Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 99(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 99(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
There’s a closet, too. Not kidding. It’s more organized than mine: rows and rows of tiny clothes on hangers, color-coded by season. Collars, harnesses, and a whole bin just for toys. I spot a yellow raincoat, a freaking Halloween princess costume, and about a hundred squeaky things.
This dog is living my dream.
I scrub out the kitchen sink and try to ignore the way Pepper’s glaring at me. “Almost done,” I mutter to my little canine supervisor. Of course, the little furball doesn’t look impressed at all.
Honestly, seeing Pepper’s cushy life makes me curious about her mysterious owner. All I know is he has a spoiled rotten dog and an apartment that always smells like dark roast and… something spicy, and his fancy shoes are really big.
I’ve been cleaning his place for months, but not once have I run into him. All my interactions with him are done by text. His messages are always direct and to the point. He gives me specific instructions and Venmos me immediately after I clean his apartment. I’m not complaining. If anything, it’s the most professional arrangement I’ve ever had.
While I power through the rest of my checklist with the single-minded focus of a caffeine addict on her last legs, I listen to my business law notes. Next, I hit the bathroom. The big one with the waterfall shower and a fancy toilet that washes your rear end. There’s a fancy lever handle on the door instead of a knob, which always throws me off, by the way. It’s one of those thick, real-wood doors, not the cheap hollow kind, with a fancy frosted glass window in the middle that blurs everything into vague, wobbly shapes.
I slide inside, making sure to shut the door firmly behind me. Not because I care about privacy. I just don’t need a certain black-furred gremlin leaving paw prints all over my freshly mopped floors. I sweep the tiles first, dump the dust into the trash, and prop the broom outside in the hallway so I can mop my way out of the bathroom.
I’ve barely started mopping when I hear a snuffling, scrabbling sound followed by a weird thunk. I glance at the door and see a black shape shoot past the door. Pepper, that little demon, loves to play with my cleaning tools.
I mop my way back to the door and rattle the knob.
Are you fucking kidding me? I rattle the handle harder, like maybe I’m the Hulk and brute strength is going to fix my life. Nope. The fancy lever stays locked, and I can see a black and red handle through the frosted glass. Oh my God. That freaking demon dog pushed the mop under the handle.
That’s the last freaking time I bring doggie treats with me.
I jiggle the handle again. Nothing.
Unbelievable.
Through the blurry glass, I see that little gremlin’s shadow stretched out on the master bed. Damnit.
I jam my hand into my pocket for my phone, fingers meeting nothing but lint and a crumpled receipt. My stomach drops as I remember leaving it on the bedside table—a precaution after my last three phones took swan dives into toilets. The most recent victim, a refurbished iPhone with a crack across the screen, had slipped from these same threadbare gray sweatpants with pockets so shallow they might as well be decorative. The memory of fishing it out, dripping and dead, makes me wince.
I slump back against the wall, instantly defeated. Fudge muffin. It looks like I’m stuck in here until Detective Vale gets home from work. When the class lecture running through my earbuds comes to an end, I’m left in the dead quiet. All I can hear is the loud snoring coming from the French Bulldog sleeping like a baby on the large king-sized bed.
I flop down on the edge of the tub and glare at the blurry, loaf-shaped shadow through the frosted glass. I can picture her smug little face, probably drooling on the comforter and plotting my doom.
Unbelievable. Literally the one time I’m ahead of schedule, the universe decides to lock me in a fancy marble bathroom without my phone. At least the fancy LED mirror has a digital clock in the right corner so I can watch my afternoon tick away while I’m stuck in here.
I’m not proud of this, but for the first three hours, I sit on the floor and wallow in my own self-pity. I’m hungry, I’m tired, and if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to lose my freaking mind.
By seven p.m., I’m half-asleep on the bathmat, drooling on my arm. That’s when I hear a sharp little bark and a snuffling noise from the bedroom. My head snaps up so fast I almost give myself whiplash.
Through the blurry glass, I catch movement. The black blob launches itself off the bed, stubby legs scrambling, and I know that little demon is up to something.