Chapter 9: Dina's Face

Lacey's POV

On Saturday morning, a pistachio spread company offered me fifty thousand dollars to be the face of spaniel survivors.

The woman on the speakerphone called it a "collaboration." She wanted three posts and a sad-but-hopeful smile.

I was standing at my counter with flour to my elbows.

Dina was sitting on the counter with a cinnamon roll.

"Fifty thousand," Dina mouthed. She held up five fingers and then four zeros, and she nearly fell off.

"Three posts," I said into the phone. "How long does each one take?"

"Maybe twenty minutes of your time?"

"Three posts is one hour. At my rate of sixty-two fifty an hour, that is sixty-two dollars and fifty cents."

There was a silence on the line.

"I'm sorry?"

"For three posts. I'd like to invoice you sixty-two fifty."

"Ms. Whitfield, our minimum vendor payment is five thousand dollars."

"Then I can't take your money. It's more than it costs."

"We are offering you fifty thousand dollars."

"I know. It's lovely. It's not what it costs."

Dina covered her face with the cinnamon roll.

The woman said she would call me back, in the tone of someone who would not.

I hung up.

"You are impossible," Dina said, through the roll.

"I'm consistent."

Somebody knocked at the front door.

It was Silvan, standing on my porch with a small paper bag.

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