Page 48 of The Billionaire Boss and the Barista

“This is all your fault,” he growled at the cat twining between his legs. “Get off me before I turn you into earmuffs.”

The kitten gleefully ignored him. It continued to rub up against his pant legs, really grinding his fur all into the lightweight silk blend.

By the time he dragged his ass home tonight, Garrett had been exhausted.

Then this little fucker had greeted him at the door, smushing his little face against him. The animal proceeded to complain in high-pitched kitten speak about the audacity of being forced to live in a three-thousand-square-foot penthouse instead of a busy parking garage.

Because getting catered to hand and foot, or paw to paw, was such a hardship.

“I know what you’re doing. Your instinct is to mark your territory. But it's not going to work,” he said, picking up the beast when he began to simultaneously claw and headbutt his ankles.

“I will feed you, vaccinate you, and provide flea medication. But there will be no cuddles and no kisses to your wee furry face. I’m not falling for your wiles, so save that shit for Emma.”

The kitten meowed as if in protest.

“That’s right. I don’t even like cats. You’re too furry and you shed over everything and I’m not on board with that whole licking yourself clean thing. It’s unhygienic. But I’m willing to put up with you as long as you keep up your end.”

The cat tilted its head almost as if it was listening to him.

“That’s right,” he added with a significant look. “I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. You’re a working cat. Your job is to make Emma love you so she doesn’t want to move out.”

It wasn’t manipulation, exactly. At heart, Garrett was a businessman. He knew how to craft a good deal.

Out there was a world of crowded, overpriced apartments, too many roommates, and long commutes. Here, Emma got her choice of bedrooms, a kitten, and if all went well, a cool mechanic best friend next door.

Not that he’d asked George for any special treatment of his guest. But his best friend’s girl was a naturally sweet woman who already seemed to like Emma a lot.

After pumping both Kyle and Pedro, it became obvious that Emma didn’t have many friends. Those two might be it for her. Unless you counted Bethany, which he didn’t. No one should.

For years, Emma had been focused on her recovery, but expanding her social circle could only help her. She needed a stronger safety net. Which was why it was odd that Emma had moved so far from home, away from her mother and younger sister.

Yes, it must have been uncomfortable being around people you didn’t remember. But to distance yourself from your family? And why had her mother let her leave?

Garrett’s own mother was long dead, and he didn’t have the best relationship with his father. But despite the occasional tension her mother’s reputation caused Emma, he knew that on a personal level, they had gotten along. At least they appeared to be close when he’d seen them around town.

Regardless of why Emma had come here, she had done it, inadvertently landing in his sphereof influence.

Some people would call it chance. But Garrett was growing increasingly convinced that the hand of fate was involved. How else could he explain Emma ending up working for a company he owned?

If anything, he wasobligatedto keep an eye on her. He had to because of… reasons. Things she didn’t need to know about and wouldn’t be receptive to hearing yet.

He was just trying to do right by her. She might not like it now, but she’d come to understand that. Eventually.

Garrett rubbed his eyes before remembering he’d handled the little beast and hadn’t washed his hands. “Shit!”

Hurrying to the sink behind the bar, he quickly washed his hands before repeatedly splashing his face, eyes open, until his eyeballs began to burn.

“If you want me to move out, just ask. There’s no need to drown yourself.”

Grabbing a bar towel, he wiped his face before turning to face Emma, who was just pulling off a black windbreaker as the heavy door swung shut behind her.

“This is your cat’s fault,” he informed her.

“Oh, so now it’smycat?”

“It’s like a kid,” he said, shrugging philosophically. “When it’s good, it’s our cat. But when it’s bad, it’s all yours.”

Emma snorted in response.

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