Page 50 of Dear Grumpy Boss

“Get the fuck out of here, cat, or I’m going to make a rug out of you,” he boomed. “You’ll look nice at my front door. I’ll wipe my boots on you every fucking day.”

The mountain lion licked its lips.

“Yeah, you don’t like that idea? Then run along now, kitty. We know you’re big and bad, we get it. But we’re bigger and badder, you fuck.”

Head tilt.

What did that mean?

Oh god.

“You’re not even a real lion. Nobody’s scared of you. You’re just an overgrown house cat. Did you lose your ball of yarn? Go cry to the other kitties about it and leave us the fuck alone!”

Weston kept on, threatening the dangerous animal while it calmly stared back at him, unfazed by the madman in its forest.

Sweat pricked my forehead. My heart thrashed, more wild than the murderous kitty. My knees were so weak, I could barely stand. But Weston held me up. His arm kept me secure against his chest, lending me the smallest, barest sense of safety.

Weston continued yelling about the violent plans he had for the mountain lion while stroking my cheek with unimaginable gentleness.

We were going to die a horrible, painful death. Every second that passed and the mountain lion remained unbothered, the end crawled closer.

The mountain lion took a step.

My breath caught.

Weston’s arm tightened.

Another step.

Then another.

But not toward us.

Slowly, lazily, it slinked across our path, its ears twitching as it listened to us. It disappeared into the trees, but I didn’t feel any relief.

“We need to go,” Weston ordered. “Start walking, baby.”

“It could be out there,” I whispered.

“It could. But we can’t stay here. We need to start walking.”

He had a point. Staying here wasn’t a good idea. We were probably in the mountain lion’s turf or something.

Somehow, I got my feet to work. I trudged forward, on high alert, my head whipping back and forth, searching for the mountain lion. How was this real? This couldn’t be real.

Weston stayed behind me, holding my shoulders. He kept talking to me, making noise. I knew I should have been helping, making us louder, but that wasn’t happening. Fear had clogged my throat.

He squeezed my shoulders. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Elise. You’re safe with me. All you have to do is keep walking. Just keep walking. I’ve got you.”

In the recesses of my mind, I remembered reading that mountain lions liked to attack from behind. They usually went for the back of their prey’s neck. That was why Weston was staying behind me and not leading me out. He was protecting me, putting himself between me and potential danger.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Don’t thank me now. You’re in deep trouble when we get out of here. And wewillbe getting out of here, Elise.”

Suddenly, I wished for the mountain lion to reappear. A nice, deep puncture wound was preferable to a lecture from Weston on how stupid I’d been to come out here on my own.

When we made it out of the trees and into the canyon, I should have felt safer, but I couldn’t bring myself to calm down. My body was on high alert, fight or flight activated.

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