Page 1 of Anyone But the Boss

1

THOMAS

I never understood the appeal of a hairless pussy.

‘Here, hold him.’ Chase thrusts said pussy in my direction, holding him out over the massive Persian rug in our father’s office, like baby Simba over Pride Rock.

Except it isn’t a cute and cuddly lion being offered up to the savannah as the heir to the animal kingdom. It’s a bald, wrinkled adolescent cat.

‘Absolutely not.’ My arms remain firmly at my sides.

‘Oh, come on, man.’ He jiggles the cat, like that somehow makes him more appealing. ‘Mikey’s a good guy, you just need to get to know him.’

I watch as two skin folds morph into one as it twists in his owner’s hands. I don’t even bother hiding my disdain. ‘I have no desire to get to know your cat.’

‘Fine.’ Chase huffs a defeated breath and lowers the feline to the floor.

As if knowing he was stoutly rejected, the cat levels me with a snide look then begins licking his balls. The visual is an eyesore in and of itself, but the noise… the noise is enough to make my morning protein shake churn in my stomach.

Pointing at the offending animal, I level my stare at my brother. ‘If that stains the carpet, you will reimburse the company from your personal account.’

With a deep, offending sigh, Chase scoops up his cat and deposits it on the upholstered chair in front of my desk.

Like that’s any better.

With the cat moved and the licking over, Chase throws what some female employees at Moore’s refer to as a ‘charming look’ in my direction. ‘Looking forward to cat-sitting while I’m on my honeymoon?’

I do not find my brother charming. In fact, a few months ago I might have said that I disliked my brother. Though that would’ve been a lie.

He leans over the back of the chair to pat his pet, looking like he’s tenderizing a chicken breast.

‘I thought Bell wanted him to come with you.’

He stops patting his pet long enough to look up at me like a kid who dropped his ice cream cone. ‘Bell always wants Mikey with her.’

I’m not the best at social cues, but… ‘Are you jealous of your cat?’ Confused, I point at the beady-eyed, loose-skinned beast with more indecent exposure violations than Marilyn Manson – and less physical attractiveness. ‘That cat?’

Another shrug. ‘Maybe.’

I’m not surprised often, but I am surprised that he’d admit to such a thing. But then again Chase has always been good about expressing himself. One of the many, many ways we differ.

But in the name of turning over a new leaf, now that our father is in prison and Chase and I have begun mending our fences, I attempt to express myself. ‘I don’t like animals.’

See? Emotional growth. I can change.

Chase’s expression falls.

‘And I especially don’t like ugly animals.’

He clutches his chest like an old lady would her pearls. The cat, as if understanding my words, resumes his licking.

‘Ask Mother.’ I’d rather not pass the buck, or the cat, as it were, but our mother lives in a six-thousand-square-foot mansion complete with a bevy of maids that will cater to Mike’s every catnip desire. And I’m sure, if paid enough, one will even pet the damn thing.

‘Mom’s going on that singles cruise.’

To say that Emily Moore, the matriarch of the Moore fortune, is enjoying divorced life, would be an understatement.

‘And Liz is…’ Chase shrugs.

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