Page 28 of De-Witched

“Don’t mind Bear.” Leah’s words pulled his attention back. She kept a hand on Chuck’s head as she tipped up her chin to Gabriel. “He’s all bark, no bite. Like you.”

“I’m not all bark,” he responded without thinking.

Those long lashes of hers blinked over ocean blue. He’d surprised her.

Good. Because he sure as hell had surprised himself.

Not all bark? What had he meant by that? Was it a threat? It certainly couldn’t have been a playful remark. He didn’t do playful remarks.

Spooked, he reverted to what he did best. Attack. “It’s a bad business that lets its reception desk sit empty.”

Her blond eyebrows pinched. “What?”

“When I came in, nobody greeted me. A potential customer would’ve walked straight back out. Is that how you expect to get these animals rescued or do you want to keep them here so you can play with them yourself?”

He watched with a kind of dizzying relief as anger flooded her eyes and the norm between them clicked back into place.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have the staff,” she clipped out, folding her arms and mirroring him. “Sonny’s the only full-time employee. There are a few of us working part-time, and everyone else is a volunteer, fitting a shift in when they can.”

“Which is why you need me.”

“Which is why I offered you this job,” she countered on a head toss that sent a tease of coconut his way. He breathed it in as she continued snottily, “Of course, we welcome all advice from men who have to pass a test to succeed in business.”

He opened his mouth, closed it with a snap of teeth.

Point to Turner. But the war was just beginning.

Gabriel made it through the day on sheer spite. After Leah had taken him on a whistle-stop tour through the facility, including meeting Sonny, his boss, she’d shoved a mop and bucket in his hands and directed him to the row of empty pens. She’d clearly expected him to balk, so he’d grimly thrown his tie over his shoulder and set to work. It may have taken him the better part of two hours to clean three pens, and he may have had to use a spell to suck up the excess water when he’d been too...enthusiastic, and yes, he may have slipped and fallen on his aching ass again in the small ocean he’d created, thereby ruining his Prada loafers. But he counted it a job well done and worth it to see how annoyed Leah was to see he’d finished without protest.

Plus, now he knew how to mop, and he liked knowing things. He’d have to schedule a chat with Goodnight’s janitorial staff, see if there were any improvements needed. Something to note down.

He also thought he might have a chat with Sonny about the reception area. Not that Leah would have to know he was helping; he doubted she’d believe it anyway since she clearly thought him useless.

Once he was finished with the mopping, she’d asked him to clear the fenced yard of poop, gather the older beds that would need a wash, and finally, fetch a cat that had refused to climb down from an open vent where the cover had come loose. What Leah had called the Tom Cruise of cats—whatever that meant—had managed to wriggle its way into the vent, which was apparently dangerous and made her voice go up a pitch. He hadn’t liked that.

As a result, he’d found himself standing on top of a chair, feeling like an idiot, ordering the cat to come down in his best no-nonsense tone. When that had yielded nothing but a plaintive meow, he’d had to use the cat tower like a ladder, gritting his teeth as he reached inside the vent and grasped the hissing cat. He was now the lucky owner of several stinging scratches across his hand. If he could’ve used his magic...but he couldn’t.

Leah had taken one look and hissed like the cat, commanding him to follow her to the chaotic office, where she’d withdrawn a green first aid box and mercilessly scrubbed the scratches with alcohol wipes. He’d barely withheld a scream.

He’d seen other humans off and on: a man shorter than him with a shock of ginger hair and beard to match had introduced himself as Frankie; another man, with pale blond hair and gray eyes, and built like one sneeze would blow him into the next room, had nodded and said, “Mitch.” And he’d seen a young girl around Melly’s age, wearing ripped jeans and a top exposing her stomach, talking busily with Leah as they’d sat at the reception desk. When he’d entered the room, her chatter had dried up, but that was nothing new for him. Still, he wondered who she was. A relation of Leah’s, perhaps?

Though she looked nothing like the short blue-eyed blonde, except maybe for the clothes and the fact they both wore polish on their nails. Leah changed hers every couple of days, as though she couldn’t settle on just one color. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

And if she expected him to fail, he would prove her wrong.

He fell asleep that night, a satisfied curve curling his lips as he pictured her face.

8

Despite what Gabriel thought, they did take turns staffing the reception area. With it being her shift, Leah was just finishing up with a burly six-foot-five man and the kitten he’d cooed over—never judge a book—when the door opened for the fourth time that morning. Leah smiled in recognition as Joanne walked in, the coffee shop owner dressed in her work uniform and, best of all, carrying a take-out cup.

“You’ve been as busy as we were this morning,” she declared as she drew near, sable hair bouncing in its practical ponytail.

Leah gave one last wave to her customer. “I doubt that, but it’s been busy.” Two adoptions and a few people she thought might come back constituted a good morning. It took the worst edge off her worry, enough that her smile was broad. “Is that for me?”

“Figured you’d need the caffeine since you haven’t been in.” Joanne handed over Leah’s usual. They’d met a few years ago when Joanne had first opened across the road and Leah had made a point of stopping in each day to support her. It didn’t hurt that Joanne’s baking rivalled Emma’s and her coffee was superior.

Leah cracked the plastic lid, absorbing the steam. “God, that smells good. Thanks. What do I owe you?”

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