Never Say Sty (3 page)

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Authors: Linda O. Johnston

BOOK: Never Say Sty
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“Er . . . Isn’t she a wonderful attorney, Dante?” Charlotte had been staring at Dante, then me, moving her head fast enough that her long braid of dark hair swung from side to side. “Always ready to argue. But of course we want to hear everything you have to say.” Her tone turned gushy. Which made me feel like throttling Charlotte, though I realized that what she was doing—attempting to throw the guy off guard by flagrant flirtation—might actually be advantageous to me.
“Thank you.” Dante looked only at her, although the words that poured next from his again-smiling lips were clearly aimed at me. “I’ll need to see a proposed budget for the initial season of
Animal Auditions
. I’ll pay for those costs, if the budget makes sense and contains projections that show how I can make a substantial profit if all goes as we anticipate.”
Charlotte was nodding as she stared straight into those sexy eyes that Dante kept directly on her.
Well, fine. She could have him. And maybe if she did, I’d get him to budge off the unreasonable conditions I was certain he was about to present.
“And your desired terms?” I inquired. I shouldn’t have used the word “desire.” Not with a guy who looked like that sitting beside me. It only reminded me I hadn’t had sex for weeks, not since my former boyfriend, Jeff, had first disappeared. Sure, he’d returned to town, but he’d really wounded me with his attitude when he resurfaced.
Maybe lack of sex was exactly why I thought about it now, in the presence of a guy as great-looking as Dante DeFrancisco. But now that I understood my attitude, I’d deal with it.
“Here’s what I want.” He took a sip of espresso, then returned his cup to the glass table. His movement apparently disturbed Wagner, who sat up beside him. Dante distractedly stroked his dog’s head as he said, “First, this studio is too far away for easy filming access. I have a nicer and more convenient place we can rent in—where else?—Studio City.”
“That’s fine, isn’t it, Kendra?” Charlotte said, her usually friendly face wearing an expression that suggested she’d go for my jugular if I disagreed. Apparently, she really wanted to please this guy . . . in more ways than one?
That idea made me want to dig in my heels, but I’d wait and choose my arguments. This demand actually had some appeal.
“Let’s hear the rest,” I said sweetly, “so we can determine what needs negotiation.” Like Dante’s autocratic attitude.
“Fine.” Charlotte would have hissed and aimed her claws at me if Dante hadn’t started speaking again. And this from a lady who’d always annoyed me with her hugginess.
“Second,” Dante said, “I enjoy finding new and different things to do to amuse Wagner, so even though he won’t be a viable contestant, I’d like for him to be included in at least some of the training sessions for dogs. Offcamera is fine, of course.”
Wagner grasped that we were gabbing about him. He moved away from his owner’s stroking hand and around the table toward me. His leash was long enough that he had no problem reaching my side. Like Dante, I started petting the friendly pup as I pondered this part of the proposal.
“As long as it doesn’t slow down the production,” I said. “And if you’re willing to pay for any additional staff time, facilities, and other expenses, that may be all right. Depending on the rest of your . . . suggestions.” I still wasn’t willing to openly acknowledge that they were demands.
“Only a couple more. The next one’s a deal killer, though, if you don’t agree, but I’m sure it’s the most obvious.”
I drew in my breath, defensive even before I heard what it was. I always got that way around so-called deal killers. They too often tended to be unreasonable. And unreasonable demands never made it into contracts that I got involved with negotiating . . . unless they were mine. Good thing I was first and foremost a litigator.
“What’s that?” The mistrust and irritation in my tone evoked another glare from Charlotte, a stiffening of Wagner at my side . . . and another sardonic smile from Dante.
“My backing of
Animal Auditions
appears a no-brainer, considering I’m in the pet supplies business. HotPets will be the major sponsor, or there’ll be no show. And there will of course be no competing pet-related retailers’ ads. Period.”
Again his gaze hardened. His broad jaw grew tauter and more belligerent, as if he anticipated an argument.
