Shopping for a CEO (Shopping for a Billionaire #7)(5)

Chapter Three


Shannon isn’t answering her phone, or her texts, but I have the cabbie drop me off at her building anyhow. Worst case, she’s not home.

Best case, she’s home and has a pallet of tiramisu on hand. The non-ring kind.

I buzz her door. A small video screen shows Marie’s face, sudden and invasive, like a cat that has discovered a hidden video camera. One covered in tuna sauce.

“Who’s there?” she asks pleasantly.

“MOM!” Shannon shouts. Her voice is tinny but a relief to hear. “We’ve told you not to answer for us at our apartment.”

“What? I’m being rude now because I want to help? When you lived with your sister you never cared if I answered the door for you.”

“No, Amy and I cared then, too,” Shannon says flatly.

“Then why didn’t you say something! I can’t read minds,” Marie retorts.

“We did say—”

“Give it up, honey,” says a man’s baritone. “Don’t engage the crazy.”

Marie’s voice sounds like a teakettle. “I am not crazy—”

Bzzzz.

The foyer for this apartment building looks like something the Greeks built in Athens millennia ago, except with air conditioning and wireless security. A concierge desk sits to the right, with a flank of similarly-dressed women, all with their hair in updos, speaking in dulcet tones on wireless headsets.

It’s a little too close to Grey Enterprises for comfort. I’ve never snooped around Declan’s apartment, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find a Red Room of Pain in there.

When Shannon and Declan returned from New York engaged and ready for wedding planning, he’d set one simple condition: Shannon had to move in with him. She readily agreed and moved most of her belongings, except for Chuckles.

Amy inherited Chuckles. Amy will never let Shannon forget this, and so in exchange, Shannon had Declan help Amy get a job at some high tech business incubator in Waltham where you not only can bring your pet to work with you, they have an on-staff pet groomer and animal shaman who will help read your pet’s past lives for you.

Chuckles turns out to have been Vlad the Impaler in an earlier life.

I know, right? I’m not surprised either.

I ride a bajillion flights up to the penthouse, then pause just before the elevator doors open. I’m loopy and loose, and an ache in me lingers.

An ache for what?

Andrew.

His name floats into my head, an unexpected cloud on a sunny day.

No. I’m being silly. Anyone would look good after Ron the Dogbutt Whisperer. Even an animal shaman would be a better date.

I walk into the living room. It’s all sleek, smoky grey and wide open glass lines.

“I now know way more about anal glands than any human being ever should,” I announce.

“Another sex toy shop?” Marie asks.

“No.”

“You’re working with anal, uh...glands...for fun?” Declan asks. He’s less perplexed than he used to be. I think we’re wearing him down. He’s dressed in the McCormick version of casual, which means his tie is loose. Does the man not own a pair of sweatpants or some cheesy, shredded concert t-shirt from 2003?

“Proctologist mystery shops?” Marie muses. “Hmmm.” She turns to Shannon. “Your father’s due for his colonoscopy, and the co-pay is ridiculous. Do you think Greg could let Jason become a certified mystery shopper and give him a proctologist shop?” she asks hopefully.

“Dog anal glands,” I say with a mouth that over-enunciates.

“You mystery shopped a proctologist who works on dogs?” Marie asks.

All three of them stare at me like I’m the one who’s coming up with this stuff.

“No. I went out on a date with a guy who squeezes his schnauzer’s ass for fun.”

“Oh,” Marie says absentmindedly as she puts a yellow sticky note on a giant calendar. “I went out with one of those between dating James and Jason back in the day.”

“You mean there’s more than one out there?” I ask.

Declan quirks one eyebrow as the door buzzes. Taking his leave with a look of relief, he goes to the monitor, leaving me and Shannon to stare at Marie with twin expressions of confusion.

“What does that even mean, Mom?” Shannon asks as I go in for a hug. I haven’t seen her since she and Declan returned from a business trip that lasted for two weeks in New Zealand, and the hug goes on longer than it should. I’ve missed her. As she presses her hands against my back I can feel the cool hardness of her engagement ring band.

The ring that has more intimate knowledge of Shannon’s body than even Declan. Shannon’s Twitter nemesis, Jessica Coffin, chronicled the, uh...transit of the three-carat diamond engagement ring after Shannon swallowed it during the proposal. The hashtag #poopwatch led to more than a little embarrassment for Shannon, but she weathered it all with grace.

Marie raises her voice as if lecturing. “It means you never want to date a man who’s obsessed with his dog. They are worse than the ones who are attached to their mothers at the navel. Dog freaks will always put their pets ahead of their women.”

“Dad was a vet tech when you two met,” Shannon says as she pulls away from me. Her expression is a mixture of happiness and aggravation, which means Marie’s been here for a while.