Good. She’d made the right choice.
Now she just had to convince Caleb Pierce to take the job.
She’d gone to the Pierce Brothers official office first, located just down the road, but when Caleb’s assistant told her he was at the house, Morgan decided it was best to track him down here. She’d learned early to try to maneuver around the layer of protection in the form of savvy executive assistants and go direct to the source. This way, he couldn’t force her to stay in the waiting room for hours or sneak out to lunch through the back door.
Morgan pulled down the sun visor and checked her lipstick in the mirror. After reapplying a fresh coat of poppy pink to her mouth, she smoothed the stray flyaway strands of hair and did a quick review of her appearance. Good. No smudges, hanging threads, or stickers she’d forgotten to rip off. Other than the bitch of a blister on her heel, she looked professional, competent, and sleek. Morgan grabbed her Chanel purse and slid out of the white BMW convertible. Reminding herself she had gotten her way with much tougher clients than a mere contractor, she marched to the front door, her nude heels clicking smartly over the smooth pavement. She rang the bell, took a calming breath, and waited.
And waited.
Voices echoed and rumbled from behind the massive hand-carved cherrywood door. Trying not to be impatient, she raised her hand to knock, and the door swung slowly open. Almost like it was welcoming her in.
Morgan hesitated. The voices grew louder.
“Hello?”
She waited a bit longer, then poked her head in. The foyer made her want to sink to her knees and praise the godlike interior designer who’d completed such work. Gleaming marble, a curved staircase to rival Scarlett O’Hara’s, perfectly cut thick crown molding lining the ceiling and walls with intricate carvings she wanted time to study. Maybe the doorbell didn’t work, and the house was so huge, no one could hear her. She took another tentative step in, glancing around for any human activity, then froze.
Two massive dogs sat at the bottom of the steps, staring at her.
Not regular dogs. No, these were Cujo-size dogs, gigantic bodies and heads in a mottled brown color. Saliva dripped from their mouths as they both panted, never taking their gaze from her as if she were a delectable piece of meat who’d wandered in for lunch.
She was going to die.
Fear strangled her. She fought it back, having read something about dogs sensing the emotion, making them even madder. Her throat dried up, and she stilled, trying not to breathe or make a move.
Down the hallway, voices rose and fell in a conversation that was definitely beginning to turn into a fight. Two men. Lots of curse words. Morgan tried to dredge up some spit so she could call out for rescue, but the dogs began to shake in a strange way, looking at her with a need she’d never seen before. Not that she had experience with dogs. Her parents disliked animals of all types for their messiness and complications and had instilled in her a healthy fear of strange creatures great and small.
“Help,” she called out. Her voice came out in a tiny whisper, locked down from her terror. Dammit, now she knew if she were trapped in a horror movie, she’d be the too-stupid-to-live heroine who just stood there while she got hacked up by the serial killer. Morgan tried again. “Help me.”
The dogs got up.
A squeal broke from her lips, but her legs still wouldn’t move. “Umm, good boys, good dogs, oh, God, please don’t eat me, good, good dogs!”
The dogs leaped from their stance and fell upon her.
Her ankle turned as she tried to flee, and she collapsed on the slippery, polished marble, her cushy butt hitting the floor with a whoosh. As Morgan waited to die, she held up her hands, curving her fingers into claws, ready to fight to the death for her life.
Then got a whipping, lashing tongue bath.
The giants wriggled and squirmed in pleasure, licking her everywhere, wet noses and slobber dripping onto the bare skin of her legs. She fought them off, but they were stronger and more competent, until Morgan desperately crawled to her knees in an effort to escape.
She got smacked in the face by a wagging tail and kissed damply on the back of her neck, which almost made her burst into giggles, before finally scrambling to her feet. They could’ve eaten her in one gulp, and now they wanted to kill her with affection.
By now, the low rumblings from the hallway had grown to deep, enraged shouts.
“I told you to stay out of my way and I’d take care of the damn cabinets!”
“Are you kidding me? You switched the order on them, and now I have to step in and fix it!”
Crash. Bang. Was that glass shattering? The dogs, now having bonded with her, kept bumping her from each side in a competition to see who she liked the most.
“I’m done with this shit! You lied—you still want to control me, just like Dad. You want a servant, not a partner.”
Morgan imagined gritted teeth and pure fury from the deep growl. A shiver worked its way down her spine, but she eased closer. If someone was in danger, she had a responsibility to help. Funny, though, the dogs didn’t seem to sense any danger, barely glancing over at the noises floating in the air. Cujo #1 tried to grab the heel of her shoe and pull it off her foot.
“Don’t do that,” she whispered. “My shoe. Leave me alone.”
Cujo #2 gave her a sloppy grin and drooled on her ankle. Ugh. What type of animals were these? Didn’t builders usually have well-trained Labs for pets, or was that just canine profiling?
“The client wanted pine cabinets. Pine, you moron! You have to go get fancy with your tigerwood and show off, and now we’re behind schedule, and I’m still not sure they’re gonna like it! I give you one lousy job, and you manage to screw it up.”