Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I laugh. “Okay, then. It’s a deal. But you have to be good to Leo. And you can’t kill the birds. Just terrorize them. We have a lot of bird watchers in the area.”
Greg pulls back, gazing into my face, purring smugly.
I scratch his neck. “I’m probably going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Leo says. “You’ve just struck a dark bargain, but no take backs. That’s not the way deals with the devil work.”
Greg meows as if in agreement and twists in my arms, freeing himself with one lithe movement. He lands on the floor and scampers across the room to climb into his play structure, sending the birds on the branch closest to the window bolting in a flurry of wings.
Leo leans closer, whispering, “You can change your mind if you want. We just won’t let him know until you’re gone. That way he can’t plot bloody vengeance.”
I shake my head. “I won’t change my mind. And I never go back on my word.” I extend a hand his way. “I’m in for the show. No hidden agenda, no divided loyalty. You can count on me to bring my A game.”
“Excellent,” he says, enfolding my fingers in his much longer ones.
His palm lingers against mine, making my entire body tingle. I don’t know if this will be “excellent” or not, but it will be an adventure.
And I’m ready for an adventure.
Past ready.
eight
. . .
Leo
Ishould be the happiest man in Manhattan.
I have a stellar new contestant for my show, I’ve debunked more of my ex-girlfriend’s lies, and a lovely human has agreed to adopt Greg without any bribes, tears, or begging on my part.
I should be skipping out of the cab near Central Park and waltzing through the brown grass toward the ice rink.
Instead, I feel…sad. Disappointed. Like on those nights at the Sandy show when I learned the sketch I’d busted my ass writing and rehearsing wouldn’t be included in the broadcast, after all.
I tell myself it’s because I’ve grown so accustomed to Greg. I probably have Stockholm Syndrome. People develop attachments to the abusive people—and cats—in their lives all the time.
But deep down, I know this has very little to do with my evil feline roommate. This is about Caroline. About her kind smile and easy laugh. About her intelligent eyes and sarcastic wit and the feeling that she sees me in a way most people don’t, especially this early on.
Testing the theory, I muse as we make our way down the lamplit path, deeper into the park, “So, you don’t seem to find me intimidating. What’s up with that?”
She laughs as she shifts her gaze my way. “Why? Are you working on your intimidation skills?”
I shrug. “No, but I can be too direct for a lot of people. Too aggressive. Especially when I’m after something I want. Before I found a crew that can handle my blunt and bossy side, I used to make production assistants cry on a daily basis.”
“Well, you do seem intense. And driven.” She hums beneath her breath as she considers my profile.
I arch a brow and pout my lips, pulling my best James Dean face, making her smile.
“But you have a soft, gooey center, I think,” she adds. “I mean, you took care of Vivian’s villain of a cat for years, when you absolutely didn’t have to.”
“So, you agree he’s a villain?” I exhale in a rush. “Thank God, I thought you’d been completely drawn in, which would be a mistake. You’ll need to keep your guard up if you’re going to let that hellbeast roam your place of business.”
She crosses her arms against a gust of cool winter wind. “No, I haven’t been completely drawn in, but I’m not afraid. I know how to handle difficult creatures. Remember, I’ve worked in the hospitality industry for over a decade.” We walk in silence for a few beats before she adds, “Does it bother you?”
My brows lift. “What?”
“That people think you’re intimidating when you’re just…frustrated that the world isn’t a better place? Like all cranky romantics?”
I stumble and she reaches out, gripping my elbow. “Careful,” she murmurs.
I turn to her; pretty sure I’m obligated to defend myself against that “cranky romantics” comment.
Or to kiss her.
Fuck, I want to kiss her. I want it desperately enough to forget all the reasons I shouldn’t, at least for a few blissful minutes.
Thankfully, my cell blares like a foghorn in my pocket at that exact moment. It’s Ainsley’s ringtone, reminding me that dozens of people are counting on me to make this evening a success.
And to keep my dick in my pants, where it ethically belongs.
I reach for my phone, putting a few steps between Caroline and myself as I answer, “What’s up?”
“It’s a disaster!” The words emerge in strangled, hysterical sob that’s very unlike my composed and always-prepared director. “The shoot is doomed!”