Paws Up for Love Page 4

  It was that kind of attitude that had persuaded her to run to the altar with Tom. But no more. She was breaking free of the Harper Childbearing Philosophy. "Mo? Help me."

  Monica sighed and rested her chin on her hands. "You have to admit, it would be pretty cool to be married to a gorgeous hunk who pampered you all day, so you could have lots of kids and not worry about money."

  "Great. You've been brainwashed too."

  Monica sat up. "But it would never work with the wrong guy."

  "Thank you." Vindication at last. A small victory, but she'd take it.

  "It won't work without a man either," her mom said. "You have to open your mind."

  "By taking a payoff from some dude? You really want me to be indebted to Buddy's brother? What if he's a crook too? What if he shows up on my doorstep in two weeks with a couple of thugs to break my knee caps if I don't pay up or become a stripper at his night club?"

  "He has a nightclub?" Monica perked up. "Where?"

  "I was being hypothetical."

  "Oh."

  "It's not a payoff," her mom said. "He still owes you eighty-nine grand."

  "He doesn't owe me. His brother does."

  "They're family. It's all the same."

  That was it. No more. "Taking money from a man isn't what I need right now." She ripped the check in half and threw it on the table. "Mo? Can I move in with you?"

  "Of course." Monica picked up the pieces. "You sure about this?"

  Josie's mom shook her head in dismay. "I'm worried about you, Josie. I don't want you to end up alone and miserable."

  "I won't be. I'll be a highly accomplished career woman living the family life vicariously through my nineteen nieces and nephews."

  And she'd keep telling herself that until she believed it. She had to find happiness within herself, because she certainly sucked at finding it with men.

  Chapter 5

  Don't get involved, Evan.

  "Is everything okay?"

  He snapped a grim smile to his face and looked at his admin, who was poking her head around his office door. "Just fine, Bertie. Why?"

  "You look more tense than usual." She set a stack of files on his desk. "For your signature."

  "Thanks." He stared blankly at the files, trying to remember what they were for, but all he could think about was Josie. Had she let her landlord cash the check? Or was she homeless? The deadline had been this afternoon.

  No. He didn't care. It wasn't his problem.

  "Anything you need?" Bertie drummed her fingers on the doorjamb, her motherly features twisted into a knot of concern. "Are you getting sick?"

  Evan leaned back in his chair and clasped his arms behind his head, studying the woman who'd been his assistant since his first day at work, when he was a bumbling no one. She'd been good to him, and he'd taken her with him each step of the way. As his assistant, she was now earning more money than he'd been making when he started, as a neophyte financial analyst. With her doting ways and sharp tongue, she was the closest thing he had to a mother. "Bertie. I have a question for you."

  She lifted a silver eyebrow. "Yes?"

  "If you thought someone was lying to you, but you weren't sure, what would you do?"

  If she was rattled by the question, she didn't show it. "Find out whether you're right. Then you can decide what to do."

  He felt like cracking his head against his desk. Obviously! Obsessing about Josie had to stop if he had any chance of a functioning brain.

  "Tell me more." Bertie walked into his office and sat down in one of his client chairs, crossing her ankles properly, as she always did. Bertie was the queen of propriety and etiquette. Back when he was a greenhorn, she'd taught him how to match his tie to his suit, how to order wine and behave in a way the old Boston elite would consider proper. Without Bertie, he never would have made it in a profession that revolved around being part of the sect of society that valued blue blood, sophistication, and class. Now he was a successful financial consultant with an almost enviable list of clients.

  He trusted Bertie, and she'd never let him down. He'd already forbidden her from retiring until he did, but with twenty years on him, he doubted she'd hold out.

  "What's going on, Evan?"

  "There's this woman..."

  "Ah. A woman." A gleam came into Bertie's eyes. "You don't usually have a problem with women. Someone special?"

  Evan scowled. "It's not like that."

  "Then what?" That gleam didn't fade.