But why would I object? The condition seemed reasonable—not that I’d concede that to him.
“Any final suggestions?” was all I said.
He didn’t exactly relax. But one corner of his mouth quirked up almost imperceptibly. “Yes. Dogs are delightful subjects for this show, but to bring in a wider audience, I want you to agree to have other pets participate as well. That’ll help differentiate
Animal Auditions
from other pet reality shows, especially with the kinds of ongoing training scenarios you’ve already introduced. We want it to stay unique. And I’ll assist in coming up with scenarios for training and showcasing other kinds of animals.”
A good idea—one we’d already considered—but I still considered digging my heels in, so as not to appear to be a pushover. “What other kinds of animals?” I demanded.
“I’ll think about it. But you’re an animal expert, too, Kendra. With your law practice, and especially with your pet-sitting, you work with many kinds of creatures. What’s your suggestion?”
My mind flitted among ferrets and kitties, iguanas, ball pythons, and macaws. Macaws? Maybe. I’d considered them all. But then my thoughts stopped on something I’d seen only a few weeks ago. My friend and former law-firm co-worker Avvie Milton had shown me a heck of a performance by her pet, Pansy.
“Potbellied pigs,” I proposed.
That garnered a grin from Dante. And a relieved look from Charlotte as she observed his pleased demeanor.
“Done,” he said. “And the other ‘suggestions’ so far?” He stressed the word “suggestions” as if he was simply humoring me.
Which he most likely was.
“We may need to discuss how to accomplish them,” I said slowly, considering the move from the Valencia sound stage, the staging of Wagner’s participation, and the inclusion of noncanine contestants, “but I haven’t heard anything unworkable.”
Which made Charlotte relax and take a deep swig of her coffee drink.
“Oh, and one more thing.” The challenging expression in Dante’s expressive eyes suddenly made me freeze. And grow hot. At the same time. How did that happen?
“What?” I asked as casually as I could . . . expecting the worst.
Which I got. Kinda.
“I’ll back the show only if you’ll have dinner with me tonight, Kendra.”
 
 
“SO WHAT ELSE could I do?” I asked Abra a while later. The female Siamese kitty glared at me in the kitchen, since I had been so rude as to interrupt her dinner. Her cohort and co-cat of the household, Cadabra, a pretty tabby, at least looked at me with a shred of sympathy before returning to carefully pick over the morsels of kitty food I’d put in her dish. Their human, Harold Reddingham, was a long-term pet-sitting customer of mine. The felines had decided to put up with me when Harold was out of town—which he often was—though they sometimes played games like hiding to scare the silly pet-sitter who appeared daily to do their bidding.
They obviously had no answers for me, so I next headed to Stromboli’s home. The shepherd mix seemed happy to see me, but offered no suggestions as I walked him along his street. His neighbor Maribelle Openheim, who’d become my friend, came outside with her wiry terrier, Meph, after I called to let her know I was in the area. I considered telling the hairstylist, whose own coif now had a lovely layered look, my dilemma, but decided to lay it on her later, if at all. I’d already made my bed, so to speak—I’d accepted Dante’s dinner invitation.
“What’re you thinking about?” Maribelle demanded, staring straight into my face. She wore her middle age well these days. When I’d first met her, she’d been going through an awful emotional time, but now she was essentially happy with her life—and ready to organize mine. “You look like you’ve swallowed something awful.”
“I’m fine,” I told her. “I’ll tell you all about it soon.”
“Oh, one of those dirty attorney confidentiality dilemmas,” she surmised with a sigh. “Glad I don’t have to deal with such things.”
I didn’t disabuse her. Instead, I took Stromboli home, made certain he was comfy, and, sitting in the car, jotted my latest pet-sitting notes into my Critter TLC, LLC, journal. Then I hustled to pick up my darling Lexie from doggy day care, and headed home to feed her. And hug her. And feel sorry for myself for as long as I could.
