“We’re freezing our collective asses off in Central Park,” I said.
Scarf Guy laughed, mistaking my assholery for a sense of humor.
I’d rectify that and make sure Linus had serious second thoughts about putting me in front of the camera ever again.
I opened my mouth to deliver a scathing speech about whatever I felt like when someone shouted “Heel!” behind me.
“Oh my God,” the camerawoman said, panning over my shoulder.
I turned around and beheld the spectacle.
Ally, in a tweed car coat that flapped in the wind behind her, was being dragged in my direction by four hulking dogs of questionable heritage.
I’d checked the shoot notes before I left the office. Those were not dignified, well-groomed Afghan Hounds. Those were unruly, untrained mutts.
“Where are my hounds?” Linus shrieked.
“Scheduling conflict,” Ally called out, fruitlessly trying to dig her skinny heels into the sidewalk and stop the team of dogs before it plowed into him. “Bruno, sit!”
The basset hound in a plaid sweater stopped abruptly and sat.
I made a grab for one of the leashes before Ally was ripped in half by bad-mannered dogs who seemed hell-bent on sniffing things on opposite sides of the park. I came away with a psychotic chocolate lab who hurled himself at me. His front paws caught me in the gut, which apparently wasn’t high enough because the dog immediately leapt off the ground and into my arms. Long, pink dog tongue slathered my face.
“What the h—” My words were choked off by a dog-instigated French kiss. I dodged the next assault, and the lab put his head on my shoulder and let out a sigh.
“Aww. He thinks you’re his people,” the camerawoman said.
“I’m nobody’s people,” I grumbled, wrestling away from joyful dog tongue. Dopey brown eyes looked into mine.
Ally shoved the remaining leashes at Linus. The long-legged one was an interesting mottled gray and looked like it had been bred with a greyhound that had chased the rabbit on the race track a few times. The last one was a big-ass brindle pit bull with shoulders like a tank.
“Where did you find these canine monstrosities?” Linus demanded, yanking a flask out of his jacket pocket with a free hand. “In a back-alley dumpster?”
“Midtown Fur Friends Rescue. I promised them credit. Rescue name, dog names, and a link to the adoptables,” Ally answered, carefully reaching into her pocket.
“These things are adoptable?” I asked. They looked like they could destroy an apartment in under two minutes.
“They’re not that bad,” she insisted delusionally.
The basset hound was happily trotting around Linus as he screamed, effectively ensnaring the man’s legs in leash.
I choked out a laugh. I had to admit. The dog I was holding might be ruining a perfectly good cashmere coat, but it was worth it seeing Linus lose his mind.
Ally smiled up at me, and I forgot about the coat and Linus and the cold and the dog tongue.
Scarf Guy hurried over and plucked the sixty pounds of dog out of my arms. “I’ll just take this before…” he trailed off and scurried away.
Before what?
Did I look like the kind of person who would drop-kick a homeless dog? Christ.
“Here. Hold this one,” Ally said, shoving a tiny, scruffy, shivering thing into my hands. At least she didn’t seem to think I was going to devour it.
“What the fuck is this, a hamster?”
She pressed her lips together. “The shelter told me it’s a dog. But I’m not buying it. He might just be something one of the bigger ones coughed up. His name is Mr. Frisky, and he’s bonded to the one-eyed pit bull over there making time with your models.”
The very large brindle dog was making moony eyes—correction, eye—at the women.
“Aren’t you just the most handsomest boy in the whole world?” the Croatian, Kata, crooned to the beast.
“His name is Pirate,” Ally whispered to me.
“We can’t shoot with these mutants. Someone bring me a Xanax and a deep-dish pizza,” Linus wailed.
“It’s your turn for his pep talk,” I said, nudging Ally forward. She grinned at me, and damned if I didn’t feel my own mouth responding.
“You said solutions,” Ally said, taking the man by the shoulders. “Here’s your solution. Now show us how to make this work. Make it work, Linus, or a homeless dog just vomited in Label’s Escalade for no reason. Give us a reason.”
The little blond ball shivered again, so I tucked it into my coat against my chest. “Your buddy is right there,” I told Mr. Frisky, pointing toward Pirate the pit bull who was curled up on one of the blankets belonging to a delighted model and showing the woman his belly. The hairball’s rat-like tail tapped out a happy beat.
Linus pinched his eyebrows with his fingers. “This is impossible. This won’t work. We’ll be laughed out of the industry.”
I waited for it.
“Unless,” Linus said, lifting his head.
“Unless?” Ally repeated.
“I’m going to need sweaters, people. With flowers. And belts. Long, gold ones. Don’t just stand there!”
19
Ally
“Give it to me straight. Am I fired?” I asked Linus, collapsing against the leather seat.
He was slumped next to me as a car that hadn’t escorted five dogs all over the city headed toward the office. “I don’t have the energy to fire you,” he sighed.
“I think it went well,” I said. “I checked with the online content team and they got video of Dominic getting French kissed by the lab.”
That got the teensiest smile out of him.
“It wasn’t the worst disaster in the history of my career,” he said magnanimously.
“You managed to combine fashion, art, and good karma in one shoot. Face it, Linus. You’re a genius.”
The rescue director had personally arrived to escort the dogs back to the shelter, and I’d noticed the Croatian model cornering her and demanding a business card. I had a feeling Pirate and Mr. Frisky were about to find the most amazing home.
“Genius? Ha. I’m just lucky.” He produced the flask from his jacket and took a long pull before handing it to me.
“Thanks. I can’t. I have a dance class to teach.”
He wiggled the flask. “It’s not alcohol. It’s a super greens formula. It’s the reason I look like I’m forty-five when I’m actually 107.”
Curious, I sipped and winced.
“Beauty is pain,” he quipped.
“And bitterness apparently,” I said, handing the flask back.
“Speaking of bitter. You and Dominic seem to have a rapport.”
“Do we?” I asked innocently, pretending not to notice his fishing expedition.
“Oh, come on, Admin Ally. The man smiled. His mouth lifted at the corners, and the clouds parted and angels sang as a sunbeam held him in a spotlight.”
I laughed. “Are you sure there’s no alcohol in that?”
“I’m saying the man has been a miserable bastard since joining Label. But when he looks at you…”
I wasn’t biting. “He looks like he wants to commit murder. We don’t get along. We don’t like each other. However, I do like annoying him.”