Catching Her Rival

“Not yet. She wants to hear the vet’s diagnosis first.”

“I want you to come to the hospital,” his grandfather said. “We can go over your presentation and decide how to handle this delay.”

“I really need—”

“I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Granddad disconnected with no further discussion.

The hospital wasn’t too far from the office. Jack called his assistant to update her as he entered the hospital garage and then found a parking space.

“I’m here to see Patrick Fletcher,” Jack said to the woman behind a large desk in the bustling lobby of the hospital.

Her fingers clicked on the keyboard while she watched her monitor. “Room 317.” She handed him a visitor badge and said, “The elevators are down that hall and around the corner to the right. Have a nice day.”

“Thanks. You, too.” He clipped the badge to his dress-shirt breast pocket. Then he headed to the bank of elevators.

According to the sign when he got out on the third floor, his grandfather’s room was to the right. When Jack had visited him before the wedding on Saturday, Granddad had been transferred to ICU as a precaution. Yesterday he had been moved back to this floor, but to a different room than before.

“Hey, Granddad,” Jack greeted him as he knocked on the doorframe of his open door.

The older man was sitting up, the head of his bed raised. He set aside the newspaper he’d been reading. “Hello, my boy. Come on in and tell me more about the animal lady.”

Jack leaned in to hug him, glad to see his color improved. “Not until you tell me how you’re feeling.” Jack hadn’t gotten a chance to ask him when they spoke on the phone. “You’re looking much better than you did Saturday morning.”

“Good enough to go home, but they won’t let me.” He went on to tell Jack about the medical tests his doctor still wanted to do. “Besides having low blood sugar the other day, he’s still worried about my heart.”

Jack moved the lone vinyl chair closer to the hospital bed. “Better to be sure you’re okay.” His grandfather lived alone in a high-rise, even though Jack had been trying to get the seventy-nine-year-old to move into a senior assisted-living facility.

“Yeah, yeah,” Granddad mumbled and then changed the subject. “You feel good about the presentation? You know we must get this account.”

Jack was intensely aware of the pressure he was under, even if his grandfather didn’t remind him constantly. The past few years had been rough ones for Empire Advertising, and his grandfather was counting on Jack to rescue it.

Back when Granddad founded the company—thirteen years before Jack was born—he’d snagged several accounts that grew substantially. They included the company whose duck-shaped cookies became a top snack item for the under-ten set, and a juice company that saw their market share quadruple when they began mixing vegetables into their fruit juices.

Unfortunately, over the past decade, many of the CEOs of the large firms that had been the lifeblood of Empire had retired. In turn, their younger counterparts, looking for a fresher approach, sent their advertising dollars to the younger, hipper ad agencies.

From the time Jack graduated from college ten years ago, his grandfather had pressed him to come and work for Empire. Instead, Jack had stuck to his plan to work for one of those hipper agencies based in New York City. Two years ago, Granddad had finally talked Jack into coming onboard by admitting that Empire couldn’t last much longer without help. That’s also when his grandfather told Jack he’d inherit the company someday. So if Jack wanted the security of his own firm, then he’d have to work for it.

After spending a few more minutes talking strategy with his grandfather, Jack checked the time. “I’d better get into the office. I’ll call you later to see what your doctor says.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Granddad said. “You get that crazy dog woman to give you her advertising money.”

Jack couldn’t help cracking a smile. His grandfather never minced words. He used to have a filter when necessary, but over the past few months that filter had become almost nonexistent.

He hugged his grandfather and left the hospital. He wondered if he’d be able to get any work done before meeting Allie, since he couldn’t seem to get her out of his head.

* * *

ALLIE WAS HAVING a heck of a morning.

Just when she finally thought she had her act together, she found out her eleven o’clock meeting was canceled. So much for the presentation she was up until 2:00 a.m. working on.

So much for the zipper on her skirt that finally got unstuck from her blouse.

And so much for the cold shower she had to take this morning because of the broken water heater in her apartment building.

