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Seven
As I’d done yesterday, I took Baxter with me to the office the next day. Robin was ready for her temporary canine assistant. An extra water bowl and a dog bed now graced the corner of her office, as well as mine.
“Hey, precious,” Robin cooed. “Did you have a good night?”
“Aww,” I replied with a fake sniff. “You really care about me.”
Robin laughed. “Well, sure, but I’m talking to the cutie in your arms.” She wiggled her fingers. “Hand him over. The office staff has filled out his walk schedule for today, so we’re good to go.” She took the dog from me. “Plus, you have to get your visual media finished for the board meeting.”
I frowned. “I worry that Baxter is too much of a distraction for the office. I know he’s a cutie, but I don’t want him to keep the staff from getting their work done.”
“Actually, he’s not a problem at all. He’s more an inducement to get their work done. No walking the dog if you’re behind on work.”
“Okay, but it might be hard to explain that incentive to HR. Speaking of behind on work, I’m guilty. I’ll get the graphics to you shortly.”
An hour later, there was a knock at my door. I frowned as I saw Robin’s head coming around the edge of the door.
“Someone is here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment but says he’s here to take Baxter?”
“The hell he is.” I stood. “No one is taking that dog. What’s this person’s name?”
“Randall Branson. Says Lillian is his grandmother.”
“Interesting.” Even as my brain began to run possible scenarios for what Lillian’s grandson really wanted, I was slipping my feet back into my high heels. I’d gotten used to wearing heels and was thankful I’d worn my seriously kickass pair. There was something about standing tall in kickass heels that gave me a sense of confidence. “Send him in.”
Robin opened my office door wider and a man in his mid-to-late twenties walked in. His khaki slacks, while clean and pressed, were a smidge too tight and a few years of out of style, as though they’d been pulled from the back of the closet. The sleeves of his white oxford shirt were rolled to his elbows, exposing his forearms, which lacked muscular definition. I had a thing for muscular forearms and his were sadly lacking. His dark hair had been pulled into a man bun, drawing attention to his thin, drawn face. The smile he gave me held no warmth or much friendliness. I would swear the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees with his presence.
“Ms. Carmichael. I’m Randall, Lillian’s grandson,” he said as he walked across my office with his hand extended.
I walked from behind my desk to meet the man halfway. I felt obliged to take the proffered hand, but at the same time, a nervous chill ran down my spine. After the shortest handshake in my life, I broke the connection. It took everything in my power not to rub my palm against my skirt. “Mr. Branson, what can I do for you?”
The oily smile remained. “I heard about my grandmother’s fall. I promised her I would take Baxter if anything happened to her. Her neighbor told me you’d taken him. Thank you for your generosity, but I’ll take him off your hands now. Maybe you could ask your staff to help me load him into my car? I’d appreciate it. Where is that sweet boy?” His gaze flashed around the room.
I moved back behind the desk. “I’m sorry…Randall, is it? There seems to be a misunderstanding. Lillian gave Baxter to me and said nothing about you coming to get him. Therefore, he will be staying with me. And how did you know he would be in my office?”
His jaw hardened, as did his expression. “A neighbor told me. Now, I’m a busy man and don’t have all day to stand around. Just bring me the dog and I’ll be on my way.”
“That’s not going to happen. Now, since you’re such a busy, busy man, you may go about your day knowing your grandmother’s precious pet is well taken care of.” I gestured toward the door. “Show yourself out.”
If looks could kill, I’d have been dropping to my carpet. Luckily for me, I’d survived many a death stare from one sister or the other. Today was no exception. I remained standing behind my desk, refusing to be bullied by the man-child.
Lillian’s grandson huffed. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
I nodded. “That’s fine. My assistant can provide all the information your lawyer will need to contact me.” Setting both hands flat on the desk, I leaned toward him, a hateful glare on my face.
He took a couple of steps back.
“Lillian is very special to me. Her expressed desires will be carried out as she wanted. I am also a lawyer, Mr. Branson. I have unimpeachable witnesses that heard her tell me, not ask me, but tell me to take her dog and keep him until she got home. So, don’t fuck with me. You won’t like the outcome.” I gestured toward the door, proud of myself that I didn’t use the middle finger to point. “Get out. I have serious work to do.”
After a solid minute of a glaring stare-down, he whirled around and marched out of my office, slamming my door with his exit.
I dropped into my chair, my heart racing. Don’t fuck with me? Where had that tidbit come from? My hands were still clenched into angry fists when Robin stuck her head into the office.
“Don’t fuck with me?” Robin laughed. “I have never heard you use that word in my life.”
“I know, I know.” I sighed and leaned heavily against the back of my chair. “He just made me so mad.”
“I thought he was creepy.”
