I Have Never (A Laugh Out Loud Romantic Comedy) Page 7

  “She’s slightly underweight for her age and she was malnourished and a bit dehydrated. Anyway, we gave her fluids, and a good diet with plenty of love should cure the rest.”

  I bite my lower lip. “Right.”

  “You don’t seem convinced?”

  Tears already prickle my eyes. “It’s just that I don’t think I can keep her.”

  Chevron stops running and lays flat on the table, resting her head on her front paws while whining.

  I explain my situation to Michelle and in response, she informs me of all the programs New York City offers to pet owners in need. Reduced routine veterinary care, reduced pet boarding fee, free supplies, and she even gives me a few names of trusted dog-sitting services.

  “But ultimately it’s your decision,” Michelle concedes.

  “What if I helped you?” Richard blurts out.

  An unwise ecstasy grips me as I listen to Richard trying to convince me to keep Chevron, advertising all the things he could do to help. The more my mood brightens, the more Michelle’s face darkens. She seems annoyed with us. The Most-friendly-girl-on-Earth starts getting snippy, and unceremoniously ushers us out of the clinic claiming she has to close. Even if it’s still twenty to six.

  Just outside, there’s a small park. Seems like a good place to reflect on what to do. We sit down on a bench. Chevron jumps up and sits quietly, resting her snout on my thigh. Her big, scared eyes stare into mine.

  Richard looks at her and asks, “How can you think of abandoning her?”

  I shake my head, close to tears. “I can’t. But how can I keep her? I could walk to work every day now that the weather is warm. But what about winter? I can’t walk two miles in the freezing rain or snow across a bridge. She’d get too wet and cold; it wouldn’t be good for her.”

  “I could drive you home when the weather is too bad to walk.”

  I stare into Richard’s brown eyes, not daring to let my hopes rise too high. “You’d pick me up and drive me home every time it rains or snows? This is New York, Richard. Awful weather is pretty much a given in winter. And traffic is just awful.”

  “For a cutie like this one”—he pokes Chevron’s nose—“in a heartbeat.”

  As though conscious of her fate being discussed, Chevron nuzzles my hand with her moist muzzle and whines. How did I get so attached to her in less than a day? Yesterday, I didn’t know she existed, and now, the thought of living without her is too heartbreaking to even consider. But I have to think of Chevron’s best interest. Be responsible.

  “So why don’t you keep her full time?” I ask.

  “I’m often away for the weekend, and I go back to England at least twice a year. I wouldn’t be able to manage a dog full time.”

  “Mmm…”

  “Come on, the solution is right here. I can cover for you when you’re away and drive you home if the weather is awful… or you could borrow my car. Or she could stay at my place sometimes. Or, even better, you could move to Brooklyn.”

  Over my dead body. Sorry Chevron, but I can’t leave Manhattan, not even for you. “Yeah, right!”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know, Richard. What if I change jobs? What would happen then?”

  The boss smiles a bitter smile. “Already sending out CVs?”

  “That’s not what I meant. A dog is a ten-year commitment at the very minimum. And it’s not as if we can decide to keep her now and change our minds in five, ten, or maybe even fifteen years. What if you move back to England? What if one or both of us moves away from New York?”

  “We’ll figure something out. You really want to bring Chevron to a shelter?”

  I shake my head. “No, but the responsible thing would be to find her a forever family that will adopt her.”

  “Then don’t be responsible. Live a little. What if no one adopts her? You want her to stay caged up forever?”

  The same cabin fever from the few hours I spent in jail makes my pulse race. I can’t send Chevron to live in a cage. Not even for a day.

  “No!”

  “So let’s keep her. If we join forces, we can.”

  “Are you really ready for this kind of responsibility?”

  “I am, if you are.”

  I stare into two pairs of puppy-dog eyes and there’s no way I can say no. “Okay then.” I could be going crazy, but Richard’s enthusiasm is infectious.

  Richard smiles, too. “So you want to leave her with me tonight?”

