Page 17 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

“I was starting to think you’d forgotten me,” I say, trying to keep my voice light.

“I had back-to-back appointments,” he replies without a hint of apology. His eyes drift to the carrier. “Is that the cat from last night?”

“The one and only,” I confirm.

“Follow me.”

I follow Logan down the corridor to the same exam room from last night. The hallway feels narrower in daylight, and I can’t help but notice the framed diplomas on the wall. Dr. Logan Price graduated with honors from Cornell University’s College of Veterinary Medicine.

“Emily?”

“Yes?” I give him a brilliant smile, hoping he doesn’t notice how my heart is racing.

“Your cat,” he reminds me, gesturing at the carrier I’m still holding in a death grip.

“So, I kind of have an emergency. Well, not exactly an emergency-emergency,” I babble, suddenly feeling foolish. “More like a minor situation. A situational emergency. An emergent situation?”

One dark blond eyebrow lifts slightly. “Are you okay, Emily?”

“Yes! I’m fine. Peachy, really. It’s the demon. Er, I mean, my cat. She has a cut on her paw.” I thrust the carrier forward like an offering. “It’s probably nothing, but I thought better safe than sorry, right? I mean, what if it gets infected? Or what if she needs stitches? Or what if?—”

“Why don’t we take a look?” he interrupts, mercifully ending my verbal diarrhea. “Can you put the crate on the table and open it so I can check her out?”

“Sure.” My hands tremble as I set the carrier down and fumble with the latch. The moment I open the door, Demon begins to hiss like a pressure valve on the verge of explosion and shoots out a paw, scratching me across the back of my hand. “You little shit,” I hiss back, jerking my hand away.

Behind my back, Logan laughs. The sound is deep and rich, oddly attractive despite being at my expense.

“There’s nothing to laugh about.” I suck on the scratch to ease the sting. “That little monster has been trying to kill me since the minute I met her.”

He steps up to the exam table and puts his hand into the carrier, his movements sure and confident. I half expect Demon to take his arm off at the elbow, but instead, she allows him to remove her from the carrier. She even has the audacity to start purring. Traitor.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, stroking her fur with practiced hands. “She’s just scared and needs some time to adjust. She doesn’t know you yet, Emily.”

“If you say so.” I don’t believe him, not even a little. “Um, about yesterday?—”

Don’t do it, Emily. Do. Not. Say. It.

“What about yesterday?” His brow furrows, his focus still on examining the cat.

“Your... offer,” I murmur. Shit, I did it. I clear my throat, which has suddenly gone dry. “Last night, after you treatedmy cuts, you mentioned something about needing help at the clinic?”

“What offer? Could you be more specific?” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at me with a tentative smile.

“Okay,” I burst out, my words tumbling over each other. “I just wanted to know if you were serious about offering me a job here... with you.”

He taps his chin with his index finger, regarding me thoughtfully. “I seem to remember you definitely didn’t want this job.”

Heat rises to my cheeks. He’s right. I scoffed at the idea last night, too proud and stubborn to accept what seemed like charity. “Well, um, things are a little different now.”

“I understand, but tell me, why should I give you a second chance?” His voice isn’t unkind, but there’s a challenge in it. “What makes you think you’re qualified to work in a veterinary clinic?”

“I—” I gulp, swallowing my pride. “I’m desperate, Logan. I know you don’t know me, but I saw your receptionist, and I think you need someone a little less”—I struggle to find a polite word—“someone a little younger.”

“Mrs. Moore has been with me since I opened this clinic,” he says, a note of loyalty in his voice. “She’s practically family.”

“I didn’t mean—” I begin, but he holds up a hand.

“But,” he continues, “she has been asking to retire for years. I just haven’t found the right person to replace her.” His eyes sweep over me, assessing. “You’d need training. The software we use isn’t complicated, but there’s a learning curve. The filing system has its quirks. And the clients?—”

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