Sisters Like Us. Susan MalleryЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Five

      HARPER COULDN’T SHAKE the feeling of being watched—probably because she was. Even though Thor and Jazz were lying down on huge beds that nearly filled her tiny office, their eyes were open and firmly fixed on her. As if waiting for something. She supposed some of her unease came from the fact that they were huge, muscular dogs trained to do God knew what. For all she knew, they were assessing her and if she showed weakness, they would simply kill her and hide the body, then pretend nothing had happened.

      “I can’t believe I’m dog sitting,” she muttered, as she moved the picture around on her computer screen. She had a one-off job to provide online content for a new boutique by the boardwalk. The owner had called in a panic after realizing that just because her twelve-year-old could design a slick website, he wasn’t necessarily prepared to develop content. Harper was hoping the owner would be happy enough to keep her on to-do monthly updates.

      She forced herself to concentrate, despite the sense of foreboding the two dogs engendered. She’d been expecting to have to deal with Jazz, but then Lucas had told her he was adding dog sitting to her duties. She would have refused only she not only needed the money—Jazz ate more than the average grizzly, and the food Great-Aunt Cheryl recommended cost as much as dinner for five at a decent restaurant—but she thought the two dogs might keep each other company, thereby freeing her from having to entertain Jazz.

      She settled on a location for the pictures, cut and pasted the text, then studied the effect of the page. She’d added a section for featured clothes and had made the “style of the week” section bigger. Fifteen minutes of brainstorming over coffee had given her a list of suggestions she planned to share with the owner. One of them—a shop-your-closet feature—could give clients a reason to either come to the website or read the newsletter without feeling they were being sold to at every turn.

      She got up to pour herself more coffee. Both Jazz and Thor raised their heads to watch her. She couldn’t tell if they were curious, still confused about their new location or assessing her viability. She paused to lightly pet each of them before going into the kitchen. Clicking nails told her she was not alone. So far the dogs had followed her from room to room, including trying to get into the bathroom with her. She’d insisted they wait in the hall, telling them that she wouldn’t watch them go and in return they couldn’t watch her.

      Now she poured her coffee, then turned and saw they were both standing there, staring.

      “I know you want something, I just have no idea what,” she admitted. “Do you want to go out?”

      They both glanced at the back door, then at her. She sighed. She’d been very clear with Great-Aunt Cheryl. The last thing Harper wanted was one more life-form to take care of. She had enough on her plate—but had the woman listened? Okay, sure, technically, but not really. At the end of the day, Harper was still going to be a pet parent, whether she liked it or not. Becca had taken care of Jazz over the weekend, but the dog was still new to her. How long until her daughter was too busy or wasn’t home to handle things?

      Harper’s cell rang. She pushed the button on her Bluetooth headset. “This is Harper.”

      “Harper, it’s Cathy. Do you have a sec?”

      “Sure.”

      She carried her coffee back to her office, then quickly found Cathy’s file. The event planner used Harper to fill in when she needed an extra pair of creative hands. Harper could address two hundred envelopes in decorative calligraphy or paint a pin-the-tail-on-the-elephant poster or make custom napkin rings for a high-end dinner party.

      “Okay, I talked to my clients, the ones hosting a fiftieth anniversary party for the parents. They’ve chosen the gift bag they want.”

      “Great.” Harper sorted through the pictures she’d taken and slipped into the file. Next to each were the supplies needed, along with what they would cost and how long it took to assemble each bag.

      She’d created three custom gift bags—not what went in them, just the bags themselves. Cathy had wanted them to be special, so they were all unique and not easy to put together.

      “I have my information right here,” Harper said.

      “They’ve picked number three. Now you said it was going to be twenty dollars a bag, but we both know that’s ridiculous. I told them I could get it for five dollars. I hope you’re okay with that.”

      Harper stared at the picture, then scanned her notes. The bag was rose gold with a raffia handle. She’d applied delicate printed paper from France to the front of the bag, then edged it in tiny beads. After making by hand a flower done in shades of gold, she’d stenciled on the couple’s name and the date of their wedding, fifty years ago.

      The price she’d quoted wasn’t just all the paper and trim, it was the time. Her heart sank. Cathy frequently tried to undercut Harper’s prices and most of the time Harper went along with it, but there was no way she could do the bag for that.

      “The supplies cost more than five dollars,” Harper said, trying to sound firm. “It will take me thirty minutes to complete each one.”

      “Can’t you work faster? My God, it’s a gift bag. Seriously, Harper, no one is going to pay twenty dollars for that.”

      “Then they should pick one of the other ones.”

      “They want the one they want.”

      Harper’s stomach tightened. Irritation mingled with fear. She needed the work, but refused to take a loss. “The paper is imported...there are multiple layers. If you want something unique and handmade, that is the cost. I’m sorry, but my price is firm.”

      “I’m sorry, too. I hate to lose you as a resource, but if you’re not going to work with me, then I don’t know if we can keep doing business together.”