Page 5 of I Hate You More

“That’s probably because you never had the right one,” Caleb said. She’d been so busy trying to stare down Spencer that she hadn’t even noticed his brother joining them.

“No,” Ruby agreed, but without feeling. There was no way she could explain her complicated relationship with her pageant coach to these two—especially considering her pageant coach was and always had been her mother. “I suppose not. I’ll have to see if I can find one.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Caleb said, grinning. “It just so happens that I know the perfect person for the job. He’s qualified. He’s cheap. And best of all—he’s handsome.”

That last one caught Ruby by surprise. “He’shandsome?”

“Caleb, don’t even think about it,” Spencer said, but Caleb ignored him as he slipped a business card into Ruby’s hand.

“You won’t regret hiring me, Ms. Taylor,” he said with a wink. “If there’s one man in the world who knows how to beat Spencer at his own game, it’s me.”

Chapter 2

“Well, Mrs. Orson, it’s done.” Ruby let go of Wheezy’s leash and watched as the animal waddled up the walkway to where his mistress sat on her front porch. Mrs. Orson was reading a romance novel with a picture of a fleshy, naked couple embracing on the cover. Ruby had recently started a book club in hopes of sharing her affinity for sweet, small-town love stories with the residents of Parkwood Manor, but it had taken the group all of two months to take it over.

They now read straight erotica. If there wasn’t at least one act of pegging between the covers, the book was immediately vetoed.

“Of course it is. I didn’t doubt you for a minute.” Mrs. Orson traded her book for a cookie, which she dangled between her fingers as an incentive. Wheezy saw it the same time as Ruby, so she had to pounce quickly to beat him to it.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Ruby whisked the cookie away and shoved it in her mouth before either the dog or his owner could protest. The dry, cloying taste of cloves and molasses had her regretting her impulse about two seconds later.

Mrs. Orson saw her expression and laughed. “That’s what you get for stealing Wheezy’s snack. Darla brought over a whole plate of these earlier. I wish someone would take her oven away. She’s threatened a tea cake for tomorrow.”

Ruby suppressed a shudder. Darla Templecombe was a dashing widow who’d spent the majority of her life dining in five-star restaurants. Retirement had brought with it a fervor—but not the technique—for baking.

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re going to have to find another way to get rid of the cake,” Ruby said. Wheezy, deprived of his treat, whined once, heaved twice, and plopped himself at Mrs. Orson’s feet. “From now until the West Coast Canine Classic, Wheezy is officially on a diet.”

Mrs. Orson looked as outraged as Ruby had felt when Spencer had outlined the rules for Wheezy’s late-stage entry into the contest.

“You can’t mean to starve my poor darling!” Mrs. Orson cried.

Her poor darling, sensing that his life was about to be turned on its side, uttered a mournful groan. He’d been uttering them nonstop over the past hour—first to protest stopping at Ruby’s apartment so she could change into her uniform, then because he objected to the traffic on I-5, and finally because she’d had to park half a mile away. Parkwood Manor, a huge, sprawling retirement community that offered private detached residences, assisted living apartments, and a long-term care facility, was perennially short of parking spaces.

Ruby was ready to start groaning herself. Wheezy wasn’t the only one who objected to trudging along in the heat, but at least the dog didn’t have an eight-hour shift ahead of him. Mrs. Orson had one of the nicer private residences. There was nothing but relaxation and pampering inhisfuture.

“He won’t starve,” Ruby promised, though not without first crossing her fingers. She’d spent far too many years of her life not starving to know that it was one thing to set a daily caloric budget and quite another to stick to it. “One of the judges recommended a few dog-food brands and a long walk every day. That won’t be so hard, will it?”

Mrs. Orson lifted a shaky hand to her brow. Ruby could have sworn it wasn’t shaking when she’d been holding her book, but that was Mrs. Orson all over.

“I’m sure I can manage. I’ll just get my walker and take a few pain pills first. My ankles should hold out for a few more weeks. Or maybe Harry—”

Ruby held up her hand, unable to stop a laugh from escaping. “Save the theatrics for another day. I meantI’llwalk him. I have to take him to deportment lessons with some fancy dog trainer, so I can do it then.”

“Deportment lessons?”

Ruby held back a grimace. The lessons were as awful as they sounded, but it wouldn’t do to let either Mrs. Orson or Wheezy know how much. Ruby used to spend hours sitting with her legs crossed just so, her spine elongated, and an increasingly heavy set of books on her head. At the time, it had felt like literal torture, but there was no denying that her posture was still on point. Her core strength went a long way in helping her lift the residents who needed more care than the Mrs. Orsons and Darla Templecombes of this world.

In fact, if she didn’t get into the long-term care facility soon, she was going to be late for work.

“You’re going to be late for work,” a voice called from behind her.

Ruby sighed, refusing to turn around until she recalled a few more of those deportment lessons.Breathe in and out. Maintain a ladylike calm at all times. Never allow your true feelings to show.

“That makes—what—the third time this week? For shame. What would the boss say?” Harry Gunderson laughed. Only after Ruby absorbed this laugh, chewing it and swallowing it like one of Darla’s bone-dry gingersnaps, did she turn around. Harry took one look at her serene expression and said, “Just kidding. The boss’ll go ahead and let this one slide. I’m feeling generous today.”

It was a lie. Harry never felt generous. He was obnoxious and wheedling and an ever-present pain in Ruby’s side.

He was also, as he liked to remind her daily, her boss. They’d both applied for the floor supervisor position that had opened up six months ago, but Ruby hadn’t even come close to landing it. It didn’t seem to matter that both she and Harry had been working as nursing assistants at Parkwood Manor for the same amount of time or that Ruby wasn’t a narcissistic weasel who stole the residents’ pain meds and sold them to his friends as a side hustle.