"Okay, she said, "the good news is this. I just got off the phone with our financial manager, and he knows exactly what happened."
"What?" I asked.
"Long story, but if you thinkI'membarrassed, you should talk to him. He's got this new assistant, wife's brother, if you can believe it. Anyway, this brother-in-law of his missed a whole series of bank transfers, including ours."
"What do you mean missed them?"
"He didn't make them. He went out to lunch or something, who knows?"
"Oh wow."
"Wow is right. But don't worry," she said. "The money should be there the day after tomorrow, or the day after that at the latest. I'm glad you called. Otherwise, it might've been days before we figured it out."
"Oh. That's good."
"And listen," she said. "I know this must've been a major inconvenience for you. And I feel just terrible. So does my husband. Tell you what. I'm going to send you a little bonus, not just for the bank fees, but to buy yourself something nice – like a day at the spa. And don't you dare say 'no.' "
I wasn't planning on it.
But I did thank her, trying hard to banish the lingering worry. In a couple days, this would all be over, right? And the way it sounded, I might actually come out ahead in the long run.
But somehow, until the money was actually there, it felt like a burden more than anything.
It wasn't until later that night that something struck me as kind of odd. During our whole conversation, she hadn't asked me one thing about Chucky.
At eight o'clock the next morning, the doorbell rang, sending Chucky into his usual spaz attack, barking and running up and down the stairs.
Since I worked nights, I almost never woke up before ten, mostly because it tended to majorly screw up my sleep schedule the next time I worked. But when I peeked out the guest room window and saw a sleek red sports car idling in the driveway, I felt myself smile.
I didn't recognize the vehicle, but considering Lawton's travel schedule, I had a pretty good guess who it belonged to. I dashed to the bathroom and gargled some mouthwash while I ran a quick brush through my hair.
Eager to catch him before he drove off, I snapped on Chucky's leash and answered the door in what I'd slept in – a thin yellow tank top and black silky shorts.
Except it wasn't Lawton.
It was some slick-looking guy in his mid-forties. He wore dark sunglasses, expensive looking slacks, and a designer sports coat.
His eyebrows furrowed. "Mrs. Parker?" he said.
My smile faded. I was getting a little tired of people calling me that.
Plus, I felt like a major dumb-ass. Whenever I thought it was Lawton at the door, it turned out to be someone else. And whenever I expected it to be someone else, it turned out to be Lawton.
If this kept up, I was going to develop a serious door-opening phobia.
Near my feet, Chucky had his tongue hanging out and his head cocked to the side. It was almost like he was also trying to figure out what some stranger was doing on our doorstep, particularly a stranger without doggie treats or bacon.
The man's gaze dipped to my attire, making me feel all the more stupid for answering without looking. But in my defense, my brain was still asleep, even if my body wasn't. The guy was lucky I hadn't answered the door in a ratty bathrobe.
"Did I come at a bad time?" he said.
Hell yes, it was a bad time. What kind of person showed up on someone's doorstep unannounced at eight o'clock in the morning?
I pulled out my best upper-crust voice. "May I ask what this is about?"
"Well, quite honestly," he said, "I'm a little surprised you're still here."
I raised my eyebrows. "Pardon?"
