Page 16 of Grump Hard
“Oh, anywhere.” She waves toward the prop table. “Under there will be fine. Turns out, we won’t need it. My friend Candy’s boyfriend, Chris, was here early and offered to tighten all the screws on the booths and fix that broken step I was telling you about.” She glances over my shoulder. “He just left, actually. Just a few seconds ago. What a shame. I would have loved to introduce you. I bet you’d get along fantastically.”
“No, we wouldn’t,” I say, more pleased to learn that the lumberjack belongs to some other, unfortunate woman than I should be.
Holly arches a brow, but she’s clearly fighting a smile as she admits, “No, probably not. Chris isn’t giving anyone a run for their money when it comes to rhetorical debate, and I bet you enjoy an intellectual sparring session with your beer and buddy time.”
“I don’t have beer and buddy time,” I say. “I’m far too busy. I actually have some work I could be catching up on now, before the Japanese market opens. If my services aren’t required tonight, after all, I’ll just?—”
“Nope! Don’t even think about trying to weasel out,” she cuts in, still grinning like she’s having the time of her life. “You’re mine for the night, Mr. Ratcliffe, and I intend to put you to work. Come on. Let’s get you settled.”
Refusing to thinking about being “hers for the night,” I follow her over to the folding table, stowing my toolbox beneath the bright red tablecloth.
When I stand, she rests a familiar hand on my arm that doesn’t feel nearly as out of place as it should.
“Okay, this will be your station,” she explains, motioning to the tabletop, where squeaky toys shaped like holiday characters, a basket of elf and Santa hats, and a tub of dog treats sit beside the pile of costumes of various sizes. “Your job is to help me dress the dog or cat, then use the props to get their attention while I shoot. You’ll also be in charge of costume and accessory cleaning between sessions and treat distribution at the end of each. Sound good?”
“No, it doesn’t.” I do my best to conceal my horror at the thought of what she’s suggesting. “I’m in negotiation and acquisitions. I won’t excel in a human resources position.”
“This isn’t human resources; it’s animal resources,” she counters. “I’ll handle the people; you concentrate on the furry friends. They’re much easier to please, I promise.” She picks up a squeaky reindeer and squeezes it. The shrill sound makes a metallic taste begin to leak from my teeth. “See? That’s all it takes to get most of them excited.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“People who are working off a criminal debt don’t get to say ‘no’ just because they don’t like touching drooly dog toys, Luke,” she whispers. “The only way you’re getting out of this is if you honestly have a fear of dogs. I’m obviously not going to make you do something that makes you feel unsafe, but?—”
“I’m not afraid of dogs,” I cut in, narrowing my eyes on hers. “I’m at least three times their size. Be serious.”
“I was being serious,” she says, though the dimple popping in her cheek would suggest otherwise. “Phobias don’t always make sense. And dogs have teeth much sharper than yours.” She tips her head thoughtfully to one side. “At least, I think they do. I haven’t gotten a good look at your teeth yet. You don’t smile much, do you?”
“Not when conversing with blackmailers, no.”
“Huh. Well, that’s a shame. I think you’d be even more handsome if you smiled once in a while.” Before I can process the “handsome” part of that, she shoves the squeaky toy into my hand. “Our first client should be here any second. Showtime, Grumpy Elf. Which reminds me…” She reaches over, snatching something green from the top of the costume pile. “I almost forgot your hat!”
A second later, she’s tugged a jingly elf hat onto my head, completing my humiliation just as a Labrador retriever the size of a small horse pants into the shelter on his lead.
His name is “Barry,” apparently, a strange name for a dog, but his owner is clearly unstable. The older woman, wearing a “Dog Mom” sweater and black sock cap pulled over her springy gray hair, is already tearing up with joy before I’ve even wrangled her fur baby into his Santa costume.
Barry, meanwhile, has taken a slobbery interest in my coat, lapping at my buttons like they’re made of candy.
It’s repulsive, but at least he’s making an effort to help the process along, stepping eagerly into the coat holes and shooting me a happy grin as I arrange the elastic beneath his chin to keep his Santa hat in place.
“Oh, Barry, look at you. You’re precious!” Holly Jo coos. “Come here, big boy, and sit right here. Yes, so good! What a good boy!”
“Dog Mom” presses a fist to her chest, beaming with excitement as Holly coaxes Barry into place in front of the backdrop.
“Luke, the reindeer,” Holly says as she brings her camera into place, her gaze still fixed on Barry as she adds in a gooey voice, “Sometimes they get spooked when I duck behind the lens. Yes, they do. So, you’ll need to keep him happy and distracted, okay?”
Gritting my teeth, I lift the squeaky toy, giving it a soft squeeze.
Barry cocks his head to the side, looking more confused than pleased by the sound.
Same, Barry.
Same.
“Harder, Luke,” Holly calls out as she snaps away. “Put your back into it, Mr. Elf. Squeak what your mama gave you.”
Squeak what my mama gave me?
This woman.