  “No!” Instinctively, I put a hand on Chevron’s head as if to protect her. “I mean, it’s only May. The weather’s great. She can stay with me for now.”

  “So you’re going to walk to work every day?”

  “Or bike. I’ll do it instead of running.”

  Richard smiles again and shakes his head.

  “What?”

  “You’re never letting go of that dog, you know that, right?” I start to protest, but he cuts me short. “Come on,” he says, jumping up from the bench and offering me his hands. “Let’s go.”

  As I walk home over the Manhattan Bridge, I can’t help the little smile pulling at my lips. I know Richard offered to help only for Chevron’s sake, but still, he was ready to commit to us—okay, to her—for an undisclosed number of years. All Indira’s theories about his phobia must be exaggerated. All the boss needs is a little push…

  Eight

  Always Dress Properly

  The need to walk to work forces me to tone down my wardrobe and sort of embrace the athleisure movement. So today my outfit—a pale pink scuba-jersey sweatshirt, shiny paneled leggings, and the irreplaceable pink wedge All Stars—gains me a wink of approval from Indira as soon as I round my desk.

  “Cool outfit, girl,” she greets me. “The boss wants to see you.”

  After setting down Chevron’s food and water bowls, I knock on Richard’s door.

  “Come in,” he says, voice muffled by the glass.

  I poke my head in. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Ah, Blair, yes.” Richard beckons me, and I sit in the chair opposite to his desk.

  Today he’s wearing a deep blue shirt that’s begging to be ripped off him. I swallow.

  “This is a bit last minute, but are you free this weekend?” Richard asks.

  My heart skips a beat.

  Is he asking me on a date? What do I say?

  “This weekend?” I repeat trying to buy time to think.

  “Yep. How would you feel about flying with me to LA?”

  A weekend in California? That sounds so romantic. Is this really happening?

  “We would have to fly economy as the company budget is low…”

  Company budget? Oh. My heart plummets. So it’s a work thing. Stupid me for thinking otherwise.

  “Sorry, I’m not following,” I say. “Why LA?”

  “A good friend of mine is hosting a charity ball in Los Angeles… You know Christian Slade?”

  “Christian Slade?” My eyes bulge out. “As in the mega Hollywood star?”

  “Yes, him.”

  “He’s your friend?”

  “Yes, we go way back. We met at boarding school in England.”

  “Wow!” Richard really is connected, Indira was right. “Why do you want me to come?”

  “The event will be A-list celebrities only, with a red carpet and everything. I thought as Fashion Editor you could piece together a few nice articles…”

  “Something like best and worst dressed…”

  “To be honest, I’d like to give Christian’s charity better exposure through a more commercial approach.”

  “Make the ladies lust over the Hollywood glam to spread the word about the cause?”

  “Exactly.”

  I lean forward in my chair and switch from deluded-employee-helplessly-in-love-with-her-too-handsome-boss to professional magazine editor. “What’s the name of the charity?”

  “Teachers without Postcodes.
”

  Opening my notepad, I scribble the name down to research later. “Interesting name. What’s the cause?”

  “A program to bring better school systems to kids in neighborhoods with underfunded education. The charity supports a network of charter schools.”

  “That’s a great mission. Do you have a list of the attendees?”

  “Yeah, I’ll email it to you.”

  “What about interviews? Am I allowed to ask the guests questions, like when they reach the end of the red carpet, or something?”

  “Let me double check with Chris, but I’m sure it won’t be an issue.”

  I put a checkmark next to interviews. “And for photos?”

  “How good is your phone’s camera?”

  I stare up from the pad. “Seriously?”

  “You can buy freelance shots with the budget you have, no extras. The plane ticket and hotel will already be expensive enough.”

  “I can’t do a spread without professional photos.”

  “Isn’t Saskia’s page still bringing in loads of ad revenue?”

  “Yeah, but I’ve allocated the profits to other projects. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Be creative. I don’t like to micromanage my staff.”

  I suppress a scream of frustration.

