Paws off the Boss - Casey Griffin (best books under 200 pages .TXT) 📗

Aiden Caldwell had to be the most confusing, stupefying man Piper had ever met. There was something between them. She was sure of it. The feeling was almost tangible. But then, like a guillotine dropping, he’d cut off the emotion like an unwanted head. And not just in front of Tamara. He’d also done it in front of the cops after the taxi incident and when he left the center with Sophie.

Was she imagining it? Was she deluded? She didn’t think so, but the only other witness she could consult was Colin. At the next stoplight, she peered over at him in the passenger seat. He gazed back earnestly and gave a quiet whine—a sure sign of support if she ever saw one. Either that or he had to pee.

Since the moment she’d met the prosperous CEO the day before, her head had been so full of him that she hadn’t been able to concentrate. But Piper had more important things to worry about than Mr. Handshake. Like her future. And at that exact moment, her work phone rang, reminding her of just that.

She pulled over to answer it—an emergency call. A Labrador retriever had an epileptic seizure while at home, and the owners were bringing it in. Piper hung up and pulled back into traffic, heading straight for the hospital.

By the time she finished treating the tired pup and was on her way out the door again, there were two messages on her phone from the receptionist at Sam’s Old-World Singing Telegrams. She had a few last-minute bookings for telegram gigs.

Eager for the money and the distraction from Aiden-related thoughts, Piper dropped Colin off at home and picked up her costumes. Two of the events were parties downtown, and the last was a regular customer of hers. Telegram singers didn’t usually have regulars, but Barney Miller wasn’t what you would call “regular.”

She’d first met Barney at the post office. It was a long-term employee’s retirement party, and someone had ordered a singing telegram. It was fun, as telegrams go, but nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The next week, Sam sent her back to the same post office. Piper had specifically been requested. The telegram was for a Mr. Barney Miller’s birthday. However, no one at the post office could remember it being his birthday, and they could have sworn it was six months earlier, and who had ordered another telegram anyway? But Barney acted surprised, and Piper thought nothing of it. That is, until the third callback, this time for someone else’s birthday. And there was Barney, standing in the corner, clapping along to her song.

The next week, the agency sent her to his house for a “get well” telegram. He greeted her from his antique floral sofa, a pile of tissues scrunched up next to him. But Piper noticed he didn’t sound sick, and he didn’t cough or sneeze once during her performance. She didn’t want to dwell on what the tissues were for.

Week after week, Piper returned to sing “just thinking of you,” “congratulations on your promotion,” “good luck on your motorcycle exam”—but she doubted he could even ride a scooter—and “my deepest condolences.” She was certain his grandmother had died three times already. Sam’s receptionist, Lindsey, said the requests always came by e-mail. There was no way to know if he sent them himself, which, undoubtedly, he had.

That evening, as Piper sang a farewell song for him in his Mission bungalow home, Barney’s glassy eyes followed her movements with rapt attention. She held the sword high above her head, screaming Barney Miller’s name at the top of her lungs. Her pleated skirt swished around her thighs as she swung it around like a true Highland warrior before dropping into a bow.

“Bravo! Bravo!” Barney cried. “Can you sing it again?”

Piper pressed stop on her phone’s music player, interrupting the haunting bagpipe music. “You know I’m not supposed to. One performance. That’s the rule.”

Well, not really. That was her rule. Otherwise, Barney would keep her serenading him all evening.

“Please. One more time? I’m going for two weeks. I won’t get to see you next week.”

Piper sighed. She knew it wasn’t a waste of time, because Barney always tipped better if she went two rounds. “All right. Just once more.”

Picking up her broadsword, she cued up the Celtic music and pressed play. She returned to the middle of Barney’s living room, where he’d pushed aside the wingback chairs and antique coffee table for her visit. Clearing her throat, she joined the bagpipes.