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“Will Desmond, here to check Buster in.”
“Yes, we have your registration.”
For the next several minutes, Will filled out forms as the kid, name of Andrew, checked over Buster’s bona fides. There was a lot to make up, as Buster had been acquired just this afternoon, but he didn’t think he’d set up any red flags.
“He’ll be fine, Mr. Desmond,” Andrew said, after the last paper had been signed. “There’s plenty for him to do, and lots of friends to play with.”
Will moved the carrier slightly back. “I’d like to speak to the concierge, if you don’t mind.”
Andrew didn’t let the request alter his Hush smile. “Of course.” He picked up the phone, pressed a button. “Mercy, could you come to the front desk, please.”
Will looked at all the pet goodies while he waited, determined to get into the back room. Now would be a good time. They were getting ready to close the doors, which meant that staff would be busy, careless perhaps. He’d make sure to take his time, to see everything he possibly could.
The inner door opened. A young woman stepped up to the desk, and while she wasn’t the most beautiful of the staff he’d seen today, there was something about her that had his immediate attention.
Mercy Jones, according to her gold nametag. Pet Concierge. She looked to be in her late twenties, with long, straight blond hair, wispy bangs over her forehead and slightly frightened green eyes.
Frightened. Why? Did she know who he was? Had Drina warned her?
Andrew introduced him, but something told Will not to attempt to shake her hand. He hadn’t imagined it, the woman was nervous.
Then she saw the pet carrier with Buster inside and her demeanor changed. Her slender shoulders relaxed, her generous lips formed a slight smile. She moved toward Buster with a confidence that had been completely lacking only seconds ago.
“How can I help you, Mr. Desmond?”
“It’s Will. And I’d very much like to see where Buster’s going to stay. Ask you some questions.”
“Not a problem,” she said. “Andrew knows everything about PetQuarters. He’d be happy to—”
“Nothing against Andrew,” Will said, “but I’d prefer to do the walk-through with you.”
She looked at him then, and that haunted expression came over her face. Too bad such a lovely woman had such obvious issues, but for his purposes, she was absolutely ideal. “I—”
“You are the concierge, yes?”
She smiled. “I’d be happy to show you around. Let’s get Buster out of that cage first, shall we?”
He nodded, knowing she was going to use Buster as a sort of safety blanket when showing him around. He’d seen the behavior before, and he considered it one of his great strengths that he could size up a character quickly and, for the most part, accurately. He wondered about Mercy’s story, although whatever it was, it didn’t matter. He’d get what he wanted and then he’d be gone. Since he wasn’t going to keep Buster, he’d never return to PetQuarters.
After a few moments where she held Buster up to lick her face, she tucked the pup into the cradle of her arm, then lifted the hinged desk, giving Will access. He saw it could be locked from underneath with an old-fashioned safety lock. That was in addition to the lock on the front door.
Mercy held the inner door for him, and he entered a world of color, movement and odor. Not that the odor was necessarily bad, just definitely canine in nature. Canine and antiseptic.
“This is the main floor,” Mercy said, petting Buster in a way that had the dog completely at ease. “The three pens are for group play. We separate the dogs by size and temperament groups. You’ll never have to worry about Buster getting into too much trouble. Our goal is to wear out the pups with vigorous play, long walks and socialization.”
He’d give her one thing—despite her discomfort, she didn’t skimp on the tour. He met half a dozen staff members, all wearing black jeans, black lab coats with a pink Hush embroidered on the lapels and pink satin bow ties. Most of them wore black Hush baseball caps.
Mercy was the only one whose bow tie had tiny black dogs printed on the pink satin. He wondered if that was something management had thought up, or if it was her own touch. If he had to bet, it would be on Mercy. Just watching her with the animals told him more about her than she’d probably be comfortable with.
Her voice didn’t quaver and her step, now that she was inside, was confident, but there was a story there, and not a pleasant one. She’d found herself a refuge, though. One with a lot of wagging tails.
They went to the pet suites in the back of the main room, and he focused once more on business. Mercy might be interesting, but she was a bit player. The star was here. Somewhere. There was no other reason for Drina to have come here with a dog of her own. Drina, who was about as fond of dogs as he was of spiders.
They passed a yapping Chihuahua that looked more like a rat than a dog, a German shepherd, several dogs who looked like mutts to his untrained eyes, and then he saw it. A little dog, one with a great deal of white fur. Combed to within an inch of its little life. A bow in the hair, pink painted nails and a collar that was studded with diamonds.
