Page 42 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

Instead, it turns out that Logan Price is simply a self-centered, rich, hot veterinarian.

Definitely out of my league.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Emily

Ican’t get anything else out of Logan. Aside from the terse explanation he gave me about why Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Potter act like a couple of gossipy grandmas, all I learned is he’s not a mafioso or a professional hitman. My mind goes in weird directions sometimes.

At any rate, work progresses uneventfully. There are no unfortunate encounters with huge boa constrictors or bitchy Barbies who want their pets mutilated. The only thing annoying me is the crowd of women in the waiting room. I’m beginning to believe that the only reason ninety percent of the clients are of the female gender is the sexy vet waiting in the doorway.

The clinic has a distinct smell today, a blend of antiseptic, pet shampoo, and the overpowering floral perfume of Mrs. Reinhart’s poodle. She insists it’s therapeutic for Fluffy, but I’m pretty sure it’s giving me a migraine. The air conditioning is also on the fritz, making the small space uncomfortably warm and adding a hint of sweat to the olfactory medley. Yet no one seems to mind as long as Dr. Price will grace them with his presence.

Wait, why is he standing there?

He speaks, clenching his jaw. “Emily? Could you show the next patient in, please?”

Oops. I may be a little distracted.

“Of course!” I scan the appointment book to see who’s next. “Mrs. Hilton?”

I lift my gaze to see which woman will stand up. It’s like being catapulted intoThe Hunger Gamesor something. Only the strongest will survive and get the coveted prize: Logan Price.

Muzak plays in the background as the women look at each other. There’s tension in the air. Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance. One contestant grinds her teeth. Another curls her hands into fists. Another sets her jaw.

A bead of perspiration appears on my forehead as I watch the show. Who will be the victor?

Mrs. Jankowicz clutches her tabby cat’s carrier tighter to her chest as if preparing for battle. Mrs. Fitzgerald, whose teacup Yorkie matches her pink Chanel suit, straightens her spine and tosses her silver-streaked hair. The competition is brutal. These ladies have been honing their flirting skills since before I was born.

And then, there she is. Mrs. Hilton stands. She has long, straight blond hair and enormous hazel eyes framed with fake long lashes. High cheekbones. Sculpted red lips. A delicate upturned nose. She’s wearing a black sheath dress, and her narrow waist accentuates her abundant bosom. Her breasts are so perky I can’t tear my admiring eyes away from them for a few seconds. Her legs are long and slender, and she’s wearing a pair of red stiletto heels.

She’s fucking gorgeous. I have a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I recognize that feeling because it’s the same one I had in third grade when Becky Wilson got picked for the lead in the school play instead of me. Jealousy, with a side of inadequacy.Except this time, it’s worse because I don’t even have the right to feel possessive over Logan. He’s my boss, not my boyfriend.

Mrs. Hilton is carrying a crate with her pet inside. She undulates toward Logan, walking as if she owns the world. “Dr. Price,” she purrs. Literally.

The other women shoot daggers at her with their eyes, but she ignores them as she sets her hand on Logan’s forearm. Even her fingers are delicate, her nails long and red.

I look down at my bitten nails, ink-stained fingertips, and the slight burn on my thumb from a curling iron mishap last week. I’m about as elegant as a construction worker next to this woman. She probably has weekly manicure appointment, while I can’t even remember the last time I painted my nails.

When I return my gaze to Mrs. Hilton, Logan is smiling at her. I see red, and my claws come out. I feel like a fucking lioness that’s just come upon an intruder in her territory.

He’s mine.

The thought crashes into my consciousness with such force that it startles me. When did I start thinking of Logan as mine? And why do I want to vault over this desk and physically wedge myself between him and this woman?

“Logan,” I call, fluttering my eyelashes and pouting my lips, “can I do anything else for you right now?”

He regards me with his eyebrow raised. “No, Emily, thank you.”

“Okay,” I say, keeping up the pout. “Call me if you need me.”

He stops, his mouth slightly open, and a small frown creases his forehead. It’s like he wants to say something but decides against it. Instead, he shakes his head and turns back to Mrs. Hilton. “Shall we go into my office?” he asks her, opening the door to the back.

Barbie 2.0 gives me a last look before following my sexy vet. I know what she’s trying to tell me. She thinks she’s won.

For now, bitch. Only for now.

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