Page 68 of The Twelve Days of Christian
“You need to do something aboutWild For The Win,”I blurt out. “Do youknowwhat happened up there?”
He looks at me a little shamefaced.
“Honestly? No,” he says. “To be frank, I can’t stand the damn show. I’d drop it tomorrow if I could. But you know how it is—got to pay all these people somehow.” He waves a hand at the staff outside who’ve given up on a chance with Kona and have drifted back to their work. “My accountants said no. That we need it to prop up the bottom line. Cheap to produce. Draws the audience. Boosts the ratings. Keeps the bean counters happy. So, no, to my embarrassment, I haven’t paid it any attention at all.”
“Well, perhaps you should have,” I bite back, my fire rekindled. The sight of him enjoying the antics of a puppy, while animals and people have been hurt by something he is ultimately responsible for, seems so wrong.
His eyes snap to mine, dark brows creased. “Perhaps you need to tell me why.”
I scoop Kona off the desk and back onto my lap, his warm weight reassuring, and begin. Peter’s full attention is on me. Elbows on the desk, fingers steepled, he listens without interruption as I detail the whole sorry mess—the snares, the unfair portrayal of Christian, the duplicity over Loreena’s departure—before circling back to the reason I brought Kona. I rouse the puppy from his snooze and lift him back onto the desk. The puppy wobbles a little, trying to take control of his three legs, the stance a bit more difficult without a fourth to anchor him.
“Christian had a dog like Kona once. A tripod. He lost his leg in a snare. It was a long time ago, which makes it even more sad that still,today, we haven’t totally banned them. And that shows likeWild For The Winsupport using them.”
“That’s why he was upset.”
“Yes.” I meet his eyes, pleading my case. “And that’s why I’m here. Look, I know you can’t undo what’s happened. But there’s still time to change what happens next.”
“I see,” he says quietly, chin in hand, eyes raised in thought to the high white ceiling. After a long moment, he turns his gaze back to me, reaching to scoop Kona in a hug against his chest. “OK, I’ll see what I can do.” I let out a breath. He’s going to help. “As it seems you already know—” He pauses to suck at his lip. “The legal team has this sort of thing sewn up pretty tight. There are contracts and agreements in place. It’s not always possible to undo them. But even if I can’t, you have my word—there will never be snares used on any programme this company makes. In fact, I’m going to take on the oversight of animal welfare myself. It seems we can do better. A lot better.”
“Thank you, Peter,” I say, as he stands and passes Kona to my waiting arms.
“Do youhaveto go?” He holds the puppy a moment longer, as if reluctant to release him.
I nod. “Yes. Got to get back to work—and get this little guy back to his foster mama.”
“Damn,” he says. “Looks like I have no excuse to avoid that prick Hugh Partridge anymore,” he grins.
He jerks his head towards a rangy man squeezed into a tiny tub chair in a small alcove beside the entrance, his long legs angled out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Bethany obviously took Peter’s comment literally. Hugh looks like he wishes he was anywhere buthere. There’s a scowl on his arrogant face and his fingers drum impatiently on the side of the chair. I’m hoping his day is about to get a lot worse, but just how much Peter can or will do to fix the situation is still unclear.
He turns, offering Kona one more affectionate pat on the head.
“Besides, if you don’t get that puppy out of here, Bethany will have our house on the market and insist we buy something dog friendly.”
“Maybe you should,” I smile.
“Maybe we should,” he agrees.
Chapter 33
Day Eleven
I wish I couldstop time. Or at least slow it down. Tuesday is all but over, day eleven complete. We’re hurtling towards the end of my twelve-day sentence and my vision of what comes next is blurry. The day after tomorrow I’m allowed to leave, go home to my apartment, and go back to my old life. A life I don’t want anymore because she wasn’t in it.
While the days are quiet here, with Haley at work—honestly, if it wasn’t for the dogs, they’d be boring as shit—I have to admit I’m enjoying lazing around. Coming off the back of the insane schedule of our North American tour straight intoWild For The Win, I arrived in Scotland exhausted, although prepared to tough it out to win the money. But I can’t say I’m not pleased with the unexpectedconsequences of the Scottish disaster. This chance to step off the treadmill that is life in the band was a gift I didn’t know I needed.
And then, there’s the best gift of all, the thing I’ve needed all my life: her. Beside me in bed each morning, sleepy limbs draped across me. Kisses that flutter like feathered wings following the lines of my tattoos, pausing to tease at my neck, provoking a shiver of arousal.
Bustling through the doorway every evening, her face rosy with the cold, buzzing like an excited kid with stories of her day, the people she’s met, the animals she’s helped. And the sad stories too, told with compassion in her green eyes, sorrow when the vet team has failed to summon a miracle.
Fussing over her dogs like a mother hen, putting their needs ahead of her own, showing the pure, undiluted goodness that is Haley Templeton. I love watching their joyful worship of her.
Dinners together, seeing her delight in the food I’ve prepared for her, like the chow mein she’s tucking into now, are one of the best parts of my day. Caring for her isn’t entirely unselfish. It brings me pleasure to offer whatever I can to make her day better. And I want to do that every day. But we only have one more.
“So, what happens after tomorrow?” It’s as if Haley can read my mind. She tosses the question at me casually, seeming more intent on pursuing a piece of carrot round and round her plate, stabbing at it with an unruly pair of chopsticks.
“Nothing. Unless you plan to kick me out.”
She snorts a laugh. “Why would I do that? And go back to cooking my own dinners?”