She sat at her desk in her rented office space and stared at her computer. She was eager to figure out how she and Charlotte could get a DNA test done, but that research would have to wait. Right now she needed to get down to business and find more clients so she could afford to get out of this place and into a real office. Making cold calls was one of her least favorite things. She was the idea person. Give her a product and she’d come up with a gimmick. Preferably one that she could animate.

With no funds to fall back on, Allie couldn’t afford to rent more than the one office she currently occupied. It came with the use of a conference room and a receptionist, both of which were shared by seven other small offices. What was lacking was any sense of style or warmth.

It was a far cry from the office she used to work in. DP Advertising was located in one of the most prestigious buildings in Providence. When she worked for them, Allie had a plush office overlooking the city. There she led a team of talented and creative people with loads of energy. Unfortunately, the team included Jimmy, her ex-boyfriend who’d recently landed in federal prison.

Her phone rang, startling her out of her reverie. “Allie Miller.” She wasn’t used to having anyone call her—most of her communication was done through texts or emails. She hoped this was good news. She could use some.

“Hello, Ms. Miller. This is Joan Broadwell from the Rhode Island Animal Rescue League.”

Allie had forgotten about the application she’d filled out online. “Yes, Ms. Broadwell. It’s good to hear from you.”

“I’ve been looking over your fostering application and have contacted your references. I’m happy to say that you’ve been approved. We should have a dog for you to foster in the next few days.”

“That’s wonderful.” Allie tried to sound excited, but she was faking it. It wasn’t that she disliked dogs. She was simply indifferent to animals of all kinds. She saw no need to have them as pets. The only reason she applied to foster a dog was to impress her potential client. As soon as she landed the account, Allie would return the dog and tell the Rescue League that being a foster parent—or whatever they called it—wasn’t working out for her.

She’d hoped to get the dog before her presentation so she could bring it with her. In the end, having her appointment with the client delayed had worked in her favor.

The woman who owned Naturally Healthy Animal Food brought her own dog to her office. And it was actually because the dog—named Tulip or Rosebud or some such thing—had caught something called kennel cough that their meeting this morning had been canceled.

“Now, you do realize that since you live in an apartment, we can’t give you a dog larger than about twenty-five pounds.”

“Yes, I understand.” She didn’t need a big dog like Daisy—that was the dog’s name. But Daisy wasn’t anything close to a delicate flower, as she had proved when she jumped up on Allie, practically knocking her over.

They finished their conversation and disconnected. Not two minutes later, the phone rang again.

“Allie Miller.”

“Oh, Ms. Miller, this is Joan Broadwell again. Great news! We have a dog that we think will work perfectly for you.” She went on to explain that one of their other foster parents had to go out of town unexpectedly for an extended time and could no longer care for the Jack Russell terrier–beagle mix he’d been fostering for a few weeks. “When do you think you can pick up Harvey?”

Allie hit a key on her keyboard to display her calendar. Blank. The rest of the day was open except for coffee with Jack at two.

“I can come anytime after three,” she said. Jack probably couldn’t take more than an hour off from his job, whatever that might be. Surprisingly, that particular subject hadn’t come up.

As soon as she hung up, she searched online to find out what a Jack Russell terrier looked like so she wouldn’t look stupid and inexperienced when she picked up the dog. The beagle part was easy. Isn’t that what Snoopy from the Peanuts comic strip was?

She was about to become a first-time pet owner. Wow. How weird did that sound? Almost stranger than saying she was Harvey’s foster mom.

* * *

CHARLOTTE WAS DUSTY and dirty by the time she brought down the first of many boxes containing her mother’s files that were still in the attic. The plastic tubs felt heavier than she remembered as she carefully made her way down the folding steps to the guest room on the second floor.

She was anxious to continue searching for clues about her adoption, deciding to go through each file meticulously, not putting the boxes back in her attic again. Of course, that would take time, but she didn’t want to miss anything, and she certainly didn’t want to go through them again later.