The Grass is Greener (4 page)

She did gain a lot of satisfaction at the way his eyes rounded as each of her little darts found home. There was a pause, but he wasn't done.

‘Ah,' he returned in a patronising tone, ‘don't try and play games that are above your grade.'

She knew in that moment that her temper was about to get the better of her and she was going to do something rash.

But to hell with it.

She was mad enough to spit fire.

‘What did you say your name was again?'

‘I didn't.' He looked back over his broad shoulder as he began to walk away. ‘You are unlikely to need it, given we move in completely different circles.'

And that's when that rash action she had dreaded took hold.

‘You're completely right, of course. I doubt my Uncle Cyril or Uncle Robert would ever have heard of you.'

At these words, Seb stopped and turned back.

That's it, prick. Take a second look.

At this stage, she was feeling not in the least bit guilty about borrowing Bronwyn's family for a couple of seconds. In fact, she was sure her best friend would approve.

‘The Eddingses?' Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

‘That's right,' Claudia lifted her chin. Somebody needed to take this guy down a notch.

‘You really have no shame, do you?'

Claudia drew in a sharp breath as Seb and Nelson walked out. She thumped her forehead with her fist.

Seriously, girl, your uncles?

She shut her eyes as hot embarrassment streaked through her. It was no wonder he didn't believe her. She'd gone too far.

Lying about being an Eddings!

Dumbarse.

It was a scene from a nightmare. Bronwyn was pinned down by a ferocious beast, unable to run or scream. Fear paralysed her. She was only able to turn her head away as the dog barked loudly in her face. Just when she thought it was going to rip her head off, it stopped and licked her face from chin to hairline.

Oh, grooosss!!!

The real owner of the dog, who reminded her very much of a lion tamer in her tight back leggings and red jacket, walked over to the side of the couch.

‘You're lucky. She likes you.'

Bronwyn eyes boggled at the woman as she pushed on the chest of the dog, which did not budge. ‘Help me.'

‘I can't believe how young you are,' the woman continued contemptuously. ‘Though in hindsight I should have expected it. What are you? Twenty-five, twenty-six?'

She was twenty-seven actually.

Bronwyn gasped as the dog began to bark at her again. ‘Please, can you get your dog off me?'

‘Oh no, honey,' the woman smirked, ‘it's not my dog.'

Mercifully, however, she grabbed the dog by the collar and pulled it from Bronwyn's lap. It bounded onto the floor. She was a rather impressive creature, standing nearly a metre in height with a very muscular chest. Bronwyn scrabbled off the couch, putting the coffee table between her and the over-eager canine. She tried to wipe the doggy spit off her face with the sleeve of her shirt … but she could still smell rotting meat.

‘Who are you?' she demanded breathlessly of its owner.

‘Peter Goldman's wife. Well,' the woman shrugged in correction, ‘ex-wife, you'll be pleased to know. I can see exactly what he sees in you.'

Bronwyn wrung her trembling hands as Mrs Goldman gave her the once over, as though she were a stripper in a gentleman's club. Was this mad woman implying that she was having a relationship with her husband?

‘Mrs Goldman –'

‘Call me Freya.' The woman flicked her hand as her dog loped off to stick its head in a wastepaper basket behind the reception desk, rattling it around and knocking it against the desk. Several papers were scattered on the floor along with thousands of little white dots from a haphazardly emptied hole punch. It looked like Jenny, the receptionist, had retreated from her post.

‘To be honest, I didn't think you were really out at lunch,' Freya went on to say conversationally. ‘I thought you were hiding behind there with the rest of them.' She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. ‘But they refused to let me and Elsa through to check your office.'

Bronwyn didn't blame them. She glanced across the room, which was divided in half by a glass wall. In front was the vandalised reception desk, behind were the offices. Sure enough, there was Jenny and a few other wide-eyed staff members barricaded behind the glass doors, which were locked with a chair back inserted under the handles. They were all watching her. There were cracks around the door handle as though someone had been rattling it … or pushing hard.

Her eyes swung back to the lion tamer.

‘What have you been doing?'

‘I needed to see you, so sue me,' Freya said and then laughed vulgarly at her own joke. ‘You probably will, won't you?'

Bronwyn coughed. ‘It seems likely.'

She looked at her colleagues, who continued to watch from the safety of their glass enclosure. Were none of them going to help her? Had the police been called to deal with this invasion? Or were they all just waiting around to serve her up as their peace offering? She must have been staring at that door too long because Freya felt the need to comment.

