There was the sound of voices in the background, one Felicity recognized as her mother’s assistant.

“Darling, I have to go in a second. Those rocket kits won’t pack themselves. But let me just cut to the chase: congratulations on making it to the top of your little mountain. Sorry,” her mother said before Felicity could object, “enormous mountain. And now you’re there, you’ve discovered that all your happiness isn’t just sitting there like a pot of gold. You’re feeling empty because you have no one to share your success with. So go, find the woman who makes you feel ‘good, really good,’ make up to her for whatever idiocy you no doubt spouted that made her mad in the first place—”

“Wait. How do you know it was my fault?”

“Well, even if it wasn’t, which is worse: being alone but right forever, or together and briefly wrong until you forget all about this?”

“Oh.”

“But it was your fault because you think vets lack ambition. And frankly, that’s ludicrous.”

“Mom—”

“No, I won’t hear another word about that. The woman’s amazing and driven, end of story. Now then, my last advice, and this is most important…”

Felicity leaned in, listening intently.

“Invite her to Christmas. I just know I’ll love her.”

“Christmas! We haven’t even known each other a month.”

“So what? Anyone who can get you admitting you like them and they make you feel good has to be really special. You never said a word about how Phillip made you feel. It’s telling. All right? ‘Bye, darling! Love you!”

The phone went dead.

Well, then. Felicity sat back, feeling a little dazed. It seemed the two mentors she most respected in life, Elena and her mom, were in agreement.

There was also Rosalind Stone’s parting bit of wisdom about hanging on to those rare people who don’t crave money, power, or status, but who liked you for you. Her tally shifted to three votes.

Her mission was clear: she had to win back Dr. Sandy Cooper.

Felicity suddenly felt a burn of anticipation. She always was good when given a clear mission. And as it happened…hostile takeovers were her specialty.

CHAPTER 17

Wooing Sandy Cooper

Felicity approached The Wooing of Sandy Cooper (an actual to-do list title in her planner) with all the care and diligence she would any other workplace mission.

She started by writing a letter. It was short and to the point, but she trusted it got her meaning across.

Dear Cooper,

I’m very sorry about our disagreement. I was wrong to impose my view of career success on you—even unintentionally—when it’s clear you’re happy where you are, doing what you’re doing. I respect you and your vocation. I understand you had to be very dedicated to become a vet, and that is admirable.

I trust Mrs. Brooks has been filling her new role as director adequately. The promotion was unanimously approved by our board, which I’m sure you’ll be pleased about.

I’ll be in touch shortly on the topic of the former matter—our unfortunate disagreement—and making reparations in regards to that situation.

Yours sincerely,

Felicity Simmons

So sue her; Felicity would never win any prizes for romantic essays. She could picture her mother laughing and saying “‘On the topic of the former matter’ doesn’t exactly scream ‘I want to date you; you make me feel good, really good.’” But it was just an opening salvo. Declaring her objectives. Or in boardroom parlance, a notice of intention before setting down the agenda.

She waited a few days to ensure the letter had arrived and then enacted her next step.

Flowers. She’d caught enough feel-good movies in her time to know these were a prerequisite for a burgeoning romance. She called in her new personal assistant, Beatrice, and instructed her to buy a bunch of flowers and send them to Cooper’s workplace.

“Um, Ms. Simmons, what kind?”

“Expensive ones,” Felicity said. “Or…rare ones? Which means they’ll be expensive anyway, I suppose.”

“Yes, but…um, roses or…like, what color? What sentiment? Flowers have meanings, you see and I— Well, it’d help.”

As if she were about to share her sentiment with an assistant the temp agency had produced at a moment’s notice when Elena had fired the previous “inadequate” assistant on her way out the door.

“I can’t be required to think of everything,” Felicity said, caught off guard. “Use your initiative.” She stopped and thought about Cooper. “The sentiment is appreciation. Er…well, affection. And I absolutely want them at Living Ruff within the hour.”

The young woman scurried out with a slightly baffled but determined look on her face.

That done, Felicity decided wooing also needed some food. That’s what people did, right? All the times she’d dated, men would pick her up and take her to restaurants. Eating commenced. Flirting was had. The deal was sealed.

But what was Cooper’s favorite restaurant? Felicity had only dined out with her once—that pizza place—as well as ordering in meals a couple times. Her tastes were more than a little eclectic.

Before she could contemplate that in earnest, Felicity’s phone rang, and she had to deal with Denver on a contract that should have been closed by now.

Five hours and one signed contract later, she rubbed her eyes and sighed. Okay. Back to her primary mission. She looked up a number and called.

“Oh! Ms. Simmons!” Mrs. Brooks said. “I didn’t expect to hear from you. Thank you for my promotion! I couldn’t believe it when I got that official letter. Cooper said it was all your doing.”

“Did she, now.” Trust Cooper to give away the credit.

“What a surprise, you being our boss of sorts. I didn’t expect that!”

Boss? Explaining how Bartell Corp wasn’t really involved directly and everything was independent was getting tedious. “Well, actually—”

Mrs. Brooks barreled on: “Now, don’t worry. I’m all organized. And I’ve green-lit the development plan Dr. Cooper came up with for training suitable clients into being vet techs.”

“Well, that’s good.” Felicity answered. She wondered how to raise the more pressing issue. “On the topic of Cooper, what does she eat?”