Part 75 (1/2)

Merilee became suddenly busy pulling cans out of the cardboard carton at her feet. ”Oh?”

”I think Tom's acting out.” Did cats act out? Who knew? It sounded good, anyway.

She set a couple more cans carefully on the shelf and then turned to look at Zach. ”What's he doing?”

”Scratching the furniture.”

”Hmmm. Does he have a scratching post?”

”No. I thought maybe you could help me pick one out.”

”I know the perfect one,” she said with a decisive nod, and started down the aisle, leaving Zach to fall in step beside her. ”I'm sorry about your girlfriend.”

”Well, I don't think we were much of a match. She didn't like my cat.”

”A person's att.i.tude toward animals says a lot about them,” Merilee commented and left it at that.

”I guess you've got a ton of pets,” said Zach. She seemed like someone who would be good with animals. And kids. Not that Zach needed to know.

Her mouth turned down at the corners and she shook her head. ”No pets allowed where I live.”

She had a great mouth. Never mind her mouth! ”Where do you live?” he asked. It would have been rude not to.

”The Angel Arms Apartments. I'm afraid I'm breaking the rules, though.”

Funny. Merilee didn't look like a rule breaker. But then Blair hadn't looked like a cat hater. Sometimes people weren't what they seemed.

”I rescued a kitty and I haven't been able to find a home for her. I just couldn't take her to the shelter,” Merliee added with a little shrug.

”I know the feeling,” said Zach. Speaking of feelings, one was stealing over him that wasn't safe, so he shoved it away. They were in front of a vast array of scratching posts now. ”Which one of these do I want?”

She surprised him by reaching for a long, thin, cardboard box. ”This is the best. Just flip the lid and you're good to go.”

She handed it to him and he stared at it. ”It's cardboard.”

She nodded. ”Embedded with catnip. You'll have to replace it every so often, but believe me it's well worth the price. Your cat will never scratch the furniture again.”

”Sold,” Zach decided. And then there didn't seem to be anything left to say, at least about cats. So he thanked her and left. But as he walked out the door he was accompanied by the nagging thought that he hadn't come away with everything he needed.

He was halfway to his car when he saw Blair approaching from the other direction. She was wearing her favorite long, fur-trimmed coat and black boots with heels that made her legs look a million miles long. There was a time when he would have looked at her and thought, s.e.xy. Now he just thought, scary.

She'd seen him, too. He could tell from the way she was bristling, with every step an angry fas.h.i.+on model stomp that sent the slush underfoot spraying in all directions.

s.h.i.+t.

Well, they were bound to run into each other sooner or later. He'd been hoping for later, though. It was easier to face a three-alarm fire than a p.i.s.sed ex-girlfriend any day. He stopped and mentally braced himself. When she got closer he said a civilized, ”h.e.l.lo, Blair.”

She returned his greeting with a scowl. ”Still have the cat?”

”Uh, yeah.” That was his excuse for being here. What was hers? He nodded toward the store. ”Did you decide to get a pet?” he joked in an attempt to lighten an awkward moment as heavy as a fire hose.

”Actually, I'm meeting with my father. Business,” she added, her voice snippy.

Zach couldn't think of anything to say to that. He couldn't think of anything to say, period. He was too busy thanking his lucky stars they were no longer together.

Blair obviously couldn't think of anything more to say, either, so she simply marched on into the store like a general riding into battle.

Zach got in his Land Rover and got out of Dodge.

Sometimes getting called to the boss's office means something good, like a raise, but when Merilee got her summons she knew there was no raise waiting in her future. She'd been manning the checkout stand when the reincarnation of Cruella De Vil whom she'd done battle with on Sat.u.r.day entered Pet Palace. The woman had shot her a vengeful glare right before flying up the stairs to the second level where Mr. Carlyle's office was located.

Kate Hendrix, who was at the stand next to Merilee's, said, ”Uh-oh. The boss's daughter looks mad. Somebody's head's gonna roll.”

It wasn't hard to figure out whose. Merilee swallowed hard but it didn't help push down the panic rising up her throat.

If there had been any doubt her head was about to roll, walking into the inner sanctum-a huge room that was quickly closing in on her-she could have no doubt now. Mr. Carlyle, a normally pleasant little man was sitting at his desk, frowning. Merilee had always thought he looked a little like Santa with his round belly and his equally round face, his nose like a berry or cherry or whatever it was, and his snowy white hair. Today his stern expression made her think of Scrooge.

Next to him stood Daughter of Scrooge, wearing a fur-trimmed coat, unb.u.t.toned to reveal a black knit dress that clung to a perfect body. Her hair was perfect, too-perfectly highlighted, perfectly blond. And her makeup, perfect, of course. And underneath all that perfection was a heart rotten to the core.

It wasn't nice to hate people. Merilee hated her anyway.

”It's come to my attention,” said Mr. Carlyle, ”that you have not been putting the customer first, Merilee.”

Not hard to figure out who told him. ”I value all our customers who love their animals,” she said. Could she help it if this creature was an animal hater? How could Mr. Carlyle have such an awful daughter?

”Well, you didn't value me,” snapped the woman. ”She was simply awful, Father. A woman like that makes a poor amba.s.sador for the store.”

And a woman like you makes a poor amba.s.sador for women. Merilee kept her lips pressed tightly together.

”Is what I'm hearing true?” asked Mr. Carlyle.

There was no point pretending she didn't know what he was talking about. She knew. They all knew.

”I'm afraid we had a misunderstanding,” said Merilee, opting for diplomacy even though she was wis.h.i.+ng she had claws and could give the woman another scratch to match the one she'd gotten from the poor, scared cat.

”Is that what you call it?” sniped the woman.

Mr. Carlyle's frown dipped further south. ”Merilee, you know the customer is always right. Sometimes we encounter people when they're not having the best of days, but it's not our job to judge them.”

Merilee could feel her cheeks sizzling. ”Yes, Mr. Carlyle,” she murmured.

”I'm afraid you should have been more understanding,” he chided.

”It won't happen again,” she said, almost choking on the words.

”No, it won't because I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go. We simply can't have our employees insulting our customers.”

Or our daughter. This was wrong and unfair. ”Mr. Carlyle,” Merilee began.