I stomp on the breaks and the car comes to a screeching stop. Above Angie, in big letters are the words: St. Tropic Veterinary Clinic. The absolute best care for the fur babies in your life.
I smile. She did it. And I’m proud of her. I mean, I always knew she would. Never had a doubt.
I pull the car forward onto the side of the road so that I can Google her. I spend a good half hour electronically finding out what she's been up to. I don’t find out much. If she does anything other than work, there’s no evidence of it online.
I need a new angle. It's not going to be easy finding a way to get past the impression I made last night.
Then I see an article. Oh, no. The economic downturn has had a big effect on her practice. And that was before a major competitor moved in. The article states that even though she’s the only small practice in town, she’s on the rocks financially.
According to the billboard, she’s being represented by Cara Carrera’s Agency. Wow, she must have been very desperate to hire the most cantankerous, expensive, and effective marketing expert in town. Carrera. That's it, that's my opportunity. Things are finally looking up.
My own agent has been nagging me for years to do some outreach or volunteer work. Anything to improve my standing in the community. But until now, I wasn’t really interested. But that all changed when I saw Angie again.
I dial the phone and Cara Carrera picks up herself. Yes, that's really her name. And she answers in that thick southern accent of hers.
"You've got Cara."
"Hey, Cara. It's Jake Mann. You know, the football player."
There's a pause on the line before she continues. "I know who you are. And I can guess what you want if you're calling me. What the fuck have you done now? And what the hell happened to your manager that you’re calling me to do something about it?"
She hasn’t changed a bit. "I'm not calling about what I've done," I answer smugly, "I'm calling about what I can do for you. More specifically, what I can do for a client of yours."
A few minutes later, I hang up the phone. That went exactly as planned. Now there’s only one thing left to do and that’s get the boys back together.
Chapter 5
Angie
I wake bleary eyed and in need of strong coffee. Stretching, I walk through my living room and into the kitchen.
Despite my best efforts to relax after last night's Jake and Puppy-Thon debacle, I had a hard time shaking it all. Now I’m tired and standing here in my Pittsburg Steelers tee staring at the coffee pot as if willing it to work. I know it won’t.
My frustrated exhale is a cry for help as well as caffeine. The coffee pot is broken. It’s just the most recent thing in my life to break.
There’s my career that’s in a death spiral and my sex life has been on the rocks for at least a year while I tried to perform daily CPR on my business.
Activism and volunteer work do not pay the bills. And there simply isn't a cheaper building to be had than the abandoned warehouse I rehabbed.
Between student loans and falling profits due to the new, heartless McVet moving into my territory, I feel like every day is two steps back, then another two steps back.
I remember now that the coffee pot broke yesterday morning on the way out the door. In retrospect, maybe I should have taken that as I sign that yesterday was going to super suck. Run, Angie, this day is going to be a total disaster.
I wonder if anything better will come today. Probably not. That’s when I decide that if I'm going to go down broke and with my career in flaming ruins, I might as well do it with a cup of decent coffee in my hands.
Ocean Wave Coffee. It's my favorite. I haven't treated myself in months, and this morning I'm feeling just the right amount of sorry for myself to do it despite the objections of my bank account. Being a responsible adult be damned.
After a quick shower, I head out. My favorite drink is called a Tropical Disturbance. It's a delicious coconut strawberry latte, Ocean Wave's own creation, and it manages to be delicious and refreshing and invigorating all at the same time.
I get there in no time and smile as I open the door into a room of distressed wood, ocean-themed décor, and a hippie feel.
Also, it smells like heaven. The line's not even too long. Yay me. I order my Tropical Disturbance and take the first heavenly sip before heading out the door. As soon as I get back into the car, my cell rings. It's Cara.
Cara Carrera is the woman I hired to help me beat back the competition. She's the absolute best at what she does, and she's expensive. It would be fair to say that paying her is either going to hasten my career demise or it’ll save me. There’s no way to know for sure.
Hiring her seemed like a long shot at the time, but it’s my only hope. I have to try. And now that hope is dimming. But I wonder why she’s calling me now.
The way things have been going lately, a wave of fear washes over me. Did I forget to pay her? Did the check bounce? I don't remember paying her. And if I did send her a check in the last few days, there is no doubt in my mind that it will indeed bounce.
I take a deep breath and answer. "Hi, Cara." Whew. That wasn't so bad. I debate telling her she's breaking up, or that I'm going through a tunnel or being eaten by a pack of angry, rabid wombats.
Any of those things would be better than me blurting out the worst possible thing in
