Page 2 of Asking Fur Trouble

“I can’t keep doing this, Martin. I?—”

“This attitude isn’t helping your case for that promotion, Bess,” he cut her off abruptly. “I expect you in the office tomorrow, nine sharp.”

The call ended with a click that felt more like a slap. Bess lowered her phone and tucked it into her purse as her vision blurred with tears.

A soft cough made her look up.

A petite older woman stood a few feet away, her white hair gleaming under the streetlamp. Her blue eyes, lined with the wisdom of decades, held an unexpected warmth. She wore an elegant burgundy coat despite the mild evening, and something about her bearing suggested old wealth and older secrets.

Bess quickly wiped at her eyes, mortified that a stranger had witnessed her professional humiliation. The woman’s gaze didn’t waver, neither judging nor pitying, but something more... evaluative.

Heat crept up Bess’s neck under the scrutiny. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly aware of how disheveled she must look after fourteen hours at her desk.

The woman tilted her head, her eyes sparkling in the lamplight. “You look like someone who could really use a stiff drink,” she said, her voice carrying the confidence of someone who knew things—important things. “I’m Gerri Wilder, by the way.”

She extended a manicured hand, her nails painted a perfect burgundy that matched her coat and the designer handbag hanging from her elbow.

Bess hesitated, then accepted the handshake. The woman’s grip was surprisingly strong for someone who couldn’t be more than five feet tall.

“Bess Campos,” she replied automatically, wondering why she was engaging with a total stranger. But something about Gerri’s presence felt... reassuring. “And honestly, a drink sounds amazing, but I should probably eat first. I haven’t had anything since...” She tried to remember when she had eaten last. The granola bar at her desk around noon?

“Darling, you’re practically fading away in front of me,” Gerri remarked knowingly. Her gaze raked over Bess with an intensity that felt almost physical. “I know a fantastic restaurant just around the corner. Best risotto in the city, and they make a martini that’ll make your toes curl.”

The way she said “curl” sent a strange tingle down Bess’s spine. Alarm bells should have been ringing. Following a stranger to a restaurant after dark wasn’t exactly Safety 101. But Gerri Wilder seemed more likely to arm-wrestle any potential threats into submission than pose one herself.

TWO

“Ireally should just go home,” Bess protested weakly, even as her stomach growled loud enough for both of them to hear.

Gerri’s perfectly shaped eyebrow arched. “Home to what exactly? Leftover takeout and paperwork?”

The accuracy of her guess made Bess blink. “How did you?—”

“Honey, you’re carrying enough tension in those shoulders to power a small city. Besides,” Gerri winked, “I know a workaholic when I see one. Takes one to know one.”

Against her better judgment, against the responsible voice that reminded her about her 9:00 AM Saturday obligation, Bess felt herself nodding. The prospect of sitting alone in her apartment with nothing but Martin’s disappointment echoing in her head suddenly seemed unbearable.

“Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

Gerri beamed, and for a second, Bess could have sworn her eyes flashed gold. It must have been a trick of the streetlight.

“Excellent decision! This way.”

Gerri looped her arm through Bess’s with the casual familiarity of an old friend and guided her down the street with a brisk pace that belied her small stature. Her designer heels clicked with purpose against the pavement as if each step was precisely calculated.

As they walked, Bess felt an odd sensation blooming in her chest. It took her a moment to recognize it as spontaneity—something so foreign to her carefully scheduled life that it nearly made her dizzy. Or perhaps that was just hunger.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Bess murmured, more to herself than to her companion.

Gerri patted her arm. “Sometimes the best decisions are the ones we don’t overthink. And trust me, darling—” she stopped in front of an unmarked door with only a small brass plaque indicating it was a business at all, “—you need this more than you know.”

Bess peered at the plaque that simply read “Stellato’s.” No menu posted and no hours listed. She lived in this neighborhood for three years and had never noticed this place before.

Gerri pushed the door open, and warm golden light spilled onto the sidewalk. The scent of butter, herbs, and something exotic Bess couldn’t name wafted out. Her stomach growled again in response.

When Bess stepped inside, she noticed how the restaurant defied its nondescript exterior. Vaulted ceilings with twinkling lights created the illusion of dining beneath stars. Plush velvet booths in deep jewel tones lined the walls, and in the center, a bar of polished stone gleamed. Despite the luxurious setting, only a handful of tables were occupied, their patrons engaged in hushed conversations.

A tall, impossibly elegant man materialized beside them. “Ms. Wilder, always a pleasure.” He bowed slightly. “Your usual table is ready.”

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