Working Stiff(10)

She breathed in the subtle scent of his cologne and natural musk.

Her shoulder warmed, and she realized that, instead of wrapping his arms around her, he was stroking her shoulder and upper arm. He whispered somewhere near her hair, “Roxanne, tell me. I’ll help you.”

“Something stupid happened,” she admitted.

He took a deep breath, and his chest expanded. She angled her head, and his suit brushed her cheek.

Cash asked, “Did you have an auto accident? Is there a legal problem, perhaps you panicked and left? I can help you with that. I’ll bring the full power of this firm into play.”

“Nothing like that. It’s just—I got evicted from my apartment.”

A pause.

Which lengthened.

He finally asked, “You live in an apartment?”

“I’ve really only been making good money the last couple years, and I was saving for a down payment for a house, but I bought the car.”

“I don’t need to know this.” He shook his head and stepped back to peer down at her. Her forehead chilled. “Why would you be evicted?”

“They found out about the cats. The lease said no pets. And the eviction notice was effective immediately. They put a bolt on my door. I just took my cats and some clothes and left.”

“You can’t be evicted without due process. An eviction proceeding usually takes months, even if there is a lease violation.”

Cash looked down at their feet.

Pirate leaned so hard against Rox’s leg that her knee almost buckled, and his bottle-brush tail coiled around her thigh like a furry snake.

“I suppose I shouldn’t ask why you even have cats, then,” he said, “if the lease forbade them.”

“I volunteer at an animal shelter on Sundays. These guys were so sad. They needed someone to love them. And I did. So I took them home.”

“Even though your apartment had a no-pets policy.”

“I figured that it was easier to ask for forgiveness than to get permission.”

“I don’t think you received either.”

“Look at this little guy.” Rox hoisted him into her arms, burying her fingers in his deep fur. Pirate tucked his forehead under her chin and purred hard. “He was so depressed, living in that little cage for months. How could I just walk away from him?”

Cash stared at the cat—at his ruined ears, the blank fur where his eye used to be, and the scarred pits where he was missing some of his yellow fur—and his eyebrows rose with skepticism. “I’ll leave that to your judgment.”

“I couldn’t,” she said, scratching him under the chin, and Pirate closed his yellow eye in happiness.

“And the others?”

“Same thing. They needed me.”

A slow smile crept over Cash’s face. “It would not have occurred to me that you would rescue three motheaten cats at some risk to yourself. You’re a sweet person, Rox.”

“I am not. You take that back.” She set Pirate down on his paws. He sat and washed his flat face with a paw.

Cash watched the cat smear spit on his face. “So where have you been staying?”

“That’s kind of the problem,” she admitted.

“Oh?” His query was laced with wariness, and he began watching her more closely again.

“I couldn’t find a hotel that took animals, and I swear to God, all my friends are allergic or have aggressive dogs or something.”

Cash looked horrified again. “So where have you been staying?”

“I’ve been sleeping in my car and showering at my gym.”

“In your car? You can’t sleep in your car in Los Angeles. There are homeless persons, and vagrants, and criminals. It’s not safe. You can’t do that.”

“I didn’t have any other options,” she said.

“Of course you did. You could have called me. I’m not allergic to cat hair—”

“It’s actually the dander, not the hair.”

“—and I don’t have a dog to frighten them.”

Rox fidgeted, digging her toe into the flat carpet. “But, you’re a guy.”

“Does not follow,” he said, his eyebrows drawing farther down. That was lawyer-speak for something illogical or that he couldn’t understand.

“I can’t ask a guy if I can come sleep on his couch. It implies things.”

“Gender propriety rules do not apply when you are homeless. This is appalling.” Cash ran one hand through his hair.

And yet she had no choice. There was one damn good reason why she hadn’t told him. “And, you’re you.”

“What on Earth is that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“You’re Cash Amsberg. You’re that guy in the office.”