I pinch the bridge of my nose, releasing a long, harsh breath as I mutter, “Who made the no-googling rule? That was dumb.”
She clears her throat. Points at me. “You.”
“I know,” I say in a small voice, mad at myself, really. Even if they had googled him that night and reported back that we worked in thesame field, he would probably have already been balls deep inside me by the time they’d tracked down those details. Besides, who knows if him being the owner of this business is even intel that’s available online anywhere? I let it go, since that’s not what matters.
I meet Ripley’s gaze and shrug helplessly. “Mysit on my faceone-night stand is the new owner of the town’s doggie daycare, which means the man who had serious D-game, the man who extracted orgasms that can shake a skyscraper out of me, is in there,” I say, pointing with my maimed nail in the general direction of Dog Tails. “He’s my brand-new co-worker.Landlord. Colleague. Whatever.”
Ripley snort-laughs. Then tries to smother her smile. “Really?”
“It’s not funny!”
“It’s a little funny.”
“When I showed up with coconut bread from The Sweet Spot as a first-day gift, he accused me of stalking him,” I say, enraged all over again.
Ripley’s spine straightens, and she dismounts her bike, searching, perhaps for a streetlamp or sign to rest it against. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”
I clap. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
But as she unclips her helmet, I grab her arm. “As much as I love you and want you to march in there, I can’t let you.”
“Why not?”
“He’s not worth it. Also, can I just vent?”
She softens. “Of course.”
Oh good. I love venting. “Can you believe the gall of him?” I say, then recount in precise detail what Sawyer said to me, stoppingonly when Sheriff Simmons strolls down the street, hat on her head, aviator shades on, giving me a nod and a hello to Ripley. When she’s several feet away, I return to the story. “He implied I was unstable. I’m trying to build my business and my credibility. Can you even imagine if any of my new clients had heard him?”
“He’s a dick, for sure,” Ripley says, one hundred percent on my side and then some, it seems. But then she tilts her head and asks thoughtfully, “But did they hear?”
I sigh heavily, admitting, “No.”
“And are you going to storm off and refuse to work there?”
“I want to,” I say, but I know that’s a pointless wish.
“Chloe,” she says.
I blow out another breath, then gaze skyward, trying to find some peace about this awful new work situation. I return my focus to my friend, who’s steady and patient and loyal. “You’re right. I need the space.”
“Exactly. You need to work with this guy. This is your shot. Don’t mess it up by being all hot under the collar. Yes, he said some dumbass things. But you know what you have to do?”
With a wince, I ask, “Behave?”
“Talk to him,” she says. “Clear the air.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. I hate that she’s right. “Why are you so good at this?”
“It’s the curse of being an older sister and my parents dying when I was fifteen,” she says, but matter-of-factly, not sadly. She’s used to being the problem solver among us since she had to take care of herself at a young age.
“I won’t give him a piece of my mind then,” I say, cooling off maybe a little.
“Will you clear the air?”
“That’s debatable.”
Ripley just shrugs. “I can only ask for so much.” She glances down at the lavender in her bike basket. “So, um, do you want to bring the lavender into Dog Tails, or should I?”
