Page 37 of S.O.S. Billboard

Eventually, however, it was his mother’s constant meddling orchestrations that had procured him his job with SOS. She worked in an office in the same building as Del’s company, and had heard through the grapevine that the man was looking for a receptionist. Not exactly a job that was in Billboard’s wheelhouse, but to placate his mother, he’d set up an interview.

What he hadn’t expected when he’d walked in, was the spitfire, Mizzay, stepping on his toes to vie for the same position. Suddenly, it had become important for him to win the job, if just to prove to himself he wasn’t a total loser.

When it became clear that the mysterious Mizzay had more credentials up her sleeve than anyone could have imagined, he’d almost lost himself in a funk again until Del had proposed that he become part of the SOS team as an operative.

That opportunity, along with the shrink Mizzay had found for him, had saved his life. He was certain of that.

And now there was O’Shea. And Zoe.

His mother would be over the moon.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sleep had been elusive.

First of all, there was her new cat who’d been determined to not only be on the bed with her, but to walk over her head every hour or so. Secondly, she was in Billboard Seingold’s freaking house, something she’d only dreamed of before. How awesome was that?

He was lying in bed, right now, right across the hall, and… O’Shea growled at herself. Frustration was eating her up.

From the moment her back had hit the mattress—after Billboard showing her to her ensuite and saying goodnight—she’d lain awake, squirming to get comfortable, wondering what the man wore when he was between the sheets. Was he a pajama bottom kind of guy? A brief wearer? Was he completely in the buff…?

About every ten minutes, no matter how many sheep she tried to count, her mind had filled with lustful curiosity, because,yup, she’d imagined him nestled beneath his comforter without clothes.

She’d wondered several times if she could somehow, stealthily, make her way into his room and take a peek. She’d actually started to slip out of bed once during the dark hours, but Zoe had begun meowing, and…shit. The last thing she wanted was for Billboard to wake up and catch her doing an unsanctioned peeping-act, so she’d frustratingly slunk back down.

She’d had to get up around three to flush another smelly cat-poop down the toilet after its noxious odor permeated her room, but she’d washed up and gone back to bed, where she’d tossed and turned for the rest of the night.

Now, the clock was finally glowing five-thirty, the sky outside was beginning to lighten, and her body refused to stay prone any longer.

“Come on, Zoe. Let’s find you some breakfast.”

She slipped out of bed, happy to be clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants, because that meant she was decent enough to wander around Billboard’s house without scrambling in her—as yet unpacked—messy suitcases. Not that she wouldn’t remove every stitch if Billboard requested it.

A girl could dream.

This time her fantasy was brief because the cat had become alert at the sound of the word breakfast. O’Shea continued to believe that for most of the feline’s life, she had to have been a loved member of somebody’s family. Poor thing. How had she ended up on the street?

Padding out of her room on bare feet, she moved silently past Billboard’s slightly cracked-ajar door, and gave a humph when she couldn’t quite see inside.Damn.No answers on the state of his clothed, or unclothedness. It looked like she’d just have to ask him if he slept in the nude. At least then her imagination could focus on his bare assets, instead of—as she’d been doing in her head—popping him in and out of various scanty outfits.

When she reached the kitchen, she opened a few cupboards until she found the one that held bowls, then popped the lid on Zoe’s second and final can of cat food and fed the purring creature. She’d have to pick up necessities for her new friend, ASAP. Even though Billboard had rummaged in his mother’s garage and come up with a box and litter, there’d been no canned food. And anyway, O’Shea wanted to replace the woman’s stash as well as picking up some toys and scratching posts. The last thing she wanted was for Zoe to start sharpening her claws on Billboard’s pristine furniture.

Yup.She’d gotten a good look at the man’s living room last night, and not only were his couch and chairs brand new, they almost looked like no one ever sat on them. Was Billboard just intrinsically neat, or did he never take time to relax his big body in front of his not-so-big, seen-better-days TV?

Another question to add to her growing list for BB.

Assuming that the man would be up sometime within the next half-hour, since he had work later, O’Shea decided to make coffee to get them both moving. After successfully putting a local shop’s grounds into his ancient-looking machine, she took a deep sniff to breathe in the welcome aroma and—

O’Shea coughed.

Damn.Another smelly crap. The cat food she’d picked up was odiferous. Could that possibly be the reason for the Zoe’s aromatic poops?

That vet appointment couldn’t happen soon enough.

In the meantime, she needed to take things into her own hands, wash the cat dish out, and find Billboard’s outdoor trash can into which she could deposit the new cause of the odor. After that, she’d do a quick web-search for the best food to feed her new, furry friend.

She washed the bowl and left it to dry, then went to the door with the can and some scooped litter. Eschewing footwear, because it was warm enough in June to go without, she opened the several locks on Billboard’s door and walked outside to pause for a moment and take a huge breath of fresh air.

Ahh.She loved the early mornings when the sun’s rays were just starting to peek above the horizon.

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