I hear Greg swallow a laugh, but he’s already out the room, squeezing himself past Corinne, who really will not move an inch to be accommodating. Yadira follows suit, shaking her head.

I swear I don’t pathologically enjoy riling people up—Greg and Yadira will get an apologetic text from me, and I will make it on time next week, come hell or high water. They’ll forgive me. They always do. And I’ll come through next time. I always do that too.

But torturing Corinne Troy? That might be the exception.

“See you around the Wyatt, Troy,” I say, backtracking as slowly as possible and making a grand show of closing the door, enjoying every second of the glare that follows me out of the room. Sooner than you think.

For a while, I settled for being a mediocre dog walker. Paws were left cursorily wiped. I was a ninja: in and out. A ninja that could fit in more walks that way. A relatively well-remunerated ninja. Dad was furious with me when he learned this.

It’s cost-effective, I told him. I squeeze in more walks and make way more money!

You don’t do it for them, Henri, he said. You do it for yourself, you hear? So you can look your clients in the eyes, shake their hands, and collect your payments proudly, knowing you’re not hustling anyone.

“Punctuality, Work Ethic, and Education” would be the words on the Haltiwanger family crest. And that’s a very good thing for today’s client who, I already know, won’t tolerate anything less.

Mrs. Troy answers the ring to her apartment after one buzz, which lets me know that she has been expecting me.

<<Troy Residence?>>

“Yes, hi, Mrs. Troy. I’m here for the interview,” I say loudly into the relic of the intercom system that still plagues the building.

<<Okay.>>

“It’s Henri Haltiwanger, from Uptown Updogs.”

<<Yes . . .>>

“Um, Jacques’s boy from downstairs, ma’am. The super’s son. We had an appointment at eight p.m.?”

<<Yes, I know. I’m just not sure why I’m conducting it through an intercom. Please come to the door.>>

And with that, communication cuts off. Yikes.

Mrs. Troy greets me at the top of the stairs of the building, outside her door on the top floor.

“Hello, Mrs. Troy.” I Smile, extending a handshake that she politely returns. I clock her noticing the Uptown Updogs T-shirt.

She motions me inside. “And please call me Chantale. If you’re going to be in our home, we might as well be on a first-name basis.”