Page 59 of Hate You Later
“How exactly did you find out about this?” he asks.
“That’s an interesting story,” I say. “I went to that planning meeting for the masquerade earlier today. It was an ambush. Let’s just say that the owner of Celestial Pets would love to plant a stake with my head on it in the town square, right next to great-granddad’s plaque. Bryce’s head could go on the other side. She’d be happy to make us a matched set.”
“We really can’t afford a problem like this.” Walker sighs.
“I know,” I agree.
“Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding. Let me see if I can reach Bryce and conference him in.”
A misunderstanding? Seriously? I try not to lose it prematurely. I can’t wait to hear Bryce’s explanation.
The screen erupts with static-y screeches and loud music as Bryce finally joins the conference call. Walker winces and covers his ears.
“Mute button!” we both say, gesturing wildly.
“Sorry, sorry!” Bryce says, his image freezing and coming back. He mutes himself, then holds up a finger while walking indoors, presumably asking us to wait while he finds a quieter place to speak. Silently, we wait.
“Wanker,” I say, under my breath. For once, Walker doesn’t argue with me.
Bryce appears to be a guest on a superyacht. There are stairs, a hallway, and then suddenly, it appears he’s in a private bedroom.
“Hey, hey!” Bryce bounces on the bed and leans back against the quilted headboard.
“You got a thing there, kid.” Walker points at a neon-green thong clinging to the upholstery. Bryce reaches up, snags the thong, spins it on his finger, then shoots it away like a rubber band.
No comment.
“How’s it hanging, bro?” Bryce smiles smugly.
“Have you read my email?” I ask, annoyed that he isn’t even acknowledging the issue.
“Yeah, I saw it. I don’t understand what the big deal is. Why do we have to even have this call? It’s DOG clothes.” Bryce examines his reflection in his mirrored sunglasses. “It’s hardly Dolce & Gabbana.”
“The outfits appear to be very similar, Bryce,” Walker says.
“Look, they have a pumpkin costume, we have a pumpkin costume. You’re telling me that the idea of dog pumpkin costumes is something that people think they own? Pretty ridiculous, don’t you think?” He blinks innocently at us.
“It’s not the concept, Bryce. It’s the execution. The materials. The design,” I say. He’s making my eyelid tick.
“Oh, stop. How do you even know they didn’t knock us off?” Bryce scoffs. “We’re a big company with worldwide distribution. Celestial Pets is just a puny, little pet shop in a Podunk little town.” He gestures with his hands as if he’s weighing the issue and finding one side lacking. “Who ya gonna believe here?”
I hate myself right now for having suggested something so similar to Georgia.
“Who made our pet costumes, son?” Walker cuts in.
“You know we had them made at our shop in Asia, Dad.” Bryce’s chin juts out.
“And who, exactly, designed them?” Walker asks.
“We worked with the manufacturer on the samples and specs,” he says.
“And I assume there’s a record of that?” I chime in.
“Well, I guess. I mean, there’s the DHL records, I suppose.” Bryce shrugs. He’s examining his cuticles now.
“What DHL records?” I ask.
“When I sent them the outfits.” Bryce rolls his eyes like we’re the idiots.
