Working Stiff:Casimir (Runaway Billionaires #1)(22)

Oh, so formal. Not that anything was weird between them. No, sirree.

She said, "Since it's Sunday, I'm going to the animal shelter where I volunteer. Do you want to come along?"

See? She was totally nonchalant. It wasn't that darned hard.

Nevermind the fact that she had dreamed about Cash all damn night long.  Every time she turned around in her dreams, he was there, holding out  his hand, looming over her, whispering, "Say yes."

No wonder he could have any woman he wanted.

In the brilliant morning sunshine streaming from behind the house, Cash  gestured to his laptop. "I've been working on Valerie's contracts. I did  a spreadsheet this morning, and it appears that ten percent of them  have gross irregularities. We need more evidence before we confront  her."

Spreadsheet? Rox revised her coffee estimate to three cups. He must have gotten up early.

Or not slept.

She said, "Come with me. The shelter is pretty close to here."

"I really can't."

"Come on, give me company. They give newbie volunteers the cushy jobs like walking the good dogs and socializing the kittens."

He typed something, bit his lower lip for a moment, and then said, "I  was terribly drunk last night. I don't remember a damn thing. Did  anything happen?"

He was dodging the subject and ghosting again, saying that the kiss was  just an illusion, that they could turn it to gossamer and blow it away  like it had never existed.

Like hell.

Rox braced her hands on the arms of his chair and leaned over his laptop screen.

Cash looked up at her, startled. The bruises and scrapes from the  accident had mostly healed, and he was gorgeous, stunning Cash Amsberg  again except for that damn bandage on his face.

She said, "Don't tell me that that kiss didn't exist. That kiss meant  the world to me, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. It was real.  Don't pretend that it didn't happen."                       
       
           



       

"You're married," he said. The flatness in his voice disturbed her. "It didn't matter."

"It mattered to me," she said. "Even if nothing can go any further  between us because it'll just end badly and hurt everyone, it mattered  to me." That was all the truth.

He stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. "You're married," he  said, his eyes turning kind. "I can't even argue because you're  married."

She didn't want to say, What if I wasn't? because the answer was obvious.

If she wasn't married, he would have fucked and chucked her by now because that was what he always did.

"Fine," she said. "We won't argue. Come to the animal shelter with me."

If she hadn't been right in his face, close enough to kiss him with only  a quick move, she would have missed the subtle shuttering of his eyes  and his faint sigh. His glance down looked like the whole world had come  crashing down on him.

He said, "No thanks," and began to type.

"You haven't left this house since you came home from the hospital  except for doctors' appointments, and then it's run in, run out, and no  stops on the way home."

"I've been recovering." His tone wasn't petulant. It was flat, just flat, just stating his truth.

Every ounce of energy had drained out of him. Emotionally, he was lying on the floor with his eyes closed.

She said, "Tomorrow, you have to go to the office for the Watson  contract discussion. You have to tell them about the irregularities in  the wording."

"We'll consider that tomorrow." He went back to typing.





GIMME SHELTER





Rox walked into the animal shelter, way out on a county road, staggering  under a thirty-pound bag of cat food on one shoulder and a thirty-pound  bag of dog food on the other. "Yo! Brandy! I'm here!"

Brandy, short for Brandiwine Washington, bustled out of the back room.  "Ho, there! Long time, no see! What are you doing!" She hurried over and  dragged at one of the bags. "Gimme that."

"It weighs as much as you do!" Rox protested, grabbing at it, but Brandy already had it in her wiry arms.

"You don't have to buy these, you know."

"And yet these animals have to be fed somehow."

"The county is supposed to feed them."

"I know you buy food for the shelter out of your own pocket, and there's another bag of cat food in the car."

Brandy's thin arms were dark stripes grappling the white bag. "That's immaterial."

"Come on. I'm just itchin' to clean out those litter boxes."

Brandy snorted. "Good. We have a noob coming in this afternoon. I want  this place to smell nice so that she'll come back. I think I'll have her  socialize the kittens."

"Oh, that's a rough job, playing with the kittens." Rox thumped the bag  of cat food on the floor in the food storage area. "But I guess someone  has to do it."

"Speaking of wild cats, someone brought in a stray. From the look of  her, I think she's feral, but she might just be frightened out of her  little wits. I don't know what we're going to do if she's truly feral.  Why don't you see if you can make some headway with her?"

Rox stretched her back. "Aren't the Emersons taking any more barn cats?"

Brandy shook her head. "They're full up. We've got to find a new farm with a nice, solid barn for any new feral cats."

"Oh." Not a lot of farms needed barn cats in urban L.A. "Well, I'll take a look at her."

"I tried to call you yesterday," Brandy said, hefting the heavy sack  over her head and pouring the kibble into a dispenser. "Your phone was  disconnected."

"Yeah, I'm staying with a friend. Call my cell."

Brandy glared at her. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I kind of got evicted from my apartment because of the cats."

"And you didn't call me?"

"You have five slavering pit bulls."

"They are harmless little boo-boo puppies."

No, they weren't, but at least Rox never worried about Brandy being a  victim of a home invasion. They would find nothing but torn pieces of  any guy who tried to hurt Brandy, assuming that the dogs didn't just eat  the body entirely. "I really am staying with a friend. He's got a  really nice house. The motley crew is having a great time exploring."

"Friend, huh?" Brandy wiggled her barely-there eyebrows.

"Just a friend. He was in a car accident, so I'm just making sure that  he's okay. But I think he may be trying to steal my cats when I move out  in a couple of weeks."                       
       
           



       

"Tell him that we've got dozens here that he can have his pick of."

"I think he wants mine."

"You into him?"

"He seems like a nice guy, but I don't know."

"Like what?" Brandy dusted off her hands.

"He just seems like the type to take off, you know? To leave? I've known  him for three years, and he's ghosted on a couple girlfriends since  then."

Brandy fixed Rox with her huge, liquid brown eyes. "That must be hard for you."

Rox said, "I'm all right with it."

"Yeah?" Brandy didn't look away.

"Yeah. Of course."

Brandy was still staring at her. They had spent too many weekends in  there, scrubbing kitty litter boxes side-by-side and talking. They had  talked about everything.

Everything.

Even things that absolutely no one else knew, things they both were trying to run away from.

Rox said, "I mean it. It doesn't bother me. I'm not dating him."

Brandy nodded. "But it bothers you anyway."

"I didn't like seeing those other women get hurt. I don't like what it  says about him. He seems like a great guy in every other way. It's just  the disappearing act."

"Yeah," Brandy said.

Rox shrugged. "It's like he drops off the face of the Earth for these women."

"Yeah," Brandy said. "It's like he-" She waited, batting her eyelashes.

"Fine," Rox said. "It's like he dies. It's like he doesn't care about what he does to those people he leaves behind."

"There it is." Brandy took one step over and hugged her, her skinny little arms wrapping around Rox's chubbiness like ribbons.

Rox hugged her back.

Brandy said, "You tell him he can't have any of my cats. If he isn't  willing to give them a forever home, I'll just keep them here until I  find someone worthwhile."





Later, Rox crouched beside the open door of one of the kennels. The  stainless steel multiplex of kennels rose five doors high and eight  across. Inside, each had a litter box, a bed, food and water bowls, and  one or two sleeping cats.

"Here, kitty," she whispered.

The gray cat flattened herself against the back of the kennel, spitting.  Her matted and clumped fur stuck out all over her, and other patches  were raw skin where she had been chewing it and pulling it out.