Designed for Love (Texas Nights) Read Online Free Page A

sucker-punched in the chest and stepped back. “You can’t be serious.”
    “I’ll get an estimate on any renovations that might be required, and then, of course, we have emotional damages.”
    Wait a damn minute.
Emotional
damages and renovation? “What renovations?” Mac, of all people, should know when a building needed rehabbing. “As far as I can see, the dog just pulled down a few packages.”
    “He
did
compromise the meat counter.”
    Fine, the dog would have to cop to that. “But emotional damages?”
    “Possibly everyone in the store. And I wouldn’t be surprised if the woman he cornered doesn’t file her own suit.”
    The groan that came from Mac’s left was low and anguished. The same moan he’d heard from his own throat the morning after a few benders. Most of them induced by the wreck that killed his dad.
    “Look,” Mac said, “if she pays for the lost merchandise and let’s say...another five hundred on top, that should cover mental anguish.” Bullshit if you asked him, but Ashton could afford it.
    The manager tapped a pen to his lips. “I suppose that would be fair. I can’t, however, speak for that woman. She rushed out of here like her clothes were on fire. It’s doubtful she’ll ever shop here again. In fact, now that I think about it, that’s lost revenue—”
    “An extra grand, and that’s the best you’re gonna get,” Mac barked out.
    “Deal.” The manager stood, reached over and shook Mac’s hand. Yeah, as if he had any business negotiating for Ashton. But she just continued to stand there as though playing the red light part of the red-light-green-light game.
    “I’ll accept a check or cash, Ms. Davenport,” the manager said.
    That seemed to wake Ashton out of her freeze-frame. “I don’t normally carry that much cash.” She breathed deep as though to steady herself, and Napoleon licked her chin. “How about American Express?”
    “I’m sorry, we don’t accept American Express, but a check will work nicely.”
    “I don’t have a checkbook.”
    The manager’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I suppose if your friend here—” he inclined his head toward Mac, “—would be willing to stay here while you go get your checkbook then—”
    “I don’t
have
a checkbook. My financial transactions are done online or through my credit cards,” she said, her fingers running back and forth over her dog’s fur until he looked as though he’d been electrocuted. “So MasterCard or Visa?”
    “If you insist on making reparations with a credit card, I’ll have to add four percent to the total.” The manager’s fingers flew over his adding machine. “So that comes out to $10,967.84. Since I likely underestimated emotional damages, why don’t we just round it up to an even eleven?”
    “Yeah, why the hell not?” Ashton muttered, trying to dig around in her huge bag, only to have the dog’s carrier thing drop to the floor and Napoleon wriggle in her tight hold.
    Shit.
Mac reached for the little sausage stealer, tucked him under his arm like a football.
    A tiny smile lifted Ashton’s lips, but her eyes—a little glittery—sent waves of appreciation out to Mac. And damned if that didn’t hit him with three shots—groin, gut and too damned close to his heart. He clenched his teeth and reinforced his chest with an I-beam. She played the poor little rich girl like a pro, he’d give her that.
    Napoleon’s lame growl vibrated against Mac’s ribs. From between his teeth, Mac said to the dog, “Keep that up, and I’ll make
you
into sausage.”
    The dog went limp in his hold. Wouldn’t have surprised Mac to see the fur ball drop a paw onto his forehead and sigh.
    Ashton passed the manager a silver credit card. If it was anything like the American Express black card, she’d be out of trouble in a flash. The manager ran it through a machine, watched it as though he expected it to jump off his desk and make tracks for the door. When the machine beeped, he
hmmed.
    “Let me