Page 18 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
So, yeah. Maybe I should’ve done a tiny bit more due diligence before signing my name on the dotted line.
But that’s not even the worst part.
The worst part is the giant, neon-flashing, doom-laden ticking clock hanging over my head.
Because if I don’t start pulling in clients soon, I won’t have a clinic to run.
I exhale sharply, running my hands through my hair. “Okay. We can fix this. We just need a plan.”
I grab my clipboard of doom—an actual clipboard because I believe in lists, structure, and writing things down to avoid spiraling into existential dread.
TO-DO LIST:
? Get exam tables.
? Upgrade front desk system.
? Hire a part-time vet tech.
? Fix literally everything.
? Sell and beg for my old job back.
Okay, maybe that last one is an exaggeration.
But what if I can’t fix everything? What if I spend all my time and money revamping this place only to have every pet owner in town still drive an hour away to the next clinic? Because the good old veterinarian’s client list—the one I paid for—hasn’t been updated in five years.
And when I do have money, the first thing I’m doing is filing a lawsuit against that lying, cackling retiree.
But right now? Right now, I have bigger problems.
Like the very minor issue of money.
Which I do not have.
And the equally minor—but far more aggravating—issue of owing money to my ridiculously smug, insufferable, obnoxiously attractive neighbor.
Who, in a feat of absolute audacity, paid for a brand-new fence two days ago without consulting me first. I wasn’t even home to object.
Right on cue, my phone buzzes.
Lucian.
I scowl at the screen, already bracing myself for whatever nonsense he’s about to hit me with.
This guy is . . . I don’t even know yet, but he’s everywhere. He moves through life like a walking live wire—unpredictable, always buzzing with something. And he likes attention. No, he thrives on it. Maybe it’s some middle-child syndrome thing. Orperhaps it’s just a deeply ingrained need for admiration that makes him so fucking arrogant.
Lucian: Are you alive?
Olivia: Barely. Why?
Lucian: Because I drove past your clinic, and you were outside staring at it as if you have lost all hope.
Olivia: I probably have.
Lucian: Should I be concerned?
Olivia: Only if you care about local businesses failing before they reopen its doors.
