Page 10 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

“Here.” I hand her the supplies. “This should get you started.”

“I can’t take all this,” she protests. “I can’t pay?—”

I cut her off. “Consider it a rescue donation. The clinic does charity cases from time to time.”

Her eyebrows rise. “And this qualifies because...?”

“Because I said so.” My tone leaves no room for argument. “Congratulations. You’re the new mom of a lovely kitten.”

I turn away as she collapses into a chair. She’ll manage. I stride down the corridor to my private office, shaking my head. The most maddening woman I’ve ever encountered. The door slams behind me as I enter. I need a minute to calm down and command my rebellious body to cool off. Never has a woman affected me this way. It must be the near-accident, the adrenaline. I almost hit her, after all. Normal to have chaotic emotions. Once she’s gone, everything will return to normal.

Adrenaline. That explains it. Today stressed me beyond measure, and tonight pushed me even further. Tomorrow, it will be water under the bridge. Tomorrow, both the kitten’s and Emily’s faces will fade from memory. I grab her paperwork with renewed resolve.

Emily will be forgotten tomorrow, but I love my work as a vet, so perhaps I’ll request she return for a kitten follow-up, just for the animal’s welfare. Professional.

Not.

Even the walls in my office know I’m full of shit.

CHAPTER FOUR

Emily

I’m about to puke. How the fuck did I end up adopting a cat? I’m still sitting on the chair in his exam room, the sharp antiseptic smell making my stomach clench. I don’t have the strength to get up.

Logan sets some papers on it and pulls a pen out of his pocket. “Name?” Before I can open my mouth to respond, he shakes his head, his dark blond hair falling across his forehead. “Last name?”

I decide to remain silent. If I don’t say anything and close my eyes, maybe all this will disappear. It’s nothing more than a bad dream.

“Emily, I need you to give me your information.”

I sigh and put my hand in my pocket to pull out my license, which I give him. The infernal little beast is staring at me from inside her cage with unblinking yellow eyes that follow my every movement, calculating and cold.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I murmur, my voice barely audible over the hum of the clinic’s ventilation system. Not just because the cat so obviously hates me, but also because mylandlord continues to breathe down my neck about the rent I’m already two weeks late on. He’s waiting for the right moment to kick me out. I don’t think he’ll be too pleased when he finds out I brought a stray cat home with me.

And to think I was feeling almost optimistic about my future only a few hours ago. The pizza delivery tips had been decent for once, and I calculated that another good night might actually put me within reach of paying the water bill.

“You’re twenty-two,” he says after taking my license and looking at it. It’s not a question, yet he looks at me as if he wants confirmation. A flicker of surprise in his eyes makes me wonder what he’s thinking.

“Yep.” I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant despite the way my heart speeds up under his scrutiny. “How old are you?” The question slips out before I can stop it, curiosity overriding my brain-to-mouth filter.

Logan fixes his green eyes on me, his expression indecipherable but somehow softening around the edges. His lips part as if he’s about to answer, then press together in a thin line. A few moments pass, and the silence is broken only by the distant sound of barking from another room. When I think he’s about to answer me, he turns his gaze back to the forms.

“Thirty,” he finally murmurs so quietly I almost miss it. Then more firmly, “I’m thirty.” He clears his throat and returns to his paperwork without further elaboration, a slight flush creeping up his neck.

Silence fills the room as he continues to write. Meanwhile, the cat stares at me as if she’s trying to tell me she will put me through hell.You’ll never get rid of me. I’ll destroy everything you own, starting with those pathetic shoes.

“You can’t take the cat on your scooter.”

I blink, confused. It takes me a few seconds to understand what he’s saying. When I do, the only answer I can find to give him is a snort. Classy.

I’m stuck with that infernal little beast, like it or not. Though now that I think about it, I’m not even sure how I would have managed to balance a cat carrier on my scooter anyway, especially with the front wheel wobbling after the accident. “Fine. I’ll take the subway.”

“I’ll take you,” he says, gathering the papers on the table. “These are yours.” He hands me two sheets. One has my information and his report on the condition of the little hell-spawn, and the other has numbers on it. “Those are my phone numbers and the one for the clinic,” he explains, pulling out what appears to be cat food and something else I can’t identify—medications, maybe, or supplements. “This will last you for a couple of days.” He puts everything into a paper bag. “I’ll need you to come back tomorrow for a follow-up appointment.”

“I don’t need it. I’m fine, thank you,” I mutter, assuming he’s talking about my scrapes and bruises.

He raises an eyebrow, and I see a hint of amusement. “For the cat. I meant, bring the cat back so I can look at her.”

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