Blue Dahlia

“He doesn’t like this, doesn’t like that, doesn’t like any damn thing as far as I can tell. Then he drives off with a truckload of trees and shrubs.”
    Roz rubbed her earlobe thoughtfully. “He does have his moods.”
    “Moods? I only saw one, and I didn’t like it.” She yanked off the kerchief, tossed it on the counter.
    “Pissed you off, did he?”
    “In spades. I’m trying to do what you hired me to do, Roz.”
    “I know. And so far I don’t believe I’ve made any comments or complaints that could qualify as bitch, bitch, bitch.”
    Stella sent her a horrified look. “No! Of course not. I didn’t mean—God.”
    “We’re in what I’d call an adjustment period. Some don’t adjust as smoothly as others. I like most of your ideas, and others I’m willing to give a chance. Logan’s used to doing things his own way, and that’s been fine with me. It works for us.”
    “He took stock. How can I maintain inventory if I don’t know what he took, or what it’s for? I need paperwork, Roz.”
    “I imagine he took the specimens he’d tagged for his personal use. If he took others, he’ll let me know. Which is not the way you do things,” she continued before Stella could speak. “I’ll talk to him, Stella, but you might have to do some adjusting yourself. You’re not in Michigan anymore. I’m going to let you get back to work here.”
    And she was going back to her plants. They generally gave her less trouble than people.
    “Roz? I know I can be an awful pain in the ass, but I really do want to help you grow your business.”
    “I figured out both those things already.”
    Alone, Stella sulked for a minute. Then she got her bucket and climbed up the ladder again. The unscheduled meeting had thrown her off schedule.
     
    “I DON’T LIKE HER.” LOGAN SAT IN ROZ’S PARLOR with a beer in one hand and a boatload of resentment in the other. “She’s bossy, rigid, smug, and shrill.” At Roz’s raised brows, he shrugged. “Okay, not shrill—so far—but I stand by the rest.”
    “I do like her. I like her energy and her enthusiasm. And I need someone to handle the details, Logan. I’ve outgrown myself. I’m just asking that the two of you try to meet somewhere in the middle of things.”
    “I don’t think she has any middle. She’s extreme. I don’t trust extreme women.”
    “You trust me.”
    He brooded into his beer. That was true enough. If he hadn’t trusted Roz, he wouldn’t have come to work for her, no matter what salary and perks she’d dangled under his nose. “She’s going to have us filling out forms in triplicate and documenting how many inches we prune off a damn bush.”
    “I don’t think it’ll come to that.” Roz propped her feet comfortably on the coffee table and sipped her own beer.
    “If you had to go and hire some sort of manager, Roz, why the hell didn’t you hire local? Get somebody in who understands how things work around here.”
    “Because I didn’t want a local. I wanted her. When she comes down, we’re going to have a nice civilized drink followed by a nice civilized meal. I don’t care if the two of you don’t like each other, but you will learn how to get along.”
    “You’re the boss.”
    “That’s a fact.” She gave him a companionable pat on the thigh. “Harper’s coming over, too. I browbeat him into it.”
    Logan brooded a minute longer. “You really like her?”
    “I really do. And I’ve missed the company of women. Women who aren’t silly and annoying, anyway. She’s neither. She had a tough break, Logan, losing her man at such a young age. I know what that’s like. She hasn’t broken under it, or gone brittle. So yes, I like her.”
    “Then I’ll tolerate her, but only for you.”
    “Sweet talker.” With a laugh, Roz leaned over to kiss his cheek.
    “Only because I’m crazy about you.”
    Stella came to the door in time to see Logan take Roz’s hand in his, and thought, Oh, shit.
    She’d gone head-to-head, argued with, insulted, and complained about her boss’s lover.
    With a sick dread in her stomach, she nudged her boys forward. She stepped inside, plastered on a smile. “Hope we’re not late,” she said cheerily. “There was a small homework crisis. Hello, Mr. Kitridge. I’d like you to meet my sons. This is Gavin, and this is Luke.”
    “How’s it going?” They looked like normal kids to him rather than the pod-children he’d expected someone like Stella to produce.
    “I have a loose