Satisfaction Guaranteed(12)

“He’s at a wedding,” I answer. “But your interest in his whereabouts is duly noted.”

“Oh, please. As if that’s even a thing.”

Natalie chuckles softly. “Interest or not, think about the tournament. You’d be great, Truly.” She turns to me. “You’d be fine too, but I do want more awesome women showing up. Girl power and all.”

“You are the poster child for girl power,” Truly says admiringly, since Natalie teaches martial arts—she started in karate and moved to jujitsu recently—and also runs a construction business with her husband, one of our cousins.

“And on that note, this girl needs to get back out there,” Natalie says as the next class shuffles into the studio.

We leave, and I narrow my eyes, studying my sister. “So, tell me when this interest in my best friend began.”

“On the fifth of never.”

“You’re in the full-blown denial stage. Got it.”

“There’s no denial. It was merely a curiosity since he’s better at jujitsu than you, and I like to spar with people who make me stronger.”

I ignore the dig, savoring the chance to needle her. “So it’s safe to say it made you sad that he wasn’t in class today?”

“Sad that I couldn’t destroy him.”

My sister took up jujitsu a few years ago, dragging me along and saying any self-respecting single woman in New York City needed to learn a martial art. I agreed wholeheartedly, and I enlisted Jason to join us. He’s usually a Sunday night regular.

As we turn the corner onto Sixth Avenue, she shifts gears. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

She knows the deal. I updated both Mom and Truly after the Friday night fiasco, otherwise known as My Big Lesson in Not Counting Chickens before They Hatch.

“I’m ready and eager for Sloane’s first day. It’ll be a walk in the park. A piece of cake. A cinch.”

She shoots me a doubtful stare. “I’m going to give you a week till you cave. You do know you have high levels of manwhore in you?”

I scoff. “Please. I’m no manwhore. I’m picky. I’m like those people at the farmers market who take a long time with peaches, apricots, and apples.”

She pats my cheek. “You’re cute with your fruit euphemisms. Like I said, you’re good for seven days. Wait. No. I’m being far too generous. Better make that a day.”

“While I appreciate your unerring faith in me, it’s unnecessary. I have a foolproof plan.”

“Do tell.”

“It’s easy,” I say as the sun dips in the sky. “I’ve been working on the necessary skills.”

“And those are?”

I mime putting on a pair of shades. “I’m going to look at her through a professional lens only. The same way I look at Jonathan or at Sam. That’s all there is to it.”

“Well, that ought to be a piece of cake. Wait, no. A cinch. Actually, make it a picnic.”





*



The trick is indeed about eyesight. It’s about how you see things, how you approach the task at hand.

Focus is literally everything.

It’s focus that got me through college with straight As. It’s focus that saw me through veterinary school at the top of my class. It’s focus that won me my first job, and it’s focus that brought me to where I am now—well-respected, successful, and with clients who have a high regard for how I treat their four-legged family members.

Today, I must be the best at resisting an irresistible woman.

As I head into work, I say hello to Jonathan and Sam, breathing a sigh of relief that Sloane isn’t in yet.

Jonathan and Sam give me eager what happened eyes.

“So? Am I making my special strawberry cupcakes with shots of frosting in the middle to celebrate?” Sam asks with a hopeful grin. “I baked them for my mom the other night, and even she liked them, and you know how picky that woman is.”

“She is the nit-pickiest,” Jonathan seconds, then stares at me, raising his thumb up then down, waiting.

They don’t dislike Doug, but the reality is they’re my people. I brought them on board, trained them, and worked closely with them to improve the practice. We have a rhythm to our day, an ease.

I sigh. “It’s not happening yet,” I say, then dive into a quick explanation of what went down.

“Does this mean Doug will be around more?” Sam sounds more concerned than I’d expected, maybe nervous too. “He was down to two days a week.”

“He’ll probably be here a little more often. Is that a problem?”

Sam gulps, shaking her head quickly. Too quickly. “No. It’ll be fine.”

I stare at her. “I don’t believe you.”

She glances around, making sure he’s not here. “It’s just that . . . well, I started when he was cutting back. I hardly see him, and when I do, it’s like running into the school principal. He’s so much older, and serious. I don’t know how to talk to him.”

Laughing, I lean against the wall next to her desk. “Just talk to him like you talk to clients. You’re great with clients.”

“Because they’re not the big boss!”

I tap my chest. “Hello! I’m your boss too. You talk to me just fine.”