Page 41 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

The Saint Bernard cocks his head to the side as if considering my claim, then trots off toward Logan's bedroom. At least someone in this apartment knows where his loyalty lies.

To my great surprise, I manage to get ready in record time. Or at least record time for me. Pulling my hair back into a ponytail saves me a lot of time. I emerge from my room wearing a yellow pencil skirt and a white blouse. I have my favorite heels on, with my bag in one hand and my coat in the other.

It's so nice not to have to wear an ugly orange uniform or a hideous chicken costume. And even though this isn't exactly the job I imagined myself in, I'm beginning to like it. Having the sexiest boss in the world is a plus.

The mere thought of Logan is enough to make him appear in the living room. I could spend hours drooling over him, but it wouldn't be professional.

Yeah, right. As if playing with myself while fantasizing about him and jumping on top of him every time he turns around is. Sometimes I don't even understand how my own mind works.

“Ready to go?” Logan's voice interrupts my twisted thoughts.

I give him a bright smile. “Yes, sir!”

His eyes light up as he surveys me from head to toe, and his Adam's apple moves up and down as he swallows. His jaw tightens slightly. With a quick nod, he walks past me toward the front door.

Weird.

I follow him. Before going out the door, I pause to look around. I haven't seen Bob or Demon this morning, which is odd. “Um, Logan, are you sure it's a good idea to leave the animals alone here?”

Like me, he turns back and sweeps his eyes around the apartment, looking for the two pests. “Don't worry about it. Mrs. Potter will be here in a minute and take care of them.”

“Who's Mrs. Potter?” I've never heard him mention that name before.

“His housekeeper, obviously!” This doesn't come from Logan. The person I imagine to be the mysterious Mrs. Potter is standing behind him. She's barely five feet tall, if that, and has a classic sweet grandma kind of face. Her gray hair is pulled back into a perfect chignon, and small wrinkles appear around her mouth as she gives me a warm smile.

“Good morning, Mary,” Logan says, turning around and hugging her.

“No, no,” Mrs. Potter admonishes him. “Let me go, my boy. I want to see your new friend.” She pushes him to one side and walks up to me, adjusting her glasses and regarding me with a serious expression. “How do you do, Miss?—”

“Baker. Emily Baker,” I say, shifting nervously from foot to foot. I put out my hand for her to shake, but she pushes it away and enfolds me in a tight embrace.

“I'm so happy to finally see a woman in this place!”

I stand there wordlessly. First of all, I don't know what to say to her. And two, Mrs. Potter is squeezing me so tightly I can barely breathe.

“Mary,” Logan says, “let Emily go now, or we'll be late to work.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Potter steps back just far enough to look at my face. “So you're the new receptionist!”

My eyes go from her to the man standing behind her.

“Amelia's told me so much about you!” She pats my cheek a couple of times before releasing me. “I'm going to call her right away to tell her I finally got to meet you. She won't believethat you're here!” She prances toward the kitchen, and I see her rummaging in her purse, probably looking for her cell phone.

Logan shakes his head and motions for me to follow him. The door closes behind us, and I can't contain myself any longer. “Why are your housekeeper and your ex-admin talking about me?”

“They've been friends for years.” Logan takes a deep breath. “And they both love to gossip.”

“No, no, Mr. Boss. You're not getting away with vague answers this time.” I press my index finger against his chest. “Talk.”

He looks down at my finger, then back at my face. For a moment, I think he's going to brush me off again, but then his expression softens slightly.

“Amelia was my babysitter when I used to go to my grandparents' house during the summers, and Mary was their housekeeper. Long story short, after my grandparents died and left me their estate, I decided to keep both of them on. They needed a job, and I needed help.”

I study him for a few seconds. I know there's more to the story, but I'll have to content myself with his brief, concise explanation for now.

As we step into the elevator, I find myself wondering about Logan's childhood. He doesn't talk about his parents, only his grandparents. And the way Mrs. Potter hugged him is not an ordinary employer-employee relationship. There's history there, and I am increasingly curious about what shaped the man standing beside me.

At least now, I know he inherited his money from his grandparents. For a second, when I first entered his fortress of solitude, I was afraid he might be mixed up in some shady business.

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