  “What about the fundraising?” I ask. Attending a black tie event like this can’t be cheap. “Who pays for that?”

  “The fee comes out of my pockets. I believe in the cause and I’m happy to support it.”

  Oh, so Richard has a Good-Samaritan side, too. Not fair. “That’s very generous of you. When do we leave?”

  “Friday, mid-afternoon. With the time change, we should get to California in time for dinner.”

  Dinner? You and me alone? My palms get sweaty.

  “Is Chevron going to be okay?” Richard asks. “Can you leave her with someone? Or I could ask Michelle if she can board her.”

  “No, no. It’s fine. My roommate will take care of her.”

  “Great. You can go home Friday at lunch, get Chevron settled, and meet me at the airport.”

  “Sure.”

  “Please ask Indira to sort the tickets and hotel. The gala is Saturday night; we can fly back Sunday on whatever flight costs less.”

  “Perfect. I’ll sort everything with Indira.” I get up to exit his office.

  “Ah, Blair…”

  “Mmm?”

  “Not that I need to say it, but the dress code is formal. Bring a gown.”

  “And here I was thinking of borrowing one of Saffron’s T-shirts.”

  Richard smiles and waves me out of his office.

  I sit at my desk, unable to wipe a little satisfied smile from my lips. An entire weekend alone with Richard. Two nights staying in the same hotel, dinner, and a gala. It means nothing. No, but still. We could walk along the Santa Monica pier at sunset, and we’re going to a Hollywood ball together. Anything could happen…

  “What are you daydreaming about?” Indira says from beside me.

  “Nothing.” Despite myself, I blush. Busted.

  “So what did the boss want?”

  “Oh, right. There’s a charity event this Saturday in LA, with celebrities and everything. Richard wants me to do a fashion-slash-gossip report and asked if you could book our tickets and hotel.”

  Indira scrutinizes me for a long moment. “What did I tell you on your first day here?”

  I stare at my sweatshirt and grab the hem. “I thought you liked this outfit, isn’t it casual enough?”

  “Wrong one. You’ve nailed the ‘dress more casually.’ It’s the ‘don’t fall for the boss’ you’re having issues with.”

  “I-I haven’t… you don’t know what you’re t-talking about,” I stutter.

  “Yeah, right. Should I book adjoining rooms?” She flashes me an evil grin.

  I crumple up a sheet of paper and throw it at her. “You’re wicked.”

  The ball rolls off Indira’s desk, and Chevron promptly chases after it.

  Indira shakes her head. “And you’re in so much trouble, girl.”

  ***

  When I get home that night, Nikki is already back from her trip upstate.

  “Oh, see… the dog is still living here,” Nikki says and makes jazz hands. “Surprise.”

  When Chevron hears her voice, she yaps and jumps onto the couch, nuzzling Nikki’s face. Good girl, buttering Nikki up. She doesn’t know about my agreement with Richard to share custody, and she’ll have plenty to say about our new canine roommate. But right now, she’s too busy making cute voices at Chevron.

  “Good boy,” Nikki coos. “You’re such a good boy.”

  “Actually,” I say, sitting on the coffee table in front of them. “Chevron’s a girl.”

  “A girl? We need a pink leash then.”

  “Yeah, when she gets a little bigger, I’ll get her a new one.”

  “When she gets bigger, huh?” Nikki gives me a smug told you so smirk. “So we’re keeping her?”

  “Well…” I explain my custody agreement with Richard and her face becomes more smug by the second. “Can you please wipe that self-satisfied expression from your face?”

  “No, honey. Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “Had what in me?”

  “The cold blood to use this cutie”—she ruffles Chevron’s ears, making them fly up and down—“to reel in a man.”

  “I’m not using Chevron to wheel anyone anywhere. Richard just offered to help me take care of her so she wouldn’t have to go to a shelter or be put up for adoption.”

  “Oh, so you haven’t fantasized about romantic walks down Central Park hand-in-hand with the boss?”