‘It's just a door, and it's not like you don't owe me for messing up my husband's case and my marriage as well.'

‘I didn't mess up either.'

‘Honey, I know my husband screws around.'

‘Good for you,' she retorted. ‘Now go get the rest of your information before accusing other people falsely.'

Freya's eyes narrowed. ‘Maybe you're not as dumb as you look, but you still messed up our lives.'

‘I hate to break it to you, Freya,' Bronwyn said coldly, ‘but Peter Goldman did that all on his own.'

‘Lovely,' Freya's face twisted cruelly. ‘I'm almost happy he wants you to have Elsa.'

Bronwyn's eyes swung sharply back to the dog, which lifted its head from the bin and barked at her again as though in acknowledgement.

There was no way in hell she was taking that dog!

All things considered, Claudia was absolutely right. She never should have agreed to think about anything.

‘Please remove the dog from our premises and tell Peter that I have come to the conclusion that –'

Freya seemed to read her expression correctly and interrupted with sugary satisfaction, ‘I don't care what conclusions you've come to. I'm not keeping her. I've got a plane to catch in a few hours and Peter promised me I would not be left with any remnants of his life.'

Freya walked over to the lifts again and pushed the button.

‘You can't just leave that dog here,' Bronwyn gasped.

‘Peter said you would look after her.'

‘I didn't agree to that.'

The lift doors opened and Freya stepped in. ‘Frankly, it makes no difference to me what went on between the two of you. Take it up with Peter. I don't have time for this.'

Bronwyn raced over to stop the doors from closing but got there too late. She jabbed frantically at the buttons but could only watch in horror as the lift lights showed Freya had well and truly escaped.

Shit and biscuits!

The dog began to bark loudly behind her again. She spun around with a hand to her temple. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

As if in answer, someone thumped loudly on the glass doors across the room to get her attention. Some assistance maybe? She glanced their way.

It was Simon.

And he was furious.

‘Bronwyn,' he shook his finger at her, ‘get that dog out of here!'

‘But –'

As she was talking, Elsa bounded to the glass where Simon was standing, jumped up on her hind legs and pushed on the handles, rattling the door. Simon took a step back but continued to glare at Bronwyn.

‘You brought this problem into the firm,' he said harshly. ‘Now you remove it!'

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. ‘But what do I do with it? I don't know anything about dogs.'

What if she bites me?

The dog didn't appear to be vicious but nor was it sedate or quiet either.

‘Check it into a kennel and then go see your client and sort this shit out!' Simon threw back at her.

‘But –'

‘Bronwyn, I want that mutt out of my office right now! We will discuss your situation later.'

My situation? Why does everyone keep saying I have a situation?

He turned and walked away from the glass wall, becoming absorbed back into the safe confines of the firm. The other staff continued to glare at her and the dog through the glass.

He didn't honestly think she was having an affair with Peter Goldman, did he? Or perhaps he thought she'd agreed to accept the dog. You would think her colleagues would at least have had a kennel address ready for her. If they couldn't bother helping her that much, she wasn't going to worry about what further damage Elsa did to their workspace while she googled ‘kennels'. They had literally left her to the dogs.

Unfortunately, at this point Elsa lost interest in the glass doors and came bounding back across the room, her leash trailing behind her. This dog was strong enough to crack glass, so Bronwyn knew one of her femurs wasn't going to faze Elsa. She quickly scooted behind the armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table, having no desire to be pinned down again. Glancing around for her handbag, she saw it discarded on the couch. Elsa tilted her head curiously at Bronwyn, as though amused at the defensive stance she'd taken.

‘Is there any way you'll come with me quietly?' Bronwyn asked.

Elsa gave a mocking bark and trotted back to her new favourite toy – Jenny's wastepaper basket. Bronwyn used the chance to pull her phone out of her handbag. She went to work locating several kennels not too far from the city, some of better repute than others. Finally she settled on her choice. It was only just in time. Elsa came loping back towards her again.

‘Okay, Elsa,' Bronwyn tried to keep her tone soothing, ‘perhaps we can negotiate an agreement. I'll buy you some doggie biscuits if you let me take your leash.'

Elsa whined, sat down and happily began to thump her tail loudly on the carpet.

Bronwyn swallowed and ran sweaty palms down the front of her jacket. ‘That's more like it.'

Slowly, she inched her way around the armchair and then around Elsa so she was standing looking at her lead curled on the floor behind her tail. She snuck forward, reaching carefully. Her fingers were just about to grasp the leather strap when Elsa jumped up and spun around, barking loudly in protest.

