Page 27 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

She is a puzzle I can’t seem to figure out. On one hand, she’s intelligent and capable. Mrs. Moore speaks highly of her organizational skills and her way with the clients. On the other hand, she seems entirely out of her element when it comes to animals. It makes little sense.

The afternoon wears on with no further incidents. The typical parade of checkups and vaccinations keeps me busy in the exam rooms while Emily manages the front desk. I can hear her professional and cheerful voice through the open door as she greets clients and schedules appointments. Despite the brief interlude with the snake, she’s doing very well.

Between patients, I check my phone. Three missed calls from the old man. My father continues to call me all afternoon. I know he’ll be there waiting for me when I get home tonight. I can picture him slumped on my couch, reeking of cheap whiskey and self-pity. He’s always been a lousy dad, even though I tried my hardest to be a dutiful son.

I guess my efforts weren’t enough, though. The only thing he’s ever been interested in is the inheritance my maternal grandmother left me. The son of a bitch wasted my money on alcohol, drugs, and women. He never cared if my shoes were so old and worn out that my feet would be soaked if I went out in the rain. There were nights I’d go to bed hungry because he spent our food money on booze. Those memories are still fresh, even years later.

When I turned twenty-one, though, I finally got to be in charge of my money. My friend Stephen’s parents helped me manage it and taught me about investments and financial planning. With their help, I made good investments and tripled the trust fund my grandparents left me. The financial independence it gave me was like breathing fresh air after years of suffocation. I no longer need to work, but I love what I do. Without my clinic and my animals, what would I be? Just another rich asshole in Manhattan with nothing meaningful to contribute to the world.

I finish updating the charts for my last patient of the day and head out to the reception area. Mrs. Moore is gathering her things, her movements slow but purposeful after a long workday. Emily is shutting down the computer with her back to me as she completes her end-of-day routine.

“Good night, Logan!” Amelia calls, picking up her purse and heading for the door.

Emily’s close behind her. She doesn’t deign to say good night or even look at me as she leaves. However, as she passes by,there’s a slight hesitation in her step, as if she’s considering turning around. It’s better this way. She’s my employee, and she doesn’t have to like me. The professional distance keeps things straightforward.

As she closes the door behind her, I can’t keep myself from thinking about how much I’d love to have her beneath me, moaning with pleasure and screaming my name. Her skin would be soft under my touch, those big brown eyes looking up at me with need and want, her auburn hair spread across my pillow...

Christ. I need to get a grip. This kind of thinking leads nowhere good. I’ve got enough complications in my life without adding Emily Baker to the mix. Pushing the thoughts aside, I lock up the clinic and head out into the evening, bracing myself for whatever awaits me at home.

CHAPTER TEN

Emily

Jerk.

Bastard.

Asshole.

How dare he?

“Anybody home? Emily?”

“Huh? Sorry,” I mumble when I finally focus on Kate, who’s waving her hand in front of my face as if I’m having a damn seizure. I take a deep breath, letting the aromas of fried food and alcohol pervade my nostrils. We were supposed to meet up at my house, but when I got home and found the place even more destroyed by my psycho cat, I thought it would be a better idea to go out. I need a change of scene anyway, even if my bank account doesn’t approve of my decision to go out drinking with my girls.

Chimera has always been our place to meet up. Total dive bar. The walls of this old English-style pub have heard our most intimate secrets. However, if truth be told, the place is a pit. The floor’s covered with strange stains that probably have FBI case files. Using the bathroom puts you at risk of contracting hepatitis, and the house brands of alcohol taste like someonefiltered them through a sweaty sock. The yellow lights make everyone look like they’ve got liver failure, and the ancient jukebox bounces between hair metal and pop divas without warning. But it’s cheap, and the hamburgers are killer. You can’t have everything, right?

“Where’d you go?” Kate continues to wave her hand in front of my face. Her fingers are stained with different colors of bright paint. She’s an artist. An artist with a six-figure bank account who doesn’t have to worry about making rent.

I give a disgusted snort. “I got a new job.”

“Where? At a funeral home?” she teases. “You look like death warmed over.”

I roll my eyes. “Worse,” I say, unable to keep a hint of irritation from creeping into my voice. I feel my best friends’ eyes on me. I know they’re waiting for every juicy detail. “I’m too fucking sober to even talk about it yet,” I mutter as I pull my wallet out of my purse. As soon as I open it, I remember I’ve only got two bucks in there. I can’t even afford a damn drink. If this isn’t poverty, I don’t know what is.

“I got it.” Kate puts her hand over mine with a smile.

“Next time, it’ll be on me.” My voice doesn’t sound convincing. We all know that of the three of us, Kate’s the only one who can afford to go clubbing. Or at least she’s the only one of us who doesn’t have to work at humiliating jobs to have a roof over her head.

Debbie, our server for the night, slams down three pink cocktails. I toss mine back without even thinking about its toxic ingredients, wrinkling my nose when the cheap drink hits my stomach and sets it on fire. I’m not picky about alcohol. I just need something to take the edge off. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the slimy skin of the boa constrictor. My stomach twists and I swallow hard, fighting down the urge to vomit, and not just because of the gross drink I just ingested.

I tip the glass to my lips, swallowing the last drops. “Let me give you a hint about my job. It involves things with more than two legs.”

“You’re working at a bug farm?” Sarah squeaks.

“A zoo?” Kate’s eyebrow shoots up. “After last time? Hell no.”

“Definitely not a zoo. Never fucking again.” My hand jumps to my hair as though those tiny monkey fingers are still tangled in it.

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