Drop Dead Gorgeous

“Oh, this is just a big, sweet baby . . . with really big poops,” he says to Zoey before answering the dog owner’s question. “AN’s pretty good, actually, but there’s a dog version of the 30-day Whole Foods routine . . . if you really want to lean her out.”

Honestly, all I see is the friendly dude from his social media. Not a poisoning murder suspect.

“Hmm, my boy’s on AN too, but I haven’t heard of that 30-day thing,” I comment, joining the conversation just like I do when I’m making a life insurance cold intro. Find something in common and just join in, fostering the connection. “Would that be okay for my other dog?” Zoey looks at me, well aware I only have Chunky, but what I also now have is a plan. “I’ve got an Irish Setter-Golden Retriever girl at home. She’s not overweight like the Chunkster here, but I can’t imagine making two dog dinners, you know? I’m not a short-order cook.”

I’m playing it cool, trying to get him to talk, especially by dropping the exact designer-mix breed dog Yvette has while asking for advice.

Sebastian chuckles nonchalantly. “Yeah, man, I hear that. But the 30-day is good for all dogs. I’ve got a client, also an Irish Retriever, that’s so sweet, but he’s willful as hell.”

“Another Irish Retriever?” I ask, mock surprised. The mastiff owner quickly thanks Sebastian and leaves, pretending to lead his dog when I’m pretty sure that monster could be hooked to the front of his truck and pull them both home. But I’m focused on Sebastian. “Those are pretty rare. Mine’s a shedder, the Retriever side, I guess.”

Sebastian agrees, “Yeah, they tend to create a small hair storm. With Rusty, we have to vacuum after him almost every day.”

“Oh, don’t I know it!” I exclaim. Looking at Zoey, who’s catching on, I grin. “How long ago did you make me buy that new robot vacuum, honey?”

“Last month. It was that online sale,” Zoey fake-reminds me, joining in. “No way was I using that big vacuum any longer.” She bends her elbows, not flexing her toned arms so it seems like she’s a weakling.

“I wouldn’t know,” Sebastian offers with a flex of his own.

I clear my throat. “Shedding aside, I love these guys though. Even if they kill my budget with special food, vacuums, chair legs . . . ugh.” I roll my eyes dramatically—for Chunky and Jessie, my imaginary Irish-Retriever.

Sebastian’s eyebrows lift, and I see he caught scent of the bait I just laid out. “Chair legs, huh? You know, I offer obedience lessons. I could help you out on that.”

“Could you?” Zoey asks, smiling hopefully as though Sebastian were her savior. I know she’s playing her part too, but that doesn’t stop the growl from trying to rumble in my chest. Especially when she adds, “I mean, last week, Jessie got ahold of my favorite bra, and . . . well, you know.”

Sebastian laughs, his eyes flittering to Zoey’s chest naturally before coming back to her eyes faster than a single man normally would. “I understand.”

“Is it a breed thing?” I ask. “For Irish Retrievers? You know, did the other owner, I dunno, get things eaten?”

Sebastian laughs. “No, nothing like that.”

I nod, seeing the opening but knowing it’s not quite big enough yet. “Well, if you’ve got a card or something, man, I’d love to check my schedule at home, see if we can set something up?”

Sebastian’s quick to his pocket, pulling out his wallet and a business card and offering it to me. “Here you go. Email’s best, but that’s just so if I’m with a client, I don’t forget to call back.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, tucking the card in my pocket. “Well, we should get going. Chunkster!”

Chunky comes bounding over, nearly taking me to the ground again, but I manage to clip his leash on. I wave to Sebastian, but he’s already scanning for his next potential clients.

Zoey keeps her cool until we’re at the gate and leaving before elbowing me in the ribs. “What the hell was that?”

I grin, knowing this is one area where my experience far outstrips hers. “Long game. If we’d asked more about Yvette, he would have gotten his guard up. It’s why I kept it to the dog. Now we can find out more about him, and maybe Yvette.”

Zoey thinks, then nods at my logic. “So . . . like a sale.”

“Just like a sale. Some are fast, some are slow, but you take whatever time’s needed.”

Zoey gives me that single eyebrow lift that says she knows what I’m up to. She knows I’m talking about two things at once again. “Smart man.”

“I know,” I say cockily, but I soften the pseudo-arrogance with a smile. “Now, we wait,” I continue as we reach my car and I open the back for Chunky, who promptly hops in. I know he’s going to give Zoey the full-on puppy dog eyes treatment, but safety is always first. “I figure at least a day or two before calling.”