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Chapter Eleven
Alice
“Desi?” I ask, sticking my head in the door of her apartment, which also doubles as her workspace for Doggy Style.
Dogs are barking, and I have to walk in to find her since she can’t hear me over the ruckus.
“Desi?” I ask again, walking into a room.
She whirls, her hand to her chest and buzzing clippers in the other. “Shit, Alice. You scared me.”
“Sorry,” I say with a laugh, coming farther in the room.
She has a fluffy white Maltese on the table, giving it a haircut, and I walk to the opposite side, scratching the dog on the head before she resumes her work.
“I told you I was coming to help you today.”
“I know. I have been in my own world. So, tell me everything.” She makes her eyes wide and wiggles her brows with meaning.
“There’s really nothing to tell. You’ll have to wait for tonight.” I smirk.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Alice June Whitman, you give me details right now before I pin you down and make you.”
“Please. You haven’t done that since we were kids.” But the look in her eye has me rethinking my statement. “Fine. So, I moved into his house.”
“Stop. You moved in with him?”
“You know I had to. It’s part of the dumb show you signed me up for.”
“You signed on the dotted line, not me,” she points out, buzzing a line of white fur off, and I watch it float to the floor. I don’t know how she doesn’t itch all the time with the amount of dog hair she deals with on a daily basis. “So, Simon … he’s the one you bitched and moaned about last year in between telling me how sexy he was, right? How is it, living with him?”
“That’s the thing. He’s so hot and cold. And I can tell he doesn’t want me there. I just haven’t figured out his whole part in the show. Why is he even doing it? And you know what the worst thing is? He asked me to nanny for him.”
Desi’s mouth drops open, and I nod emphatically. It’s rare that I shock her, so I relish in this feeling as she stares at me, speechless.
“Yep,” I say, letting her know that whatever thoughts she is having, I’ve probably had them about the whole situation.
“Back to the first thing—what do you mean, he’s hot and cold?”
“For example, he went on a dating show, got matched, and then asked his match to nanny for him, offering to pay her. Me. I’m that person. Then, when we are alone, he’s nice sometimes, making conversation and acting interested in my life. Then, suddenly, a switch is flipped, and he’s closed off, grumpy, and unapproachable.”
“And you have no idea why?”
“I have an idea,” I say, shifting my feet and biting my bottom lip as I debate on how much to tell her.
“Well?” she prompts.
I groan as I reach out to pet the dog again, and she shakes her head.
“Don’t touch the client while I’m working.”
“The client?”
“Yes, little Rip here has been a regular customer, and I refuse to give him a bad haircut.”
“His name is Rip?”
“Yes,” she says with a nod, as if this small dog being named Rip were normal.
