Page 32 of Catnapped

“No.” I stand and walk around to May, helping her out before the valet gets the chance.

“Do you have a membersh–”

“I have business inside.” I glare at him.

He swallows hard and slides into the driver’s seat, out of view.

“You scare everyone.” May grins.

“Everyone but you?”

She nods. “Everyone but me.”

“Come along, CC.” I bite back a smile at her code name.

“Have you chosen your undercover title?” she whispers as we walk up the wide front steps toward two sturdy wood doors, both propped open with a view into a swanky entry. Orchestral Christmas music floats out past the tastefully draped greenery and holly.

“I’ll be Tortie Shorthair, your groom-to-be.”

She giggles, the sound like warm rain. “I love it. And it works. Rich people always have some wild-sounding names.”

“Sir, do you have an appointment?” A man stands at a desk to the right, a chandelier positioned over his head, illuminating his balding pate.

“We’re here to tour the grounds for our wedding. My assistant made the appointment months ago. We’re to meet with Sidney Linklater.”

His gray mustache twitches as he searches through his phone. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t have an appointment listed for you. Perhaps–”

“Nonsense,” I snap. “Get Ms. Linklater out here. She knows everything about it.”

May makes a hrmph noise. “We had a long conversation about the requirements of my cousin Prince Danali, one of our most honored guests. She said we’d have a separate halal menu for all the royals.”

His eyes widen. “Prince Danali?”

“Did my darling stutter?” I sneer at him. “If this venue isn’t able to provide the necessary amenities and security, we’ll happily take our nuptials elsewhere. I hear Pembroke Country Club is quite up-and-coming.”

“No!” He drops his phone onto the desk. “Not at all. We have what you need here, I can assure you. Unfortunately, Ms. Linklater has recently left our employ, but I’m happy to give you a tour of the club. Here’s my card.” He hands me a silver-embossed card with Grinsley Archibald written in swirling script. I look at it like it has the plague.

Sidney Linklater is on maternity leave, from my quick research on this place. But something tells me this asshole may have fired her when she took time off.

“We’ll have a look around for ourselves. If the venue meets our satisfaction, I’ll call for you. If it doesn’t …” I let my unpleasant tone linger as I turn away from the desk.

“The, ah, the sitting rooms are just ahead of you there, Mr. —oh my, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

May snaps her head around to him. “Don’t you know who he is?” she hisses.

“Well, I-I-I’m–”

“Tortie Shorthair, the CEO of Felinity, a top Fortune 500. Have you been living in a cave?”

“No, of course not, ma’am. I just–”

“You’ve done enough.” She turns her head back forward, her lips pressed together to stop a smile as I march her away from the flustered asshole behind us.

We walk down a short hallway, then take a left. As soon as we’re out of view, she grabs my hand and squeezes it. “We did it!”

“You played it perfectly.”

She practically purrs under my praise. “Thank you. I just, I don’t know, I felt the vibe, and I ran with it. Maybe I’m cut out for the rich, fancy life.”

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