Page 25 of The Billionaire Boss and the Barista

“What can I say, he’s a discerning little jerk. I take it you’re keeping him?”

She cuddled the animal closer. “If I don’t, are you?”

Garrett put his hands in his pockets. “Not going to lie, giving him up is a sacrifice. Who will claw me to shreds once he’s gone?”

Probably any woman he took to bed. All he had to do was ask, she thought, snuggling the fuzzy tabby under the comfort of the wool coat.

Mr. Moneybags had to be freezing, but he wouldn’t deign to shiver in front of her.

“I’ll take him,” she said, cheered by the thought. “Will you be able to cope without him?”

Garrett put his hand over his heart. “You know what they say. If you love something, set it free.”

“You don’t love cats.”

“I really don’t.” He laughed. “Which is why you are doing me a solid taking him off my hands.”

They kept their attention on the cat for an awkward amount of time. “I have to go catch the bus.”

Emma had missed her regular one, but if she walked two blocks farther, she could catch the seventy-eight.

Except Mr. Moneybags had other plans. He pointed somewhere to the right. “My car’s just over there. Let me drive you home.”

“No, thank you.”

“Emma.” He sighed before changing tactics. “What happens when the bus driver says you can’t bring Prince on board?”

“Prince?” she echoed.

“Prince Rogers Nelson,” he elaborated with a completely straight face. “Our cat.”

“Mycat,” she corrected. “And I’ve seen way weirder things on the bus.”

“Funny how that doesn’t make me feel even a little bit better.”

No, for some reason he looked like she’d just force-fed him a lemon. “C’mon, Emmy, let me drive you and the little beast home.”

Emma bit her lip, mulling it over. The bus driver wouldn’t kick her off for having a kitten, would they?

“I guess a ride this one time wouldn’t hurt,” she mumbled. “This baby needs to get out of the cold.”

“A great point,” Garrett said as a particularly cold blast of air swept over them.

“Speaking of which, is your hate for cats keeping you warm? Is that why you don’t need your coat?”

“That’s it exactly,” he said, taking her elbow to steer her in the right direction. “Also, I have some stuff in the car for him, acardboard box with holes, and some drops the vet gave me for fleas. I had someone examine him. He’s healthy. Just underweight.”

He proceeded to give her the vet’s summary on Prince, talking nonstop until she forgot that as little as five minutes ago, she’d been against getting inside his fancy Ferrari.

Except the Ferrari was a Range Rover, and before Emma knew it, she was being buckled in like a child into its toasty interior.

“I don’t need help to buckle up,” she protested indignantly after he reached around to secure the fastening.

But he was already pulling away, leaving a hint of expensive cologne in his wake. “I’m giving back this coat the second you stop.”

“Just hold on to that cat,” he ordered. “Don’t let him claw up my interior.”

She wanted to reply with a snappy comeback but the brief surge of energy she’d gotten when he appeared tonight was dwindling.

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