Page 175 of Wicked Little Thief

“Are you busy?”

“For you? No.”

“I’ll be right down.”

****

Utah

The new apartment she was going to be moving into looked just like her old one, only with less updates. And it cost her more money.

She knew she was being charged a premium because of her eviction, but as she looked around the empty place, she decided it would have to do for now. Besides, there wasn’t anything else available anywhere for at least another month.

The apartment was empty and hadn’t had the heat on probably since the last tenant moved out, so she quickly looked around and said, “Everything looks fine.”

As they trudged up the snowy walk toward the main office, the leasing agent—Linette? Linda? Lisa?—reiterated, “Absolutely no pets.”

Jesus, lady, I heard you the first five times.

Still, she nodded her head vigorously in agreement. “No pets.”

Someday she’d get a dog. Maybe around the time she found a husband and had a kid.

The thought was depressing as fuck. She knew anyone after Liam would be settling.

Maybe not. I’ll have a family with him and will appreciate him for being willing to give me that.

Whoever this phantom “him” was.

Fuck you for ruining any other man for me, Liam McDonnell!

“I’m sorry to sound like a broken record, but my ass is on the line if I approve you, and you bring an animal on the property. Cats and birds are pets, too, by the way.”

Really? I had no idea?

Fighting back an eyeroll, she said, “I get it. No animals of any kind.”

The minute she said that, little Miss Phoebe McDonnell herself came sprinting toward her, her tail wagging furiously at the sight of the woman who’d been feeding her breakfast for the last four months.

And who should come jogging up behind Phoebe, holding an empty leash?

Liam McDonnell.

“Ms. Douglas! Ms. Douglas!” he called frantically. He really needed to work on his acting skills. “I’m so sorry. I know you told me to wait in the car with her, but she jumped out the window once she saw you!”

That son of a bitch. He’s going with “he had the window rolled down,” in December?

She turned to… Lianne?... and pleaded, “This is not my dog. Look at her tags!”

The woman took off her glove, reached down, and gestured to the tag on Phoebe’s collar. “Um, it says your name right here.”

“What?”

She looked at the tag herself.

Sure enough, that sneaky bastard had made new tags with both his and Utah’s name on them.

I’m going to kill him.

---