Page 2 of Dirty Work

She lets go of Roscoe’s collar and gives his head a pat, and he flops down onto the floor like a drag queen doing a death drop. He’s way more chill than I expected. Maybe not all big dogs are high maintenance. I’m going to have to read up on the breed. Research is key to everything we do at Odds & Errands. Like I always tell my army of two—Aaron and Erin, and yes, I really did hire two people with pretty much the same name, albeit different spellings and different sexes—preparation is more than half the battle.

“So.” Brie rocks back and forth on the soles of her Vans pink glitter high-tops. “What happens now? Is this a handshake agreement or is there some sort of paperwork we have to sign?”

This is the part I hate. The business part. At least with friends. It’s awkward and icky and it’s why I tend to shy away from mixing work with my personal life. But Brie seemed so desperate when she asked—no, begged—me to bail her out. She’d had a mini-freak-out worrying how her brother would react when she told him she was leaving him with the responsibility of caring for a dog the size of a small pony. Made him seem like a borderline tyrant.

Unfortunately, since the tyrant is the one paying my tab, he’s the one I need to be dealing with.

“There’s paperwork, but since I’m on your brother’s dime, he’s the one who has to sign.”

“Well...” Brie rocks faster, twisting the hem of her Florence and the Machine T-shirt in her fingers. “That might be a problem.”

Great.Not five minutes in, and already a wrinkle in this half-baked plan.

I plop myself down on a retro-chic chair that’s more comfortable than it looks, figuring this has the potential to be a long, drawn-out discussion. Roscoe takes this as an invitation to join me, lumbering over and sprawling across my feet. Christ, he’s heavy. He must weigh close to two hundred pounds. Still, I humor him, scratching behind his ears, which earns me a tail thump.

“How so? You said your brother’s a grade-A workaholic who doesn’t have time to deal with a dog on his own, right? And money’s not an issue for him.”

Brie perches on the arm of an equally uncomfortable looking sofa. “Yes and yes, but he’s in South Beach scouting a location for a new club. He doesn’t get home until late tomorrow night, and I have to be on a plane to California first thing in the morning.”

I frown. This definitely throws a wrench into the works. “I thought your contract didn’t begin for another couple of weeks.”

“The girl I’m replacing is leaving earlier than expected. They want me there as soon as possible.”

She at least has the good graces to look apologetic.

“So your brother’s just going to...what? Walk in and find me here with his dog?” Brie starts to correct me, but I whip out my “Stop! In the name of love” hand gesture again and the words get stuck in her throat. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Your parents’ dog.”

“Of course not. I’ll call him and explain everything before I go. And it if helps, I can take care of the paperwork. I’m an authorized user on his credit card in case of emergencies.”

“I’m not sure he’ll see this as an emergency.”

Brie rolls her eyes dramatically. Everything she does is dramatic. She’s what Erin would call extra. Part and parcel of being an actress, I suppose. I admit, it was a bit much at first, but now that I’m used to it, it’s more entertaining than exhausting.

“Trust me, if the alternative is him scooping dog poop in Hudson River Park, he’ll think it’s an emergency.”

I’m not entirely convinced, but Brie does her best impression of a damsel in distress, her amber eyes going wide as dinner plates and her full lower lip jutting out in a pathetic pout, and I cave.

Sucker.

“Okay.”

Stepping over Roscoe, I make my way to the kitchen area of the open floor plan, where I left my Kate Spade tote, one of the few holdovers from my DK&G days. Fortunately, I always keep a folder in there with a few blank copies of the standard Odds & Errands contract. When you’re in business, especially a business like mine, everyone you meet is a prospective customer.

I pull out a blank contract and a pen, make a couple of quick changes to the standard terms to reflect the specific services and higher rate we agreed on, then slide pen and paper across the mammoth marble-topped kitchen island to Brie. “Read it, print your name and credit card information in the spaces provided and sign on the line marked ‘client.’”

She grabs her ever-present messenger bag, whips out a credit card and fills out the form, signing her name with a flourish that’s as extra as she is. Then she pushes the paper back toward me. I tuck it safely in my tote and hold out my hand. “Pen?”

I hate asking, but I’ve lost so many it’s become a running joke with my employees. I’m almost positive Aaron and Erin have some kind of bet going. The loser probably has to buy the winner Starbucks for a week.

“Oops.” She hands it over.

“Thanks.” I drop it into my bag. “And I’ll need a key. Do you have a spare?”

“Jake keeps one in here somewhere.” She rummages through drawers until she produces a leather key chain with a pair of shiny silver keys dangling from it. She beams, holding it up like she’s found the holy grail. “The long one’s for the entrance to the building, and the short one’s for this apartment. Heads up.”

She tosses it to me, and I make a sweet one-handed catch. Ten years of tae kwon do as a kid, and I still haven’t lost my lightning-fast reflexes. I add the key chain to the growing collection in my tote, making a mental note to tag it later so I remember whose apartment it goes to. “That should do it.”

I give her a brief, semi-awkward parting hug. “Have a great time in San Diego. Work hard. Play hard. And don’t forget to slay.”