Blue Dahlia

week.”
    “So?”
    “So, if you’d bothered to return my calls and arrange for a meeting, I could have explained to you how this arm of the business will now function.”
    “Oh, is that right?” That west Tennessee tone took on a soft and dangerous hue. “You’re going to explain it to me.”
    “That’s exactly right. The system I’m implementing will, in the end, save you considerable time and effort with computerized invoices and inventory, client lists and designs, with—”
    He was sizing her up. He figured he had about a foot on her in height, probably a good hundred pounds in bulk. But the woman had a mouth on her. It was what his mother would have called bee stung—pretty—and apparently it never stopped flapping.
    “How the hell is having to spend half my time on a computer going to save me anything?”
    “Once the data is inputted, it will. At this point, you seem to be carrying most of this information in some pocket, or inside your head.”
    “So? If it’s in a pocket, I can find it. If it’s in my head, I can find it there, too. Nothing wrong with my memory.”
    “Maybe not. But tomorrow you may be run over by a truck and spend the next five years in a coma.” That pretty mouth smiled, icily. “Then where will we be?”
    “Being as I’d be in a coma, I wouldn’t be worried about it. Come out here.”
    He grabbed her hand, pulled her toward the door. “Hey!” she managed. Then, “Hey!”
    “This is business.” He yanked open the door and kept pulling her along. “I’m not dragging you off to a cave.”
    “Then let go.” His hands were hard as rock, and just as rough. And his legs, she realized, as he strode away from the building, ate up ground in long, hurried bites and forced her into an undignified trot.
    “Just a minute. Look at that.”
    He gestured toward the tree and shrub area while she struggled to get her breath back. “What about it?”
    “It’s messed up.”
    “It certainly isn’t. I spent nearly an entire day on this area.” And had the aching muscles to prove it. “It’s cohesively arranged so if a customer is looking for an ornamental tree, he—or a member of the staff—can find the one that suits. If the customer is looking for a spring-blooming shrub or—”
    “They’re all lined up. What did you use, a carpenter’s level? People come in here now, how can they get a picture of how different specimens might work together?”
    “That’s your job and the staff’s. We’re here to help and direct the customer to possibilities as well as their more definite wants. If they’re wandering around trying to find a damn hydrangea—”
    “They might just spot a spirea or camellia they’d like to have, too.”
    He had a point, and she’d considered it. She wasn’t an idiot. “Or they may leave empty-handed because they couldn’t easily find what they’d come for in the first place. Attentive and well-trained staff should be able to direct and explore with the customer. Either way has its pros and cons, but I happen to like this way better. And it’s my call.
    “Now.” She stepped back. “If you have the time, we need to—”
    “I don’t.” He stalked off toward his truck.
    “Just wait.” She jogged after him. “We need to talk about the new purchase orders and invoicing system.”
    “Send me a frigging memo. Sounds like your speed.”
    “I don’t want to send you a frigging memo, and what are you doing with those trees?”
    “Taking them home.” He pulled open the truck door, climbed in.
    “What do you mean you’re taking them home? I don’t have any paperwork on these.”
    “Hey, me neither.” After slamming the door, he rolled the window down a stingy inch. “Step back, Red. Wouldn’t want to run over your toes.”
    “Look. You can’t just take off with stock whenever you feel like it.”
    “Take it up with Roz. If she’s still the boss. Otherwise, better call the cops.” He gunned the engine, and when she stumbled back, zipped into reverse. And left her staring after him.
    Cheeks pink with temper, Stella marched back toward the building. Serve him right, she thought, just serve him right if she did call the police. She snapped her head up, eyes hot, as Roz opened the door.
    “Was that Logan’s truck?”
    “Does he work with clients?”
    “Sure. Why?”
    “You’re lucky you haven’t been sued. He storms in, nothing but complaints. Bitch, bitch, bitch,” Stella muttered as she swung past Roz and inside.