  “No, I haven’t,” I lie through my teeth.

  Nikki flashes me a skeptical smirk but doesn’t call me out. “Besides adopting a dog together, how’s it going with Mr. Hot?”

  “He’s bringing me to LA for the weekend.”

  “No! I mean, how?”

  “Promise you won’t freak out…”

  She does the Girl Scout salute.

  “Richard’s taking me to a charity gala and wants me to cover the red carpet.”

  “And why should I freak out?”

  “It’s Christian Slade’s charity ball.”

  Nikki sags against the couch backrest. “You lucky biatch!”

  “I know.”

  “Can I hide in your luggage, please?”

  “Eh, here’s the thing…” I’m glad she hasn’t stopped cuddling Chevron for one second since we came home. “Would you take care of our new roomie this weekend?”

  “Oh, so you get to go to California with your hot boss to a party hosted by the sexiest man alive and I’m stuck here with this fur ball?”

  “Woof,” Chevron yaps, and licks her cheek.

  It works, Nikki’s already a goner.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “You’re the be—”

  The buzzer interrupts me.

  “I didn’t order take out,” Nikki says.

  “No, it’s for me.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Mandy, from Angelika Black. They’re lending me the dress for the gala.”

  “How come a major designer is giving you a dress?”

  “They love me after I picked them for the Saskia Landon shoot.”

  “Life’s unfair.”

  I buzz Mandy in and help her carry the wheeled garment rack from the elevator into our apartment, along with the six black garment bags it’s carrying. Fashion lust makes my fingers prickle. I can’t wait to pull down the zippers and discover the designer treasures inside.

  As we drag the rack into the living room, Chevron jumps off the couch and barks to welcome the newcomer.

  Mandy’s reaction to our puppy isn’t exactly warm. “These gowns are extremely delicate.” She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not sure having a dog around as you try them on
is a good idea.”

  Chevron stops yapping and goes to sit quietly on the rug in the faraway corner of the living room. She’s the image of a well-behaved puppy.

  Mandy raises her brows.

  “Chevron understands English,” I explain.

  “Well.” Mandy’s face illuminates in a big smile. “The dog can watch from over there. So”—she turns toward me—“want to have a look at what I brought?”

  I attack the zippers and reveal six stunning gowns. Yet the one furthest to the right catches my eye at once. It’s a flowy dress in the exact pale jade shade of my eyes. The textile plays with tulle and lace in an illusion of transparencies and is covered in lace flower appliqués. The V of the neck plunges deep, making the gown slightly scandalous. And the long skirt flows to the floor, ethereal and lovely.

  Registering my expression, Mandy says, “And who said love at first sight isn’t a thing? Want to try it on?”

  I nod.

  She carefully takes it off the hanger and hands it over.

  The fabric is soft in my hands, like the consistency of a cloud. I walk into my room feeling as if I, too, were as light as air. At the speed of light, I peel off my clothes and then carefully pull the gown on, cautious not to pinch the delicate tulle anywhere. After some contortions, I manage to pull up the zipper on my own. I complete the look with a pair of heels and stare transfixed at the results in the mirror. A-mazing. A dream translated into fabric. But on my short frame, the neckline drops so deep it reaches almost below my ribcage. I swallow. It’s indecent.

  As perfect as the dress is, it can’t be worn in public. At least not by me. I’m tempted to strip it off right away, but pulling down the zipper proves more complicated than pulling it up. And I don’t want to risk tearing the tulle anywhere. I’ve no idea what this gown costs, but I’m sure I can’t afford it.

  Shyly, I step back into the living room.

  Nikki gasps. “You look amazing.”

  Mandy’s assessment is more professional. “Fits you like a glove. We only need to shorten the skirt by three or four inches.”

  “Well, yeah. Except for the fact that all this dress says of me is, ‘hello, meet my breasts.’”

  “Seriously, sweetheart?” Mandy arches an eyebrow. “You’re going to Hollywood. You’ll still look like a nun.”