Page 69 of Positively Pricked
"Yes." My shoulders slumped. "And no."
"So it can't beallbad," she said. "And by the way, whose car is that?"
"The one in the driveway? It's mine. Sort of."
"Seriously?"
I reached up to rub the back of my neck. "Well, it's not like my name's on the title or anything. It's more like a company car."
"Wow, it looks brand new."
"Uh, yeah. I think it is." It wasn't just brand new. It was sleek and luxurious, with leather seats and an engine that purred like a kitten.
"I knew it!" Charlotte said. "I swear, when I walked by, I couldsmellhow new it was."
I knew what she meant. Itdidhave that new-car smell. As for my old heap, it was somewhere in the depths of the Bennington parking garage, where I'd been allowed to store the thing indefinitely.
It was all such a whirlwind, I still didn't know what to think.
After I'd accepted the offer, I'd been sent down to Human Resources, where I'd been given a choice of cars and a key to the executive suite. And then, in the strangest development of all, I'd been assigned a personal shopper, who'd hustled me from store to store, buying suits, dresses, shoes, and all of the accessories I'd need for the new position.
Even now, my closet was packed with more clothes than I'd ever owned in my whole life.
I honestly didn't get it. Why would Zane go to so much trouble, when he could simply hire someone who already had the wardrobe, not to mention the experience needed for such a high-profile position?
Charlotte said, "Hey, can I ask you something?"
"What?"
"Aren't you worried you're gonna get fired?"
"No." I tried to laugh. "I'm worried Iwon'tget fired."
"Oh come on," she said. "I'm serious. I mean, look what happened with the catering thing. You were just there doing your job, and the next thing you know, you're out on your ass."
"I know." I gave a long, sad sigh. "But at least the dogs were happy."
"Dogs? What dogs?"
I eyed my sadly empty wine glass. Would it besobad if I refilled it? Already, I wasn't feeling so great, but Iwasawful thirsty.
As if reading something in my expression, Charlotte snatched the bottle out of my reach and set it on the other side of the table. She gave me a no-nonsense look and repeated the question. "What dogs?"
"Hisdogs," I said. "Flint and Lansing." I gave a little wave of my hands. "There was this incident. Don't ask."
But she did. And of course, Ihadto tell her.