Bronwyn flew back, her bum hitting Jenny's desk.

‘That's not fair! I would have given you those dog biscuits.'

Elsa ignored her and walked over to the coffee table. She stuck her head underneath it and pulled out a stray cushion, which must have fallen there. With a growl, she began to shake it vigorously, a long glob of drool hanging low from her chin. The cushion flopped around, hitting her on the side of the head. Funnily enough, she appeared to enjoy that. Bronwyn bit back a grin.

If only my clients were this easy to placate.

Slowly, she inched her way forward again and finally managed to get close enough to stoop and pick up Elsa's lead.

‘Got you.'

Elsa immediately dropped the cushion and raced towards the lifts, nearly causing Bronwyn's arm to pop from its socket. ‘W-whoa!'

At least Elsa was going in the right direction. She jabbed at the lift button while Elsa ran in circles, winding the leash around her body, causing her to almost topple over.

‘Elsa! No!'

She didn't dare contemplate how they were going to fare in the street, especially in her three-inch black heels.

Carefully, she unwound herself and then pushed the lift buttons again. The doors swung open almost immediately.

‘Excellent.' She had her car parked in a bay under the building. It was only a matter of minutes before she'd have this dog inside and strapped down. The ride to the basement was
fine, but she shouldn't have counted her chickens on the rest. Once out of the lift, Elsa seemed to want to walk in any direction but the way in which she was required to go. They did a couple of laps of the car park before they circled back to her car.

Her feet were already killing her.

She managed to put a seatbelt on Elsa and hoped this would keep her from jumping into the front seat while Bronwyn was driving. Somewhere between the city and the dog kennel, Elsa freed herself from confinement and jumped into the front passenger seat. Thankfully she seemed content to sit there for the rest of the ride to Doggy Haven.

When they got out of the car, however, Elsa was keen to run off into the surrounding parkland. Perhaps it was a mistake on Bronwyn's part not to let her do so. If she had, Elsa might not have released her bowels on the floor of Doggy Haven's reception.

‘Er … excuse me,' the woman behind the counter said before Bronwyn could even ask for any forms. ‘What the hell is your dog doing?'

‘She's, er …' Bronwyn spun around. ‘
Elsa!
Oh crap.'

As she named it, the turd detached itself cleanly from Elsa's butt and dropped onto the tiled floor. ‘Do you have a bag or a paper towel?'

With pursed lips the woman behind the counter handed her a small shovel that was hanging on the wall.

‘Is your dog toilet-trained?'

‘I assume so.'

‘What do you mean, you assume?'

‘Well, the dog isn't mine.'

‘So you're a dog-sitter.'

‘Sort of. Not really.' She tried to smile, hoping for some understanding but finding none in the face of stone regarding her. ‘I – I'm more of a middle man.'

The woman behind the counter began to look very wary.

‘So do you know whether this dog has been vaccinated or treated for fleas?'

Bronwyn hedged. ‘Is that a standard thing? Because if it is then probably. I mean, this dog is from a good home.'

‘So why can't the owner take care of her right now?'

‘Um, does it matter?'

‘Try me.'

‘He's in jail. When I said good home, I meant expensive decor.'

‘I see.' The woman was now looking very stern. ‘So the likelihood of the owner coming back for the dog at a later stage and paying his account isn't very high.'

‘Well,' Bronwyn put on her most professional voice, ‘the owner is very attached to his dog and I'm estimating that he won't get more than a three-year sentence.' The woman lowered her chin to look at Bronwyn over the top of her glasses.

‘All right,' Bronwyn winced, ‘four years tops. I'm his lawyer, you see. So of course, I'm aiming for the best possible outcome but I can only work with what I have. In the meantime, I could put up a reasonable deposit for the dog's stay here. Would that help? Please, I'm desperate.'

Apparently, desperation wasn't a factor that strengthened her argument. Doggy Haven did not take dogs from sitters, only from owners. Nor did they take dogs that hadn't been treated for fleas, vaccinated or toilet-trained. Five minutes later, Elsa was in the front seat of Bronwyn's car again, on her way to Paradise Paws.

As it turned out, kennel managers were almost as difficult to negotiate with as high court judges. She spent the remainder of the afternoon driving all over town.

The man at Paradise Paws said, ‘We require all Elsa's vaccination documentation before we will accept her.'

The granny at Kennels for Kings said, ‘We don't take aggressive dogs.'