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)
His groan of frustration fills me with satisfaction as I bound from the bed, still naked, tail swinging behind me. I never take it off except to clean it—my constant reminder of our first day together.
"Evil woman." He props himself on his elbows, watching me saunter toward the bathroom.
"You love it." I blow him a kiss before disappearing to shower.
When I emerge, wrapped in a towel with my pink hair dripping, Duffield is on the phone—his business voice in full effect.
"I don't care how he feels about it. Either he accepts our terms, or he deals with the consequences." He pauses, noticing me. Something shifts in his expression—softening even as his words remain steel. "Handle it. I have more important matters today."
He ends the call, tossing the phone aside with practiced indifference. "Ready for your surprise?"
"What surprise?" I drop my towel deliberately, enjoying how his eyes darken.
"Get dressed, troublemaker." He smacks my ass as he passes to take his own shower. "Ingrid's meeting us there."
Ingrid. The sister. We've developed an uneasy truce these past months—her initial hostility gradually giving way to reluctant respect after I stood my ground during one of her intimidation attempts.
"You know he'll tire of the cat thing eventually," she'd said, examining her perfect manicure.
I'd just smiled. "I'm not worried."
"No? Why's that?"
"Because I've already made him my pet." I'd shown her the scratch marks down his back from the night before.
She'd stared for three heartbeats before erupting in genuine laughter—a sound that transformed her sharp features into something almost sweet.
We've been almost-friends since.
I dress in a black pencil skirt (Duffield's kryptonite), emerald silk blouse that matches my eyes, and my newest headband—platinum cat ears with tiny diamonds that match the collar I never remove from my throat.
In the kitchen, I feed our growing family of cats—now numbering twelve after Duffield insisted on adopting three strays we found behind his warehouse. The man who claimed to hate weakness can't resist a hungry kitten.
The ride to our mystery destination takes thirty minutes, during which Duffield's hand never leaves my thigh. His possessiveness hasn't diminished—if anything, it's intensified with time. The difference is he's learned to express it without caging me.
We pull up to an unfamiliar building only three minutes from the penthouse. Ingrid waits outside, tapping her stiletto with impatience.
"You're late," she announces as we exit the car.
"Blame your brother," I smile sweetly. "He needed extra attention this morning."
She wrinkles her nose. "Spare me the details."
Duffield just smirks, wrapping his arm around my waist. "You have everything?"
She holds up a folder and keys. "All set."
"Someone want to tell me what's happening?" I look between them.
"Follow me," Ingrid commands, unlocking the building's front door.
Inside, I'm greeted by a sleek, modern space with floor-to-ceiling windows and polished concrete floors. But what catches my attention are the custom-built cat structures integrated into the design—climbing walls, overhead walkways, window perches.
"What is this place?" I whisper, turning in a slow circle.
"Yours." Duffield's voice holds rare vulnerability. "If you want it."
Ingrid hands me the folder. Inside are property deeds, business licenses, and incorporation papers for "Tabby's Gourmet Pet Nutrition."
"I don't understand." My fingers trace the embossed logo—a stylized cat with my signature ears.
"You were right that night in the alley," Duffield explains. "About waste and need. About your independence." He gestures around. "I've watched you mixing foods for our cats, creating special blends. You have talent."
"So big brother decided to channel it," Ingrid continues. "This is a production facility, test kitchen, and retail space. You can develop your own pet food line, focusing on natural ingredients and minimal waste."
"But how—"
"I'm divesting my pet store holdings," Duffield interrupts. "Selling everything except this. And this isn't mine—it's yours. Your business, to run however you see fit."
Emotion clogs my throat. Independence wrapped in support—the perfect gift.
"I drew up the contracts myself," Ingrid adds. "He can't take it back, even if you dump his ugly ass."
I laugh through sudden tears. "I'm not planning to."
"There's more," Duffield says, leading me toward the back.
A door opens to reveal a fully furnished apartment—spacious, modern, and clearly designed with both human and feline comfort in mind.
"For Nana," he explains. "She's already approved it. Close enough for visits but far enough for privacy. Her bridge club can meet in the community room downstairs."
The tears flow freely now. "What about her house? You got it all fixed up for her.”
“She misses you. And you miss her. Fifteen miles is too far.”
“You did all this for me?"
"For us," he corrects. "Happy cat, happy life."
Ingrid makes a gagging sound. "And that's my cue to leave. Grand opening is scheduled for next month. The contractors need your approval on final touches." She hands me another set of keys. "Don't fuck it up."
With that parting wisdom, she click-clacks toward the exit, pausing at the door. "Family dinner Sunday. Don't be late."