“It’s supposed to be open by now,” Felicity murmured to Amir, and flicked to her phone. “The website says ‘7:30 a.m. to late. Our doors are open to all.’ Got a funny idea of open.”
“Yes, Ms. Simmons,” Amir said amiably. “Do you wish to wait for them to open?”
The man deserved a gold medal for sedateness. His unruffled personality was as genial as the way he drove. On that note, he’d probably never had a speeding ticket in his life.
Felicity had always thought life should be accomplished at full speed—God only knew if you’d get everything done otherwise. She never walked anywhere. No, she paced and strode and stalked. Far more efficient, if you asked her, than those who sidled about, stopping to smell the roses.
A movement caught her eye, and she swiveled to see a homeless man who had buried most of his body inside the Living Ruff van on the driver’s side. The hell? Some passing hobo had just broken in and decided to rummage about looking for something to steal.
With the door blocking Felicity’s view, she could only see grubby jeans-clad calves sticking out and boots that looked like they’d worn through every layer of polish and were back to raw leather.
Oh, hell no.
Amir gave her a startled look. “Ms. Simmons?”
Had she said that aloud? Whatever. Her eyes hardened on the thief. What if he were about to make off with goods purchased with Elena’s donation? That made it personal, didn’t it? She had an obligation here. “I’m going in,” she told Amir. “Call the police if things get dicey.”
Amir’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “Ma’am?”
Felicity flung open the car door, leaped out, and headed over to the vagrant at a fast clip. He was still busy rummaging, so she tapped him hard on the back—well, poked, more like—and said, “Excuse me! Just what do you think you’re doing?”
The man straightened, bumping his head on the van ceiling as he did and emitting a sharp, high-pitched yelp. He spun to face Felicity, unfurling to full impressive height.
Felicity took a startled step back. Okay, who in the ever-loving Brienne of Tarth was this?
To begin with, he was a she. And not just any she. The woman was block-out-the-sun tall and solid as a brick wall. She had powerful thighs and broad muscled shoulders that looked like she could probably toss a Shetland pony with ease.
Felicity’s breath caught when her gaze slid down. Generous breasts and an unexpectedly rounded stomach softened her imposing form so that she looked a bit like a teddy bear—well, if teddy bears came in Amazon-at-the-roller-derby editions.
Felicity blinked. She’d never encountered anyone like this before. Never, ever, ever.
With few exceptions, the professional women in Felicity’s circle of media, law, and fashion tended to fit a certain type: delicate and fine-boned TV-ready perfection draped in expensive corporate attire. They were sleek ribbons of femininity who seamlessly melted into spaces and backgrounds. They observed, played clever games from the shadows, and manipulated their worlds one high fake laugh at a time.
This woman took up the space of three such women. Her whole attitude seemed to shout, Yeah, just try and budge me. And good luck not noticing me! Probably followed by an amused wink.
Amused wink? Felicity’s fried brain was clearly just making up nonsense now.
The woman cleared her throat.
Felicity shifted her gaze higher, skidding briefly over her rumpled shirt that bore the Living Ruff logo.
Oh.
Underneath the logo was an embroidered slogan: Think Paw-sitive. Felicity’s eye twitched at the awful pun. At least it wasn’t about helping the less fur-tunate.
Right. So she might have made a few faulty assumptions about whether the van was being broken into. But seriously, the woman’s jeans and boots were in appalling condition. Did the staff of the charity have no professionalism in their appearance whatsoever? Felicity was about to ask just that when she met startlingly intelligent eyes. Suddenly her usual indifference as to what anyone other than Elena thought of her died abruptly, along with the question.
“Who are you?” The woman asked in a throaty, irritated voice, rubbing her head where she’d hit it on the van. Her eyebrow hiked up. “And why were you jamming your finger into me like that? I’m not your voodoo doll.”
“I thought you were a vagrant hunting for drug money from a charity’s van.” She trusted that would earn her some favor, Good Samaritan Felicity and all.
Instead, the woman frowned. “Ex-cuse me?”
Or not. “I didn’t see your logo.” Felicity scrambled. She tapped her own blouse to indicate the spot where the woman’s Living Ruff badge was. “So I thought—”
“Yes, I heard you. A vagrant. After drug money. Because all homeless are addicts, right?” Her lips pinched.
Oh. Well, Felicity had said that, hadn’t she? She resisted the urge to take another step back to get some distance. Wait, why does she look familiar? A memory clicked into place. Okay, they’d styled her up for the photo shoot and attempted to morph her into something safe for mainstream consumption, not to mention cropped the pic at chest level, but Felicity was pretty sure this was the vet from the article declaring the charity was closing. Dr. Sandy Cooper.
It was weird how they’d also magicked away the sheer enormity of her presence.
“Cat got your tongue?” Dr. Cooper’s lips twitched. “Heh. Vet joke.”
“Not a very good one,” Felicity shot back without thinking. “I mean, it’s a bit unoriginal.”
“True enough.” The woman shrugged, looking completely unfazed by the criticism. Her eyes dragged over Felicity’s outfit.
It was a new season Elie Saab pantsuit. Felicity knew she looked good in it. Professional. Something the vet might want to look into.
“Shall we start again? I’m Doctor—”
“Sandy Cooper,” Felicity cut in. And…weird how that had come out like an accusation.
The woman tilted her head in acknowledgment. “Everyone calls me Cooper.” She shut the driver’s door, locked it, and eyed Felicity. “It seems you have me at a disadvantage. And you are?”
“Felicity Simmons,” she said before adding her new title, “deputy chief operating officer of Bartell Corp.” Soon to be acting COO, she wanted to add but restrained herself. Felicity rose a little higher on the balls of her feet. It still didn’t feel real.
“Proud of that title, I see.”
