Page 55 of The Way You Hurt Me

"Have you named the other mutts?" I wonder. "Or just this one."

"Just her. I don't want to get attached, you know, as you're giving them away. But I looked at her, and the name just jumped out. Isn't it perfect for her?"

"You claimed her."

"Or she claimed me. Thanks for letting me keep her here. I'll chat with my roommates about finding a replacement, and look for pet-friendly apartments. It won't be for long, I promise."

I have to physically keep my mouth shut to stop myself from pointing out I have seven rooms, and she's very welcome to any; mine included. Instead, I just nod.

"Would you like me to walk them before I go today?"

"No need, Liv does it six times a day," I say. "She left less than an hour ago."

"The pet sitter?"

"Yes. She's a friend of a friend. Artsy. Somehow, pet sitting is her actual full-time job." I'm trying not to sound too judgmental, but honestly, it's hard.

Liv is…spoiled. Interacting with her over the last few days only served to highlight what I see in Willow.

Honestly, someone like Liv makes more sense for me on paper. Twenty-seven, a Tisch graduate, born and raised in the Upper East Side to a socialite and a multimillionaire dad at the head of a chain of hotels, she's elegant, refined, put together, only wears the right thing, knows how to throw a dinner party, and she bores me to tears every time she opens her mouth.

She's only "working" because she's currently fighting with Daddy, who tightened the purse strings. Apparently, she decided to walk out of the marriage he arranged for her—and good for her. But the fact that she agreed to the engagement in the first place before changing her mind three days before the wedding just shows how flakey she is. She's a nice enough girl, all things considered, but despite being eight years her senior, she doesn't have Willow's grounded assurance, maturity or self-confidence.

Willow would never have chosen art, and then painted for five years straight without it bringing any income. If she had a passion, she would have made it a side gig, and build a realistic career like a grown up. It's not that I don't value artists; I admire them greatly. But someone doodling in a flat paid for by Daddy without selling anything is not a professional art; just a jobless chick with a hobby.

Still, that means she lives close by and has plenty of time to care for the puppies, so I can't complain.

"How long do you have her for? I want to make sure I have a schedule worked out for Wolfie after the others are gone."

"The adoption event for the dogs is next week; the adults should be healthy enough by then. I don't expect I'll need her for longer than that, but if you need time to set your own schedule, I can keep her on for Wolfie—at least, during the day when you're working."

"That sounds good. I should be paying, though."

I grimace. The thing with paying Liv is, I get someone I more or less can trust in my apartment—though she doesn't walk in here without a guard. But I pay a lot for the privilege—a good ten times more than what your average pet sitter would cost. According to her employment file, Willow doesn't make the kind of money that'd allow her to pay a hundred and fifty bucks per hour for her dog to be walked—especially since it'll likely be needed at least twice a day.

"We'll see," I lie. "Make yourself at home. I have a call to make."

She stayed for most of the afternoon, and though Liv was scheduled to come back at six, still walked the dogs before heading out.

It's been three days and I'm in serious need of a fix.

It was one thing to stay away before, but after seeing her, touching her…after her bursting into my room, wearing nothing but my shirt?

Yeah. I'm not having the best time with it this time around.

27

WILLOW

How has my life taken such a strange turn so fast?

I'm now a frequent visitor to Dimitri Volkov's flat. The same Dimitri I actively avoided for two years. It should be no big deal, because he's never there. It's honestly a crime for him to have such an epic place and make so little use of it.

On Monday, I arrange to meet Liv at a cafe down the street from the office for lunch.

Like everyone in Dimitri's circle, she's absolutely breathtaking, but there's something different about her; she might have perfect hair, and elegant, newly manicured fingers, and know just how to walk on her high heels, but there's also paint until her fingernails, very little makeup on her face, and she probably has never met a stranger. She hugs me like we've been best friends all our lives when we meet up for coffee.

Within five minutes, I know her entire life story—her dad arranged for her to marry some guy as part of a business merger, and she said fuck it, so he cut her off. As her flat is paid for, she does okay, taking the odd job here and there for her shoe budget.

---