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That was a sweet story. But I’d recognized the streak of kindness in Callan from the first day on the trail. That didn’t change the fact that I needed to keep our relationship professional until I completed this assignment. Especially if I hoped to earn more business from Bad Dog.
Carrie got back to business. “So, you are under contract for the promotional graphics for the tour. Tour poster, teaser cards, social media artwork. When will we see that?”
I glanced at the calendar hung above my monitor. “They aren’t due for another three weeks. I’ll have preliminary designs ready in about a week for approval. With the artwork, those pieces are based on already done and approved, some of it is just a matter of sizing, and finessing things to look good.” I liked doing the supporting art. Typically it was easy, satisfying, and lucrative work.
“Perfect,” she crowed. “Okay, moving on… Do you have capacity to take on another rush job for us? It’s a charity program we’ve been involved in for a year. We’ll need about the same types of content; main poster, social media cards, website graphics, that sort of thing. But we’ll need it in less than three weeks.”
“What? Carrie, that’s an unreasonable turnaround. I’ll need time for development meetings, preliminaries, research. Has anything been done?” Hopefully, there was already a base design to work with. That would make it easier.
Through the phone line I heard her disgusted sigh. “Afraid not. We had a designer lined up and had gotten the ball just barely rolling, but then he dropped off the face of the Earth. Stopped answering the phone, responding to texts or emails. Finally, we heard from his parole officer. He was back in prison for embezzlement.” Her harsh laugh echoed in my ear. “He’d never disclosed to us that he had a criminal record. Wouldn’t have stopped us hiring him, but we might have watched him more closely. Seems he was stealing from a couple of his freelance jobs.”
“I suppose it would be easy enough to do. Invoice a client for double the price of supplies. Any graphic designer would be able to replicate a bill and inflate the amount.”
“And that’s exactly what he did. At least he hadn’t invoiced us yet. There’s a special level of hell reserved for knuckleheads who steal from charities. Although in this case, Bad Dog is footing the bill.” She sighed. “Can you do it? I’m desperate. Management authorized me to pay for expedited service.” She named a figure that made my head spin.
“Yeah, I can do it,” I replied without even looking at my calendar to see where I’d fit it in. For that kind of money, I’d make it work. That kind of money meant I could add another monster-sized monitor or take a vacation.
Carrie filled me in on the details, set up a meeting for the initial details, and then sent me links to the charity’s existing website for a scholarship program for underprivileged athletes.
I was going to like working on this one.
But the website was dismal. Not enough keywords in the text to make the organization easily searchable. Dark graphics with grainy and blurry photographs. I clicked around on different links for the charity, and finding the donations page was an exercise in futility. There should at least have been a pop-up landing page to subscribe to a newsletter. But maybe they didn’t have an outreach program.
I picked up my favorite pen and grabbed an unused notebook from my stockpile. Each project I worked on got their own, allowing me to easily locate notes I’d made about the different aspects of an event or assignment.
My nerves danced excitedly, the way they always did at the start of a new project. I shooed Frank off my lap and started an outline for what this charity program would need.
Frank strutted to the cat bed in the corner and curled up in a ball of fluff. He yawned once and lowered his head between his paws. My time to get to work was his nap time.
* * *
The sun was just going down when Callan called.
“Red, you are the bomb-diggity,” he burst out, in lieu of a greeting. He rushed on, “Carrie just forwarded the artwork to me. It’s…damn, girl, you are incredible.”
“Bomb-diggity?”
“I said what I said. I’m as happy as a hound in a mud puddle with the work. I sent back my approval within thirty seconds.”
I basked in his weirdly phrased joy. It conjured a great image of him wrestling to get a dog free of a puddle. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“Does that mean your contract for my artwork with Bad Dog is done? Can I ask you on a date now?”
“Hold your horses there, Mr. Wilder.” Frank jumped up on the couch next to me. I’d been watchingFrench Kisswhen he called. I paused the movie. “I still have support pieces to work on. I needed to wait until the approval on the initial work comes in before moving to the next phase. I have about three more weeks of work on this.”
Callan groaned. “Three damn weeks! I won’t survive.”
“What’d you say in the song you recorded today?I’ll wait?” I stroked my fingers through Frank’s fur, imagining the softness was Callan’s blond hair.
“I don’t feel like waiting. I’ve always been an instant gratification kind of guy.”
His eagerness sent a splinter of need stabbing through me, lodging sharply between my thighs. I shifted on the couch, dislodging my cat in the process. He objected to my sudden move and pawed my hand. “Frank! Stop.” I patted his rump and nudged him off the couch. He strutted away, his head high and tail swishing like a metronome.
Callan cleared his throat. “Frank? Is someone there with you? Am I interrupting something?” His tone held a note of suspicion, and a thread of discontent.
“No,” I began. Was he jealous? That made me smile. “Well, yes. I have the most handsome fella living with me. He has the most beautiful pair of cobalt blue eyes you’ve ever seen.”
“Uh…”
