Page 24 of Filthy Rich Bosses

As we pull up to a dilapidated house, the stench hits us even before we open the car doors. Chase's face contorts in disgust, but I'm already out of the car, grabbing my gear from the trunk.

"Jesus, Tessa," Chase coughs, covering his nose with his shirt. "This place is a dump."

I ignore him, putting on the flannel and gloves from my pack before striding toward the front door. The sound of barking and whining grows louder with each step. My heart races, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I've done this a hundred times, but it never gets easier.

"Wait," Chase calls, jogging to catch up. He grabs my arm, his eyes wide with concern. "You can't just barge in there. What if the owner's armed or something?"

I yank my arm away, fixing him with a hard stare. "I don't have time for this, Chase. Every second we waste is another second those dogs are suffering."

"But—"

"No buts," I cut him off. "If you're not here to help, go wait in the car."

I turn back to the door, my hand on the knob. The smell of urine and feces is overwhelming now, mixed with something worse—the sickly-sweet odor of infection.

"Tessa, please," Chase pleads, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "At least let me go in first. It's not safe."

Something in me snaps. All the pent-up frustration, the memories of Rusty, the constant struggle to prove myself—it all comes boiling to the surface.

"Safe?" I whirl on him, my voice rising. "You think I give a damn about safe? Those dogs in there haven't known 'safe' their entire lives! I didn't ask you to come, Chase. I don't need your protection or your concern. What I need is for you to either help me or get out of my way!"

Chase recoils as if I've slapped him, hurt flashing across his face. For a moment, I feel a pang of regret, but I push it down. I don't have time for his feelings right now.

Without another word, I turn and push open the door, stepping into the darkness beyond. The cacophony of barks and whines intensifies, and I steel myself for what I'm about to face. Behind me, I hear Chase's hesitant footsteps, but I don't look back. Right now, all that matters is the animals that need my help.

Chapter 11

Tessa

Islam the car door shut, the satisfying clunk doing little to quell the frustration boiling inside of me. The late afternoon sun beats down on my neck as I stomp up the driveway, my boots crunching with each angry step.

"Tessa, come on," Chase calls from behind me, his voice a mix of exasperation and guilt. "I said I was sorry!"

I don't even bother turning around, just quicken my pace toward the sprawling mansion looming ahead. My fists clench at my sides as I replay Chase's patronizing words from earlier in my head.

"I was just trying to help," he'd said, as if I was some damsel in distress who needed rescuing.

Yeah, right. More like he was trying to play hero and show off. I'd been taking care of myself long before Chase Cavanaugh waltzed into my life with his tousled hair, carefree smile, and bucketloads of money.

As I reach the front steps, I hear him jogging to catch up. "Would you just talk to me, please?" he pleads.

I whirl around, fixing him with a glare. "What's there to talk about? You made it pretty clear you don't think I can handle things on my own."

Chase runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "That's not what I meant at all. I was worried about you, that's all."

"I don't need you to worry about me," I snap. "I'm not some charity case for you to swoop in and save."

With that, I yank open the heavy oak door and storm inside, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous foyer. The cool air-conditioning hits my flushed skin, but does nothing to calm the anger still simmering inside of me.

Who does he think he is?I fume silently as I head for the stairs. Just because he grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth doesn't mean he gets to dictate my choices. I've survived worse situations than that without any help, thank you very much.

Chase's footsteps quicken behind me, his voice taking on a softer tone. "Tessa, would you just stop for a second?"

I keep walking, my shoulders tensing even more at his pleading tone. Why can't he take a hint? I pick up my pace, hoping to reach my room before he catches up.

"Look, I know I messed up," Chase continues, his words tumbling out. "I didn't mean to imply—"

I round the corner into the living room, intent on ignoring him, when I nearly collide with a solid wall of muscle. Cole. Great, just what I need.

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