Page 28 of The Way You Hurt Me

Ipractically drove myself insane in the two hours between Dimitri's last text and the moment his driver arrived, to say nothing of the drive to his penthouse, but once I'm actually inside, it's not nearly as stressful as I thought it might be, thanks to the buffer provided by handfuls of puppies and their veterinarian.

I'm sorry she leaves, about half an hour after I arrive, if only because I don't know what to do with myself. Dimitri shows her to the door, and I brace myself, keeping my eyes on the pups, bundled up in one corner of the pen. The adults all look so scared. The puppies, less so; one even wanders up to me, and I bend to let him sniff my hand. His little mouth closes around my finger.

"No teeth, little one," I admonish gently, reluctantly withdrawing my hand.

It didn't hurt, but I remember from the puppies one of our neighbors was raising in the trailer park that we're supposed to show to dogs early that they should never play bite. I fish for one of the many chew toys in the bag of supplies next to the pen, and when the little blue-fluffed terror starts nibbling at it, I stroke his head and coo, "That's it, buhbah."

"Somehow, I knew you'd be good at this."

Flushing again like a damn idiot, I lift my head to find Dimitri leaning against the doorframe and staring at me.

"One of my neighbors bred pups when I was little. Bigger than these, but I figured the rules are the same."

"No clue." He straightens up. "I've never had a pet."

Somehow, when I think about it, that doesn't surprise me. "Me neither." Though I certainly would have liked one. "So how did you end up with all these?"

"An associate found them on a site he was clearing up."

"And you volunteered to take care of all of them?" I question.

Thatis baffling.

"I volunteeredyou," he amends, smirking. "Petsitting isn't in my repertoire. I figured it'd be in yours."

I bristle at his tone, not enjoying how…available he made me sound. Like, we weren't even talking a week ago; why would he assume I'd help him?

Because he's Dimitri Volkov, that's why. When has he ever not gotten what he wants?

"How did you know I didn't have anything better to do?" I ask for the sake of it.

Actually, what I should have asked is,how did you know I'd ever answer your text,given that we haven't talked in forever,but that might invite a discussion about my two-year-long avoidance tactics, which I'd much rather not have.

"I didn't. But if push came to shove, I could have taken pictures of the puppies and lured you over with their cuteness. Or you know." He shrugs.

Part of me expects him to suggest kidnapping. Instead, he says, "Text the next bleeding heart on my contact list."

I…like that option less than the one that popped into my head, butI refuse to let it bother me. "You have a lot of those, huh?"

I almost sound like myself. Almost.

"Fewer than you'd think. And the number of those I'd let into my apartment is much smaller."

"Why, scared they'll trash the place?"

I look around. It's a very nice place. Brushed dark gray walls, a floor-to-ceiling window panorama all around, letting in so much light. There's far too much space. A spiral staircase leads up to an upper floor, and down to a lower one, so I guess he has at least three floors, which in Upper East Side terms, is insanely expensive. This room doesn't have much. A large, comfortable-looking cream sofa, a giant soft wool rug I just want to feel under my bare feet, and one dramatic, red grand piano. I spot a minibar along the wall, some decor—twin large paintings, one all black with red splashes, the other, all red with black, and a metal wolf head. That's about it.

"More like, terrified they'd glue themselves to the floor and never leave."

I snort."I bet that happens on a weekly basis."

"It might, if I invited, well, anyone here."

I shake my head. "What a waste of space." And because it has to be said, I ask, "All of this room just for you and your wife?"

I'm watching him closely enough to see a smirk curve up his lips. Dammit. The smug bastard is glad I brought it up.

"Irina lives in Florida, petal. And when she's in the city, she stays in her apartment, in the village."

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