sherrie called the meeting back to order.
No way was I getting stuck with a dog. Even if it was the last one. And kind of cute.
And sitting in a cardboard box on my front seat when I walked out of the building and opened the door of my Cube.
She’ll be the best thing that ever happened to you.
I read the note sitting on my dash before my head jerked around the parking lot, searching for Tammie. But I’d stayed a few extra minutes to gather up my brownie plate, so the parking lot was all but empty.
Just yours truly and a yapping Snooki, who eyeballed me as if she fully expected my head to do a three-sixty.
“You don’t want to go home with me, do you?”
She growled and barked that much louder.
“I didn’t think so.”
Which meant I had to call animal control.
Problem solved, I told myself as I reached into my purse for my phone. I punched in the digits for information. The experts would come and pick her up.
And possibly send her to a shelter where she would be the smallest and most vulnerable among a cage full of big, starving dogs who would rather eat her than look at her.
“You have to come home with me,” I heard myself say as I killed the phone and stuffed it back into my purse.
I fought down a thousand years of instinct that told me this was a bad idea and pushed the box over onto the passenger’s seat.
Demons and dogs were like water and oil. They just didn’t mix, and to even try would be a major catastrophe. Besides, I had stuff to do. I still had hours’ worth of venue details to work on before tomorrow. Add to that the demon-proofing job that lay ahead of me courtesy of Sassy and her magic powder, and the last thing I had enough time (or nerves) for was a yapping dog.
But as busy as I was, and as loud as she was, I still couldn’t let her end up a midnight snack for some depraved Doberman. Talk about screwing up my searching-for-true-love mojo.
It was one night.
I could figure something else out tomorrow.
Holding tight to the thought, I slid into the front seat, glared at Snooki until the yapping faded into a low growl, and headed for a nearby twenty-four-hour Walmart for doggie supplies, including a pink ceramic Diva Pooch bowl, a bag of high-protein dog food, a doggie gate, and the cutest rhinestone collar.
What?
She was destitute, and I wasn’t equipped to play hostess, even for one night.
Or two.
8
I’d read a news poll once that claimed Monday was the most hated day of the week.
The big M meant the tragic end of the weekend and the start of another grueling work fest. It marked the slowest and most painful eight hours of the proverbial forty plus. It was also
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