Never Say Sty Read Online Free PDF Page A

Cavalier Lexie in my arms and thinking about dinner and its unfulfilled sensual suggestions—I knew better than to dream about having Dante DeFrancisco insinuate himself further into my highly satisfactory life.

Chapter Three

    “SO ALL THAT buildup, and you haven’t heard back from the guy?” asked my best bud in the whole world, Darryl Nestler.

    A week had passed since my dinner with Dante. Now, I sat in the messy but comfy office of Doggy Indulgence Day Resort, where I’d come after my morning pet-sitting rounds to drop off my beloved Lexie. She needed some extra indulgence, which here involved playing with other pups when she felt like it. If not, she’d relax in her favorite of the large room’s multiple pet-pampering areas: the one with the plethora of people furniture.

    And I needed some TLC, too, via talking to the tall, lanky guy who’d been my moral support through all sorts of upsetting situations over many months—not the least of which was that I’d become a murder magnet. But fortunately, after helping to solve the last one, a few weeks back, I was free of felonies to figure out.

    Darryl had also introduced me to the Hayhursts and made some suggestions for our initial Animal Auditions ideas.

    “Nope, haven’t heard a word.” I didn’t intend that to erupt as a grumble, but it did. Which irked me even more. I should feel relieved. Of course, I had a meeting scheduled tomorrow with Dante’s attorney to go over final details of the agreement we’d been negotiating. All the conditions he’d asked for were agreed on—other than the coerced dinner with me, but that was now a done deal. But the new location, broadening the types of animals cast, and mega-promotion for HotPets were all there.

    I’d also put together a nice new limited liability company for those of us involved in the Animal Auditions production. We were all members now—Charlotte LaVerne, with her unequaled reality show background; Rachel; the Hayhursts of Show Biz Beasts; and, of course, moi.

    Oops. There was that dratted French that kept coming to mind after my evening at the château with Monsieur Dante DeFrancisco. Not that I allowed him to remain too prominently in my tête—er, head.

    “I’d thought,” Darryl said dryly, peering over his wire-rims, “that the guy had the hots for you, which was why he insisted on a date before committing to spend lots of money on your reality show production.”

    “No, he wants to promote HotPets. He doesn’t give a damn about someone like me, whose role with Animal Auditions will be minor once we get going.”

    “We’ll see, but I have a sneaking suspicion you haven’t seen the last of him.”

    “Nothing earthshaking about that,” I responded. “I intend to be there for at least some of the Animal Auditions tapings, and Mr. DeFrancisco may attend, too.”

    “Mr. DeFrancisco? I thought you were on a first-name basis. Not that you told me a lot, but I had the sense, when you described your dinner, that it ended with a major clutch in the car, chauffeur chaperoning or not.”

    “Yeah, well, that was then and this is later, in the light of day and all that. Dante DeFrancisco is about to get the deal he wanted, so he doesn’t have to schmooze the production company’s lawyer—me—anymore.”

    “Maybe,” Darryl said. “So . . .” He looked at me with a sudden, big smile lighting his long face.

    “So what?” I’d known him long enough and well enough to assume that expression suggested a secret. “Spill it, Nestler.”

    “Spill what?” His tone resounded with assumed innocence.

    “Whatever it is that you want me to pry out of you.”

    He raised his eyebrows above his spectacles’ frames. “Who says there’s anything like that?”

    A knock sounded on his office door. His expression changed to an odd combo of irritation and relief as he called, “Come in.”

    Kiki, one of Darryl’s longtime assistants, opened the door, and a couple of pups popped in