Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
He’s practically bashful as he gives her a slight bow. “Thank you. I’m grateful I won out over Edward. But he remains a good friend. And I appreciate every vote, so I can make Darling Springs the most sustainable hot spot in the country. Anyhoo, I met with a Webflix producer the other day. It was a Sunday too, and she just never stops working,” he continues, and I flash back to spotting him chatting with the woman in the expensive clothes and snakeskin purse. That must have been her. “And I just got the call that it’s a go—I negotiated a deal with Webflix where in exchange for shooting on location here, they’d commit to hiring local businesses. Catering, hotels, etc. And also…dog training. Since they need an on-set dog trainer.” Then he winces. “Shoot. I maybe forgot to check if we even have local talent? Is there any chance you can help me find someone, Zuri?”
“I can.” Bridget grabs my arm and thrusts it in the air. “I volunteer Chloe as tribute.”
Talk about a glow-up.
Linus sets a hand on his heart. “Of course! Yes! I nearly forgot. I thought you were the balloonist. But right, right. You’re a dog trainer,” he says.
Am I going to have to live down the balloon fiasco forever? “I’m definitely not the balloonist. I’m not even the one who arranged for the balloons,” I say, annoyance creeping into my voice.
“Excellent, since we’re all ready to move past the incident,” he says with a shudder, then he waves a hand, like that’s all in the past. “But you do train dogs?”
“Yes! My dog training business is called…” Well, it was called Chloe’s Dog Training, but what TV company wants a boring name when they hire a dog trainer for their show? On the fly, I invent a new one. “Chloe’s Paw-sitive Dog Training.”
He chuckles. “Like positive?”
Well, of course. “Yes. Just like positive.”
“Love it. You’ll have to interview, of course. It’s not a done deal, and they won’t be in town to start for another week or so, but I’ll get everything set up.”
Bridget turns toward me, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “That’s perfect. You can get the space ready and show it off for the producers,” she says, then turns back to Linus. “Ms. Rivers will be available.” Bridget’s a fantastic publicist, it seems, and speaks the more formal language of our go-getter mayor.
Linus lets out a long, relieved breath. “Well, this has been serendipitous.”
Lately, my life feels a little that way. From the clients to the space, to this brand-new glitzy possibility—it’s like maybe getting canned was the best thing to happen to me. Losing that job started this streak of luck.
Zuri turns to me. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow, and I’ll introduce you to the new owner since he’ll be here then? He’s such a great businessman—you’ll have so much in common.”
I can’t wait.
* * *
The next day, I’m staring at my closet, flicking past blouses and the pretty high-waisted slacks I used to wear to Fitzburger Events. This is a dog business. And dog people are casual.
Well…smart casual.
I pick a pair of jeans, some cute flats, and a simple, light-blue button-down shirt—sturdy, but still business-attractive. I give Captain a kiss, then grab my backpack full of dog training supplies—leashes and halters, dog treats and dog bags, squeaky toys, an assortment of target sticks, some licky pads, a few new Kongs, and a jar of peanut butter. Organic, of course. At the door, I grab a canvas box for the toys, then slide my laptop and its case into a woven bag and head over to Dog Tails, where I park a block away.
Craning my neck to see in the rearview mirror, I smooth my shirt, take a beat, then check for sweat. No pit stains. Yay.
I hop out of the car, snag my gear, and walk down the street, ready to step into the next phase of my professional life. Dog trainer to the stars.
But…
A gift would be nice, right?
Of course it would!
Oh, my inner voice is supportive now. How nice.
I take a detour to The Sweet Spot and scan the tempting trays of blueberry scones, lemon poppyseed cookies, and cinnamon rolls dripping with, well, whatever that is that covers them, when the owner swings by. “Hey, Chloe. Looking for anything special today?”
I raise my face. “Hey, Katrina. I need something to bring to my new co-workers. The cookies look amazing, but I think it’s too early for cookies. Maybe cinnamon rolls?”
“You can’t beat cinnamon rolls, that’s true. But they can be messy and that can be…awkward at work. What about banana bread, or lemon bread, or…” Katrina moves down the glass case, gesturing to a mouthwatering tray full of thin slices of soft, cake-like bread with coconut flakes on them. “Coconut bread.”