Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“Killer, the pirate cat from the Ren Faire crashed Sheila’s campsite this morning,” I say, motioning toward the crate. “He’s in there.”
“No way,” Christian says. “You aren’t giving him back to that demon woman and her dumb sidekick, are you?”
“We don’t have much of a choice, not if we want Killer to have a home,” I say, explaining the reasoning behind the decision as we all head inside. Sheila goes to get Killer settled in the back room while Christian and I head into the breakroom.
He starts making coffee, nodding toward the to-go cup in my hand as he arranges the filter. “Too good for my coffee this morning?”
“Just craving a treat,” I say, leaning against the counter beside him. “I think I might be a hedonist. The more pleasure I get, the more I crave.”
He exhales a long slow breath as he studies me from the corner of his eyes. “I hear that. My naughty wife was even naughtier in my dreams last night.”
“Oh yeah? Interesting.” I bite my lip, dying to ask him for more details. But we’re at work and the first rule of sex club is you don’t talk about sex club.
Well, the first rule is actually no sex in our homes and the second is no sex out of character, but not talking about what we get up to after dark is definitely a good idea. Talking out of class is a good way to get caught—and to make sure I get nothing done all day except daydreaming about Christian’s pelvic sorcery.
“I’m going to go track down Raney. You take point on the social media plan for the week?” I ask, digging my nails into my palm to keep from reaching out to squeeze Christian’s ass on my way past him. “Touch base with you later.”
“Will do, boss,” he says, the way he says the last word enough to make me stop at the door to the offices and glance back at him over my shoulder.
He grins a wide, shameless grin that seems to say, “I can’t help it if everything I say sounds a little dirty.”
I fight a smile and shake my head, doing my best to be stern, but who am I kidding? I’m about as stern as a limp noodle and too well-bedded to get upset about anything right now.
Though, I’m sure Raney will do her best to change that…
Thanks to her insults the other day, tracking her down is relatively easy. I simply call around to the various nail salons in my “rich bitch” college town. At the third one I try, the receptionist says, “Yeah, Raney’s here. Let me grab her for you.”
Raney hops on the line a moment later with a chipper, friendly sounding, “Hey there, what’s up? I don’t have many openings today, but I have tons of openings tomorrow.”
“I’m not looking for an appointment,” I say. “This is Starling Baxter.”
“Oh,” she says, her tone going sullen and sour. “What do you want?”
“I work at the animal shelter in Bad Dog. We have your cat. My boss found him in the woods while she was camping last night.”
“Oh my God, thank God.” Raney exhales a relieved-sounding breath. “I thought he was lost or had been run over or something. I haven’t slept a wink since Saturday night. I was so worried. Is he okay? He’s not hurt, is he?”
“No, he’s fine,” I say, my heart softening toward her a tiny bit. She’s the literal worst, but she seems to truly love her cat. It gives me hope she might be responsive to Sheila’s lecture about not dressing Killer up in anything that might put him in danger if he runs off again. “We’re feeding him now and we’ll hold him at the shelter until you can pick him up.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I’m off work,” she says. “Probably around four o’clock, once I drive down there.”
“Perfect, we’ll be here until five,” I say. “Oh, and bring his shot records when you come or we won’t be able to release him today. He bit one of our staff members. If we don’t have proof that he’s been vaccinated for rabies, we’ll have to hold him until a test comes back clear.”
“He’s vaccinated and on heartworm meds and everything,” Raney says. “I’ll bring his records, though. I know where they are. I’ll have Blinky bring them to me during my lunch break.”
“Sounds good, see you then,” I say, about to hang up when Raney blurts out, “Thank you. Thank you so much. He’s really important to me.”
“Yeah, no worries,” I say, deciding the lecture about costumes can wait and is probably better coming from Sheila, anyway. “Glad we found him and happened to know who he belonged to.”
“Yeah, me, too,” she says. “Really glad.”
We end the call and I forget about Raney for the rest of the day. I’m too busy making calls to find a venue for our Halloween “trick or treat with your pet” fundraiser, looking innocent as Sheila enlists my help in brainstorming how Stinkerbelle might have gotten out of her kennel, and doing my best not to straddle Christian in his desk chair to spare a thought for my nemesis.