Page 104 of The Purrfect Handyman

Progress was progress.

Ch. 38 Alanna

Alannastaredattheline of shoes in her closet. Her gaze slid over Manolo pumps, Christian Dior boots, Gucci sandals, and, of course, the eight-inch Jimmy Choo heels, pressed into service only when she needed to absolutely slay the day.

Grabbing her phone off the bed, she scrolled through the long text chain with Sully. Her thumb moved past the dozens of ice breakers they’d been swapping back and forth through the week, silly memes he sent her each night before bed, and surprisingly deep snippets of conversation. Finally, Alanna found what she was looking for. There was her question about what to wear today, followed by his teasing sneakers emoji.

Alanna sighed. Self-consciously, she reached into the closet and pulled out her white Asics running shoes. They’d have to do. She stuck her feet in the shoes, then stood in front of the full-length mirror to assess the damage. The shoes clashed in spectacular fashion with her rose-colored Stella McCartney halter dress.

Well, shit. She’d just have to plaster over the outfit incongruity with extra layers of confidence. Trouble was… her confidence wasn’t as rock solid as usual. In fact, her stomach seemed to be trying out for a Cirque de Soleil gig, and her brain was suddenly intent on replaying all those delicious handyman fantasies she’d invented last night during a one-on-one consultation with her vibrator. In her dreams, Sully had been handy, veryhandyindeed.

“Stop,” she told her reflection. “This is the last date.” She stared intently into her pale blue eyes. “You can’t fall for him. You’ve worked too hard to slow down now.”

She sighed. Sully was just so… so… so… nice. And she actually meant that in a good way. “You’re going to tell him,” she ordered her reflection. “At the end of the date, you will tell him you’re going back to Los Angeles.”

The prospect felt unbelievably daunting. Alanna squared her shoulders. Life was daunting. She’d learned that lesson long ago. “Get over it,” she told herself, and then more softly, “get over him.”

She grabbed her floral print Gucci shoulder bag and ticked off all the reasons she needed to get her ass back to L.A. First, Thomas would surely find a way to tunnel out of her non-compete clause any day now. Second, she already had four L.A. lunch dates lined up next week with past clients. Third, two women had filed separate civil suits against Jordan Boon. And—winner winner chicken dinner—the board of Momentum Therapeutics had fired the sleazy CEO three days ago.

Alanna smiled to herself as she descended the stairs, her hand running down the smooth, solid banister. All signs pointed to Fresh Perspective circling the drain with their anchor of a client. According to her inside sources, clients were jumping ship from her old PR firm in droves. Chip Rupert the Third was spending his days desperately groveling to keep their remaining few clients.

Chip would probably need another round of hair plugs after all was said and done. Sabrina the Betrayer had even called her, twice. Alanna had let the calls go to voicemail, then immediately deleted them. She had nothing to say to her backstabbing protégé.

What it all amounted to was easy to see. Blood was in the water, and the time was ripe for her to swoop in and build a newer, better PR agency. One with a single leader: her.

Alanna stepped off the bottom stair, her hand lingering on the smooth, sturdy banister.

“Awwww, you look lovely.” Dede stood in the kitchen, a wide-brimmed gardening hat on her head and a tray of starter flowers in her hands.

“Just ignore the shoes,” Alanna muttered as she stepped off the last stair. Motion from the window snagged her attention. A brazen bird with rich blue feathers snipped at a few smaller birds to gain access to the bird feeder.

“Bruno is back,” Alanna noted with a short chuckle.

Her mom glanced over her shoulder and noted the blue jay picking through the seeds on the feeder. “He’s such a bully, but I love him anyway.”

“You love all your birds,” Alanna noted.

Her mom smiled. “It’s funny how you’re starting to learn their names.”

Alanna rolled her eyes. “Just Bruno, because he’s a loud little mother…” she swallowed the curse word.

As if to prove her point, Bruno released an ear-shattering caw before flapping away from the feeder.

“How are your hands feeling?” Alanna asked.

Her mom glanced down at the appendages in question. “A little painful where Dr. Mendoza stuck the needles, but otherwise they don’t feel too different.”

“The doctor said it would take a few days until the cortisone started kicking in,” Alanna offered. The appointment had gone surprisingly fast yesterday, with the friendly doctor injecting the steroids into her mother’s joints with smooth assurance.

Let it work,Alanna thought. As Dr. Mendoza had explained, sometimes cortisone shots made a world of difference. Other times they did nothing. So much was dependent on the patient and on the doctor injecting in the right spot.

The tray of seedlings began to shake, and Dede carefully slid them on the counter. She eyed her daughter.

“What?” Alanna couldn’t keep the suspicion from her voice.

“Sully is a good man,” her mom said and pushed a wisp of silver hair from her face. Her loosely plaited braid allowed several locks of hair to escape.

“So, everyone keeps telling me,” Alanna answered as a flush of discomfort crept up the back of her neck.

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