Page 29 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

My face burns. “What? No!” I fix an if-looks-could-kill stare on Kate. “A kid brought in his pet, which just happened to be a boa constrictor. You know, actual reptile? With scales and fangs?”

“Gross!”

“Yeah, gross. My asshole boss forced me to hold on to the damn thing while he was doing surgery on it. It was horrible.” Not to mention how he stood behind me, his hands over mine. The heat of his chest against my back.

Kate reads my damn mind. “But is he hot? This boss guy?”

“So not the point.” Blood rushes to my face like a fire hose.

“That’s definitely a yes!” She looks ready to high-five herself.

“Are you sure you want to keep working there?” Sarah looks worried about me. About me and probably about all the poor, defenseless animals that will come into contact with me.

But it’s not like I had a choice, right? And I still haven’t told them that my asshole boss looks like something out ofGQ, even if he does have a stick up his ass. All I can do is drink. I’m going to get so drunk I’ll still be feeling the effects on Monday morning when I go to work. Either that or I could bring a flask of whiskey and drink it whenever I have a break. One thing’s for sure, though, I’ll do whatever it takes to hang on to this job.

“So”—Kate raises her glass—“to Emily’s new job! May it last longer than the chicken suit gig!”

Sarah giggles. “Or the dog walking disaster!”

My empty glass clinks against theirs. Does that show determination on my part? Nah, it’s more about the two bucks in my wallet and the pile of bills I have to pay. Desperation, not determination.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Logan

Aweek. She’s stuck it out a whole damn week. After that mess with Mark and his boa, Rico, I figured she’d be long gone. Gotta hand it to the little kitten, she’s got bite.

The clinic feels different since Emily showed up. Maybe it’s how she hums while filing or those flowers she keeps dragging in for the front desk.

Mrs. Moore’s finally bailing today. I’ll miss her, but she’s earned her retirement. Weird how she keeps calling Emily Abigail, though. They’re huddled at the desk now, Mrs. Moore’s glasses sliding down her nose while she shows Emily that scheduling program for the millionth time.

“You two won’t burn the place down without me,” Amelia says, wandering over to pat my cheek. Her hands still smell like that lavender crap she’s used forever since I was that stupid kid who fell out of a tree at my grandparents’ place and she patched me up.

“Take care, Amelia.” I pull her in for a hug. God, she feels small. Time’s a bitch.

She tugs her sweater straight and heads for Emily. “Call if you need help, Abigail.” She pinches Emily’s cheek hard enough to make her yelp. The spot turns bright red.

“I’ll figure it out somehow, Mrs. Moore.”

Amelia scowls. “No booze at work, missy. We talked about this.”

Emily turns tomato-red, a blush crawling down her neck. “I meant I’ll be fine. I wasn’t saying I’d need to drink...” Her voice dies. “Nothing. I’ll miss you, Mrs. Moore.”

Amelia gives her the death stare before sighing and bear-hugging her. Over Emily’s shoulder, she mouths at me, “Watch her.”

I nod automatically. Never argue with Amelia’s weird sixth sense about people.

The bell jingles as she leaves, and suddenly, it’s just Emily and me in dead silence.

“Never seen Amelia go soft like that,” I mutter, grabbing some files. Paperwork is the world’s best shield when shit gets awkward.

“She’s cool,” Emily says, then drops her voice. “Kind of a weirdo, though.”

“What was that alcohol comment about?” I shouldn’t ask, but my mouth moves faster than my brain.

Her face goes red again. “Nothing,” she mumbles, suddenly fascinated by the appointment cards.

“Come on, now I’m dying to know.” None of my business, but something about Emily makes me want to peel back all her layers.

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