“Some people got vicious Dobermans. I got a shaved attack poodle in a black sweater. His tough, spawn-of-hell image had taken a fatal blow, but at least he would be warm.”

“Who is that?”“Your replacement.”“You replaced me with a shaved poodle?”“He's got mad skills.”

“She was tough in the best sense of the word. She'd taken blows, the disappointments, and had worked her way through them. Some people, he knew, would have buckled under, found a clutch, or given up. But she had carved a place for herself and made it work.”

“You replaced me with a shaved poodle?”“He’s got mad skills.”Derek’s eyebrows crept up.“He can vomit and urinate at the same time and he doesn’t make fun of my car.”

“Forty percent off. Come on, Ella, it's a sign.""Yeah. 'Stop.'" I took the sweater from his hands and holded it neatly into thirds. "Truth or Truth?"He propped a hip on the edge of the display table. "Shoot.""WHo are you dressing me for? I mean, really? The three nonrelated men playing any part whatsoever in my life right now are, and I will use your terms here, the spawn of Society Hell, dead as the spat, and queer as a football bat.""Very poetic.""Bite me.""Wrong man," Frankie drawled. "That would be the inclination of the hell spawn."I bared my teeth. "So,who,Frankie? Who is this for?" I waved the sweater. "I just don't get it.""I know,Grasshopper," he said sadly, "I know."I blinked at him. "Where-" That's as far as I got. Sadie had come out of the dressing room.”

“Andrea: "....I think a dog is a great idea. I just never pictured you with a mutant poodle.” Kate: “He isn’t a poodle. He’s a Doberman mix."Andrea: “Aha. Keep telling yourself that.”