Page 5 of Drawn to You

“The cat’s not coming,” Dane says. “She can follow me around, but she’s not moving a cat into my house.”

Tim gives me an apologetic look. “Is there anywhere else you can leave the cat?”

The only person I’d trust to care for Mr. Darcy is my best friend, Lina, and she’s allergic to cats.

“No. But he’s not much trouble.”

“He can’t come on road trips,” Tim says.

“I understand.”

Dane sighs dramatically. I don’t like him. I can’t wait to get under his skin by asking how it felt to wake up naked and handcuffed to a park bench. If he’s not going to make this easy for me, I won’t make it easy for him, either.

“I think we’re done here,” Arnold says, pushing away from the wall.

“Wait,” Dane says. “How long will she be following me around?”

“For the next three months or until you screw up next,” Arnold says, narrowing his eyes at Dane. “Guess which one my money’s on?”

Dane starts to say something but stops himself.

“Well, look at that,” Arnold says. “He does have some restraint. It’s just buried deep down in there. Probably hangs out with his conscience.”

Dane scratches his head, and I think I’m the only one who notices he’s doing it with his middle finger. Cheeky.

Arnold gives me a paternal look and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Josie, if you have any problems or need any expenses covered, you call me. Or Tim, if you’re on the road.”

“Th--” I start to speak, but my voice is strangled, so I clear my throat. “Thank you.”

I sound timid, but I’m not. At the moment, though, I want to crawl under Tim’s massive wood desk and never come out. But I remind myself I’m a professional, here to do a job.

Three months. If I can do this, I’ll get the promotion. I’ll be able to afford something other than spaghetti and pancakes for dinner.

Takeout. How I miss takeout. Just the thought of those heavenly-smelling little white boxes from Hot Wok sends a pang to my stomach.

I’ll be able to save money again. Buy new shoes. I need this to work.

Dane stands up, and I follow suit. He looks at me like I’m a muddy stray dog he just found. I force my chin to remain level.

I won’t let him know how intimidated I am.

“Let’s go, I guess,” he says with absolutely no enthusiasm.

I move to pick up my fully stuffed backpack, and he grabs it by the handle at the same time.

“You don’t have to carry it,” I say, even though it weighs at least thirty pounds and my back still hurts from carrying it here.

“I’ve got it,” he says gruffly, not even looking at me. “Where’s your other stuff?”

“This is all I could carry, so it’s all I brought.”

“Which lot are you parked in?”

“I don’t have a car.”

His eyes flash with annoyance. “Awesome. Guess you’re riding with me.”

“Apologies for the imposition,” I say sarcastically. “I know how massively difficult it is to have someone sitting in your passenger seat.”

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