Mercy said his name, and when he looked at her, he realized he was smiling a bit too brightly. It didn’t matter. Let Ms. Jones think it was because he was delighted with the accommodations.
This wasn’t going to be a difficult job, after all.
2
MERCY KEPT HER eyes peeled for Gilly as she showed Mr. Desmond—Will—the pet suites. It was a good thing for him that he’d made a reservation as all the suites had been booked. That was one of the things that would change when they took over the building next door. They would triple the number of pet suites, add another grooming salon and so much more.
“These are nicer than some hotels I’ve stayed in,” Will said. He was standing in the currently unoccupied Southwestern suite. Each pen was its own room, complete with a twin bed, TV, piped-in music, food and water station, toys and, if a guest so desired, blankets and trinkets brought from home.
“They’ve all got themes,” she said, “although that’s more for the parents than the pets.”
“I can tell Buster’s going to be spoiled.”
“We discipline the dogs, gently, of course. We believe strongly in rewarding good behavior.”
“You’re going to have to be extra gentle with Buster. He’s had no training.”
“Oh? How long have you had him?”
“Not long. He’s a gift for my nephew back in Wichita. I’m taking him with me when I head back home. Cory’s birthday is coming up and he’s been begging for a dog.”
Mercy scratched the little one’s chin. “I’m sure Cory will be thrilled.”
“I hope so.”
She looked into the main room again, and there was Gilly, playing with Rio. The dog was huge, well over a hundred and fifty pounds, but he was as gentle as a kitten. Mercy was convinced that Rio had been a Buddhist in a past life. He calmed everyone down, including the most high-strung of the dogs.
Gilly glanced her way. Mercy waved her over, but all Gilly did was smile and go back to tugging on Rio’s toy.
Damn her. Gilly knew Mercy hated giving the tours. This one was especially hard because Mr. Desmond was, well, gorgeous.
He was tall, maybe six-two, with dark, thick hair, dark eyes, dark lashes. He was as trim and toned as an athlete, and if she’d been someone else, someone who wasn’t a total and complete coward, she’d have asked him what he did for a living. She knew he was successful. He wouldn’t be staying at Hush if he wasn’t. But that didn’t tell her much.
“What about food?”
It took her a few seconds to realize he was talking about Buster. “I’ll show you,” she said. The meal room was near her office. She led the way, wishing like anything that she didn’t feel so awkward. She kept thinking about all the dog hair that was stuck to her jacket and pants, about Mr. Desmond’s eyes, about the fact that he wore no wedding band, and how a man like him would never look at a woman with dog hair all over her.
She opened the door and Will stepped inside. She let him take it all in—the refrigerator, the different food formulas for every kind of nutritional need, how spotless everything was.
“Nice,” he said. “What is Buster going to eat?”
She told him about the puppy food, and how often Buster would eat. And she told him he’d be able to order the food from Hush if he wanted. They shipped all over the world.
Will looked at her, nothing dramatic, not even really a stare, but it was enough to ignite her blush. Her curse. She blushed at everything, always had. At least when she was talking about PetQuarters, she could lose herself in the canned speeches.
“What brought you here?” he asked. “Before this week, I didn’t know there was such a thing as a pet concierge.”
“It’s a new field, but I’ve been working with animals since I was sixteen. I met Ms. Devon when I volunteered at an animal rescue shelter. She’s very fond of pets and wanted to make sure that no guest would have to leave their critters at home.”
“Piper Devon.”
“That’s right.”
He looked back into the main room. “It seems to be going well.”
“Very. We’re expanding our role, catering not only to registered guests, but pet owners in midtown. We have a lot of daily visitors. Quite a few have already been picked up, but our clientele know we can accommodate crazy schedules.”
“So someone’s always here.”
“Oh, yes. We have night teams. The dogs are mostly worn out by nightfall, but there’s always at least two of us standing by in case of emergency.”
“Good to know.” He stepped outside the food room just as Emily and Matt came in. Dinner was in half an hour, and even with that much notice the two of them would have to hustle. So many of the pets were on special diets.
“What’s back there?” he asked, pointing toward the grooming salon.
“That’s where the pampering takes place. We offer any number of grooming options, from a simple bath to dog show prep.”
“I noticed you offer pedicures.”
She nodded, making sure she didn’t roll her eyes. “Everything a pet could ever want.”
“Yeah. I’m sure the dogs line up.”
