Have Mercy. Jo Leigh
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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