“Sorry to keep you guys, waiting,” my new nemesis said, dipping his hand into one of his lab coat pockets. He slipped it out and in his palm were two tablets that resembled dog treats.
“What are those?” asked Jen.
“A laxative. Poopies.”
“P-O-O-P-I-E-S?”
Chase laughed. A goddamn sexy laugh! “No, Poop-Ease. E-A-S-E.”
“Oh!” Jen blushed.
“They’ll soften Scout’s stool and make it easier for him to poop out the broach. They contain all natural ingredients, including sugar beet and flaxseed. Dogs love them!” He turned to Scout, who had his face buried in the corner. “Come here, Scout.” Chase bent down and held his hand out. “Look what I have for you!”
In a flash, Scout was sitting before the vet, voraciously eating the tablets out of his hand. As if they were candy.
With the hand that fed him, Chase pat the dog’s head. “Good boy!” He then stood up and faced me.
“That should do the trick! You’ll likely have your broach within the next twenty-four hours.”
“What if he doesn’t poop it out?” My voice was dripping with distrust.
“I’m going to give you a jar of Poop-Ease to take home. Give Scout two chews every three hours until he does. Just be sure to keep the jar away from him. If he ingests too many of them, you’ll have a real life-threatening emergency on your hands.”
Death by Diarrhea, I silently snickered. This pain-in-the-ass dog could have a nice abbreviated life. And be out of mine. Jen cut my evil thoughts short.
“Isn’t it going to hurt him?” she asked, worry back in her voice. “I mean the pooping part. The broach is a platinum unicorn with a diamond cone.”
“Hmm, sounds like your husband has good taste.”
I smiled smugly, but that didn’t make me like him any better as he elaborated.
“Worst case scenario, the cone may tear his rectum a little and he’ll shed a little blood. Swallowing chicken and steak bones, which happens all the time, can have the same effect. I’ll also give you an antibiotic in case that happens, and I’ll want you to bring him back or go to your local vet for a check up.”
“We don’t have a vet yet,” I said.
“Dr. Chase, can you be our vet?” The plea in my tiger’s voice sounded something between smitten and wishful like all those pimply middle school girls who asked me to be their boyfriend on Valentine’s Day. Jealousy again reared its ugly green-eyed head.
A huge megawatt smile beamed on his pretty face. Kill me now! Reword: Kill him now! “I’d be honored to and the timing couldn’t be more perfect. I’m opening my own practice next week in Culver City and you’ll be among my first patients.”
Culver City? That’s where Conquest Broadcasting was located. That meant his new office was likely not far from ours. Probably just a few minutes away by car . . . which meant that my tiger could easily step out of the office for a little doggie-style tryst in one of his examining rooms or his private office. I felt my blood boil. The sooner we got out of here the better. Because I might wring this guy’s neck or do some other bodily harm. My mind raced as my blood pressure rose. I might have to eliminate him! Just the way I’d eliminated Jen’s douchebag dentist fiancé, Bradley Wick, with Operation Dickwick. Now, I had to put a new plan into effect. What should I call it? Operation Chaseman? Chaseaway? Chaseface? I stared at his smug chiseled face and—boom!—it came to me like a hailstorm in the summer. Operation Chasehole! Perfection! But it wasn’t going to be easy because this asswipe wasn’t the clueless moron Dickwick was. He had charm. He had looks. And from the looks of it, he had balls.
As I clenched my fists and simmered, pretty-face Chase told us we could pick up Scout’s prescriptions at the front desk. Jen thanked him cheerfully. I was eager to get home. And to get this fricking dog to take a dump. My obsession with Chasehole had almost made me forget the reason we’d come here.
Just as I was about to say adieu, Chasehole stopped me in my tracks.
“Hey, Blake. Did you by chance go to UCLA? Class of ’95?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I graduated from UCLA that year too. You were on the track team with me . . . but I don’t remember your last name being Burns.”
Ah-ha! That’s how I knew him! I told him my last name used to be the same as my father’s—Bernstein—but that I’d changed it for professional reasons. I didn’t get into my male modeling stint—something that was long in the past, yet every once in a while came back to bite me in the ass when some crazed woman recognized me and practically tore my clothes off.
“You looked familiar too.” I remembered him now. As good looking and as athletic as he was, he kept to himself, studying in the library and not partying with the rest of us. “Your last name is familiar too. What does your father do?”
“He’s an accountant . . . Charles Sexton.”
“You mean like the Sexton in Sexton and Meyers?” That was my father’s accounting firm and Charles Sexton was his personal accountant. They had offices all over the country. While not quite the billionaire my old man was, his father was loaded.
“Yes,” replied Chasehole, who was becoming less of a real threat to me. Thank fuck, he didn’t go by the name Dr. Sex.
“My real name is actually Charles—Charles Sexton the Third—but I’ve been Chase for as long as I remember. I didn’t want to follow in my father’s footsteps.”
Neither did I, but here I was being groomed to be the next head of Conquest Broadcasting. I had to say I’ve never for one day regretted working for my old man. Though we had totally different ways of doing business—I shot from my gut; he was methodical—I admired and learned a lot from him. He was a brilliant businessman and respected leader, and I looked forward to our weekly chats on his terrace, drinking bourbon and smoking cigars, talking about life and the biz. And I had much to thank him for. If he hadn’t hired my tiger, I would have likely never seen her again after that unforgettable blindfolded kiss.
Chasehole continued, breaking into my mental ramblings. “I never wanted to be a bean counter. I’ve always loved animals and for as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a vet. After I graduated UCLA, I attended UC-Davis, which has one of the best veterinary medicine programs in the country.”
“That’s wonderful,” beamed Jen. “And it’s so exciting you’re opening your own practice.”
“Yeah, I’m excited about it too. I’m going to miss this place, but it’s time. And my dream. I’m putting an emphasis on holistic medicine and natural, organic products. On the way out, I’ll also give you a sample of the organic dog food I recommend. Dogs love it—and it really helps them regulate their bowel movements. You can buy it on Chewy.com and I’ll also be stocking it at my new office.”
“I will and I love Chewy!” gushed Jen. “Oh, and by the way, if you need an assistant or receptionist, I know the perfect one.”
Scrunching my brows. I wondered whom she was talking about. No one in our family or circle of friends stood out.
“I might,” replied Chase. “Can you get us in touch?”