“You feel sorry for me, too, don’t you, Lexie?” I asked her as she sat on the bedroom floor, watching me prepare for an evening without her company. But good sport that she is, she wagged her long tail and stood on her hind legs to hug me.
I didn’t have a whole lot of leeway here. I’d enlisted a lot of people to participate in this cute reality show concept, but it would shrivel away to naught if we didn’t secure sufficient funding.
Martyrdom? Maybe.
In any event, a while later, I sat across from Dante in an intimate booth in a delightful, upscale French restaurant only a couple of miles from my home. The place was moderately crowded, but the wait staff was utterly attentive, the aroma of the cuisine made it worth waiting for, and the acoustics were fine for a private conversation.
Dante had picked me up at my place in a limo driven by a liveried chauffeur. A bit much? You bet. But impressive nonetheless. And if he’d been surprised that I’d told him to meet me at the bottom of the stairs beside the garage after buzzing him through the wrought iron security gate, instead of at the entry of the main house, he didn’t mention it. I had to assume, since he knew who I was, that he had also learned that Lexie and I live in the apartment over the garage and I rent out the beautiful big residence on my property so I can hang on to it all despite the hefty mortgage.
Of course dogs weren’t invited on this outing. I’d attempted to explain that to Lexie, but she’d still aimed a hurt look at me as I’d left.
Now, I sipped a deliciously tart yet fruity Bordeaux that cost a bundle more than the house wine. Dante had ordered, with my prior okay, chateaubriand for two—one of the priciest items on the menu. Was he itching to impress me? Well, hell, he was succeeding—and not simply by all the expensive accoutrements.
No, what was really impressive was
him
.
“So you brazened out that whole ugly situation after losing your law license,” he said in a tone that sounded surprisingly impressed, considering all this guy had accomplished so far in his successful life. He wore a black suit, crisp white shirt, and navy patterned tie, an outfit that suggested a whole lot of sexiness beneath. Not that sex was what this business meeting was about. But geez, his eyes sure suggested otherwise as he seemed to study me all over.
“What choice did I have?” I asked rhetorically as I shivered beneath his stare. “Lexie and I had to eat. And a really good friend came to my rescue by referring me to some of his doggy day care clients who needed nighttime pet-sitting, so, voilà.” Not that I actually spoke French, but it seemed appropriate to toss in one of the few words I know here, in this mini château.
“Brave woman.” He aimed a smile at me that would have made me melt as much as his gaze if I’d decided to take his flirtation personally. But this guy had to have every woman in the universe swooning at his Ferragamo-shod feet. He was undoubtedly used to encouraging them, either to lure them between his sheets or for practice till he found someone worth luring.
Which wasn’t me.
Well, okay. I’d dressed for the occasion, too, in a snazzy, slim cocktail dress that dipped way down in front and back. It was black and sequined and showed off my relatively slender figure. My ordinary, shoulder-length brown hair had been blown into a flattering coif that framed my face.
Odd, though, how his continued appreciative stare, no matter how practiced, somehow made me feel attractive. Well, hell, I’d enjoy the charade for this evening.
And even engage in a little flirtation myself. What would it hurt?
Except that I’d learned my lesson too well. The most attractive men could hurt the worst.
“I’m not brave,” I said. “Just practical. But tell me about
you
. How did you wind up getting into the pet product business?”
“Practicality, too,” he said, taking a sip from his wine goblet. “And the fact that I care about animals. My career could have taken many different directions, but I wanted to focus on something important to me, preferably products I could sell to everyone, of all economic levels. And what is it that people, no matter who they are, indulge in most these days?”
“Their pets, of course.”
“Of course. You’ve found your niche—or should I say niches? You pet-sit, and apparently excel at that. But in addition, you’ve modified your law career to incorporate that additional interest. I’m most definitely impressed.”
So how had we gotten back to talking about
me
? Hell if I knew. I didn’t press the subject of Dante DeFrancisco until after our salads were served.

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