Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Incredible what a body can take. We are mismatched in so many ways, but we fit together perfectly.
That was fully sealed in my heart when we entered his penthouse and I met Seymour and Delilah, his cats.
They don’t just each have their own rooms with climbing walls and automatic feeders and cat box cleaners. They have a whole terrace, with real grass and some military-grade webbing that makes sure they can feel like they are outdoors without ever escaping and putting themselves in danger.
It was incredible seeing how the other half lives, but all that from a pet food chain? He’s got to be a billionaire from what I saw, and yeah, Bark and Purr is a great store and all, but doesn’t seem to be the entirety of what might be supporting that sort of lifestyle.
He acquiesced to Nana’s directive that I would be here one more night. They had some sidebar conversations that neither would explain when I asked, but after last night, the word on the street is, I won’t be sleeping here again.
A pinch of sadness squeezes around my heart at that.
Nana and I have been peas and carrots for so long. How will she feel without me here? Am I abandoning her? Especially with the stupid Mortons next door and their ridiculous ordinance proposal up for vote on Monday with the city council.
Duffield is sending over cat carriers for Butterbean, Misty, and Gumball. Nana tried to be strong when we talked about which cats would stay where, but Duffield assured her she would have full access to visit them anytime, then grumbled about her not staying in this house at all anymore, but she would hear none of that.
This is her home, she fought for it, paid for it... She can’t help that the neighborhood has turned all gentrified and polished. The conversation then turned to the Mortons, and it took all the sugar-coating and begging I could muster to keep Duffield from marching over there and doing some damage to them that would likely get him fifteen to life.
When he finally left last night at Nana’s order so we could have one last night of popcorn and Yellowstone—she has a hard thing for Rip—he said he would be watching me. So, why not give him a show?
Besides, I'm wearing my cat ears. Without them, I feel exposed in ways even nudity doesn't touch.
Butterbean stands on his hind legs, clawing at my thighs. Cute, but transparent in his demands. I scoop him into my arms and head downstairs, where a chorus of hungry meows greets me.
"Okay, okay, I get it!" I tell them, opening the cupboard. I swear they can tell time.
Each cat requires a special diet—premium blends I've meticulously formulated from the variety of foods I’ve pilfered. I feel kind of bad about that now, with things the way they are between me and Duffield. But I push the guilt aside because Butterbean needs a new batch, and he's thriving on what I've created. These foods cost a fortune—unless you know where to dumpster dive.
"I'm heading out," I announce to the furry crew like they understand, which, I honestly believe they do, grabbing Nana’s car keys keys and slinging an empty hold-all over my shoulder. "Back in thirty."
Nana is still in bed, but she knew I was going to take the car this morning for a food run, so I don’t bother to wake her to say goodbye.
The closest Bark and Purr isn't far, and they consistently discard bags and cans of great product. Entire trays of unopened cans with months before expiration. Their waste is my treasure when they don’t try to destroy it before it’s dumped.
Infuriating. It dumbfounds me. I bet Duffield doesn’t even know.
I mean, they’re sort of stealing from him, right? Throwing way perfectly good merchandise.
He needs to know, and I’ll be sure to tell him, but not before I load up and make sure my supply closet at the house is good and full. I don’t want to assume I’ll have access to money or free product. I mean, the bad decisions are multiplying already. I agreed to move in with a man I barely know, I could be pregnant with his baby right now, and I haven’t even bothered to discuss with him what the details of our living situation will be.
Love makes you do dumb things. Good dick and mouth work will too. I’m sex hazed and wearing rose colored glasses.
I mean, Duffield and I…what are we? Boyfriend doesn’t sound right. All this ‘I’m claiming you’, is that just something he uses on all the young assistants he hires? One of the office girls told me he goes through assistants like Leonardo DiCaprio goes through girlfriends. Similar age difference as well.
The ache between my legs reminds me that it’s gone beyond boyfriend. At least, if him saying I love you is any indication.