“Well, no, but a lot of these pets are like children to their owners.”
Will shook his head. “Damn foolish, if you ask me.”
“We also offer rehabilitation services. We have a pool for our arthritic guests and we have an acupuncturist here on Mondays, a chiropractor on Wednesdays and we also do wellness checkups given by a really wonderful vet.”
“Sounds like you’ve got everything covered.”
“We do. Including walks to the park, unstructured playtime and one-on-one attention from the staff for at least a half hour a day.”
He’d wandered back to the suites, standing outside Lulu’s room. The dog was already on her little bed waiting for her dinner. Lulu, with the painted toenails and daily grooming, not to mention a collar that was worth more than Mercy would earn in three years.
A yelp made Mercy spin to the middle-dog pen. She handed Buster over to Will and headed straight for the ruckus.
It was Cooper, the Belgian shepherd, who had a lot to learn about playing well with others. She went directly into the pen and to Cooper’s side. He dropped the bone from his mouth as he looked up at her.
Tobi Wan Kenobi—a lovely beagle/pit bull—sat down, the bone he’d wanted so badly a moment ago forgotten in his attempt to please Mercy.
She didn’t scold Cooper or Tobi, but she did make sure that they were calm and happy before she left them to play in the pen. No one got hurt, no feathers were ruffled. It might be after six but the middle-size dogs were going to get another run tonight, in fact, as soon as she got rid of Will Desmond.
For his part, Mr. Desmond didn’t appear to be in any hurry. He was still outside Lulu’s suite, leaning against the door, his arms crossed comfortably over his chest.
Talk about a pack leader. Whatever he did in Wichita, he was good at it. She wouldn’t be surprised if he ran a great big company, like an airline or a restaurant chain. He exuded that kind of power, the kind where everyone around him put on their nicest clothing in the hopes he’d notice.
Which also meant he got all the girls. All the beauties. She couldn’t see him settling for second best. Not with something as important as status.
“How’d you do that?”
“Pardon me?”
“You didn’t say anything. I didn’t even catch a hand signal. But both those dogs straightened up in a heartbeat.”
“Oh. Well, they know I’m the pack leader.”
He didn’t say anything for a long minute, then he smiled. As he did so his dimples made their debut. Two of them, one on each cheek. They were real dimples, too. Big ones that gave his smile resonance, that changed him from the man you wouldn’t dare cross to the man you wanted as your best friend.
It wasn’t in the least bit fair. Sort of like Audrey Hepburn or Angelina Jolie. Not only were they stunningly gorgeous, but they were gorgeous actresses as well. Wouldn’t it have been nicer if they each got one fabulous gift and spread the wealth?
“I think Buster’s going to be very happy here,” he said.
“I’m glad you think so. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“I—”
“Mercy, could you come to the front office, please?”
It was the loudspeaker. “I’m sorry, I have to—”
“Ms. Jones!”
Mercy spun around at her name, said so harshly it could only be one of the pet owners. Ah, there she was, standing near the door. Mercy couldn’t remember her name, just that she belonged to Pumpkin, the nervous and insistent Chihuahua.
Mercy headed toward the confrontation, wishing she could teach some of the owners about misplaced aggression and how to behave.
“Ms. Jones.” The woman was older, maybe in her sixties, had an accent Mercy couldn’t identify and she was striking. Beautiful, really. Her hair was silver and sleek, cut in a style that should have been too young for her, but wasn’t. She dressed young, too. A nice pair of green pants, a white blouse with a lifted collar. She had nice jewelry, too. Nice as in expensive. “I was supposed to get a phone call this afternoon about Pumpkin’s massage.”
“I’m so sorry. Was there something in particular you wanted to know?”
“She was limping last night. Something happened here that hurt her leg.”
“Why don’t we go check on her now?”
The woman sighed, then nodded curtly.
When Mercy turned around, Will Desmond was nowhere to be seen. He might have decided to go exploring on his own, which wasn’t good, but then Gilly wasn’t around, either. The rat. She’d probably absconded with Desmond, taken him somewhere intimate and private.
Pumpkin’s mother followed Mercy to the suite, where Pumpkin greeted them with ferocious barking from atop her bed. Mercy opened the door and went inside. Surprisingly, Pumpkin’s mother didn’t. It took several minutes to calm the little tan dog down, but finally it was quiet again. Mercy was able to put Pumpkin on the floor. She proceeded to walk around, and there was no sign of a limp.
“She seems to be doing well.”
