Page 47 of Fur-Ever Home

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I picked up the painting and placed it on an empty rolling cart.

"If Connie were to make a reappearance at another family dinner," he said, "I wouldn't be opposed."

I could do nothing but stare at him, though I managed to keep my jaw clamped shut.

"Benjamin's a horrible liar," James said. "When I started asking him about the well-trained dog who disappeared without a trace, he shut down."

I nodded. "He does that when he doesn't know what to say."

"He does it a lot less now than before he met you." James patted my shoulder. "You're good for him. I think you'll be good for the bank, too."

With that, he led me back upstairs to my office. He offered to call maintenance to put up the painting, but there was already a nail in the wall for the hideous surrealist art Kurt had left hanging. I swapped the two paintings out, and James placed the other face-down on the cart.

"I don't want to have to look at it when I take it back to the storeroom." He chuckled.

"I don't blame you. I almost turned down the office for that alone."

James laughed with me, and it didn't feel forced. It also didn't feel like he was laughing at me, unlike Hank. My former business partner had been a condescending prick sometimes, and to everyone, including me.

"I've only developed the one app," I said as James turned to leave. "What if that's all I've got in me?"

James motioned for me to follow him, and we walked down the well-lit hallway, back toward the bank of cubicles for my team. "How about you sit with Anne the rest of the afternoon to see what we do. I'm not asking you to reinvent the wheel, but if you see something you think you could improve, go for it. Tomorrow, I'll have you sit with Luca to look at our customer-facing software. And the day after that, I'll have you and Malik review some of our home-brewed systems. Kurt developed a program for productivity tracking that's been all the rage." We'dmade it back to Anne's desk, where she overheard his sarcastic comment.

"By that, he means it makes steam come out our ears every time we have to use it," she said. "I hear congratulations are in order." She held out her hand, and I shook it. "Welcome, boss."

I laughed. "Connor's fine. I've never been anyone's boss."

It had been a long time since anyone had called me son, too, but the memory of my lunch conversation with James played on a loop in my head during the slow parts of Anne's demonstration.

Son. I liked the sound of that.

19

BENJAMIN

Instead of an office,my Manager of Finance title gave me a large cubicle at the end of the aisle facing the CFO's glass-framed wooden door. The door remained closed more often than not. Today, Brian hadn't bothered to show up at all. He was working from home, Mr. Barclay said, before leaving for yet another business conference this evening.

My assistant Sid stopped by my desk around ten with a printout. He was a nervous omega who liked to wring his hands, which often led to crumpled paperwork. "Here's your itinerary for tomorrow."

I blinked up at him. "What?"

"Mr. Barclay wants you to attend the conference with Brian, and it starts tomorrow. You're flying out at eight tonight."

"The hell I am." The words died in my throat as a wave of nausea hit me. This was my third round with a mystery illness this week. I did not have time for an annoying stomach bug while dealing with a ridiculous last-minute trip.

I brushed past Sid and sprinted toward the bathroom. I only got as far as the end of my aisle before I leaned over and puked on the carpet in front of Brian's office door.

"Oh, shit," Sid said. "Are you all right?"

I wanted to wipe my mouth on my sleeve, but the thought made me gag again. Nope. Needed tissues or paper towels.

"Does it look like I'm all right?" I asked as I stalked back to my desk and my box of tissues. Connor's wet wipes would have been wonderful right now.

Connor. All I really wanted was to go home and be with Connor. He would take care of my upset tummy and tell me everything would be okay.

"I'll get the janitor up here." Sid dashed away, taking my itinerary with him.

Once I'd cleaned up, I dashed a terse email to Mr. Danbury.

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