  "She says Buddy stole from her and she's trying to find him." Bertie was one of the few people who knew the truth about his past. He'd had to confide, to explain why he knew absolutely nothing about the finer elements of society, and to get her help in hiding that fact.

  Even staid Bertie couldn't hide her look of surprise. "Buddy? He's back?"

  "I don't know. I think she's lying."

  "Ah. But you want to believe her."

  "It's not a matter of wanting to believe her. It's just..." What was it? Oh, right. "It's just that I have an obligation to make amends if Buddy did steal from her."

  "Why do you continue to clean up after Buddy? He's an adult. Let him pay for his own mistakes."

  "But he doesn't pay. He just takes off and other people are left with the bill. That's not right."

  "If you didn't take care of those people, maybe they'd press charges against him."

  Evan scowled.

  Bertie rolled her eyes in a very unladylike fashion. "You need to get over your past."

  "It's my life. I'm not going to forget about it." Evan glared at Bertie.

  She glared right back. "I didn't say forget about it. I said get over it." She uncrossed her ankles and perched on the edge of the chair, her hands folded in her lap like the lady she'd been raised to be. "Ignore this woman. If she does indeed know Buddy, maybe she'll find him and torture him. If she doesn't, then you protect yourself from being snookered by another pretty female."

  "First of all, I don't get snookered by pretty women. Second, who said she was pretty?"

  "Is she?"

  "If I were into her look, I suppose."

  "What's her look?"

  Vibrant. Alive. Real. Passionate. Powerful. The adjectives cascaded through his mind as he pictured her flushed cheeks and outraged eyes when he'd accused her of lying.

  "Ah. Never mind." Bertie smiled softly. "I've changed my mind. I think you should find out whether this woman is lying or not. It'll be cathartic for you."

  Evan raised an eyebrow. "You think?"

  "Yes." Bertie stood up. "Need my help?"

  "Well..." Evan idly flipped open his checkbook. "You could check and see whether check number 12531 was cashed yesterday." That didn't exactly relate to whether she'd been lying, but he did want to know.

  Bertie nodded, her face the epitome of professionalism, except for a tiny twinkle in her right eye. "I'll get right on it."

  Evan flicked the corner of his checkbook while he waited for Bertie to return. He should be productive. Do a little research. Return a few phone calls.

  But he just sat there, until Bertie returned.

  "Check hasn't been cashed."

  "Huh." So Josie had refused his help. According to her landlord, that meant she'd be homeless as of the end of today.

  "Anything else you need?"

  Evan shook his head. "No." He picked up a pen and started to flip through the files Bertie had left him.

  "That's it?"

  He looked up. "What's it?"

  "That's the only thing you're going to do? Find out if she cashed a check you wrote her? What does that prove?"

  "That she lost her nerve and gave up the scam."

  "You're that ready to dismiss her story?" Bertie marched over to the desk and slapped her hands on the wood. "What's wrong with you?"

  He set his pen down and faced her. "What are you talking about?"

  "Where's your passion?"

  "Right here." He gestured to the desk. "This is my passion."


  "Work isn't passion." Bertie actually smacked the back of his hands, as only Bertie would do. "You've been trying to find your brother since you kicked him out of the house when he was eighteen."

  Guilt tightened his chest. "I didn't kick him out."

  Bertie held up her hand. "I'm not finished."

  "Fine." He scowled at her. "Have I ever told you that you're too involved in my life?"

  She nodded. "Of course you have. Do I look like I care?"

  "No."

  "I don't." Bertie waggled her finger at him. "Your private investigator hasn't been able to find Buddy, so you torture yourself, thinking how you'll never get the chance to make amends for giving him tough love and destroying the last unit of your family."

  "Bertie, back off."

  She just rolled her eyes at him. "And now, if this woman is telling the truth, you suddenly have a link to Buddy again. Yet you're sitting back on your duff like a pathetic wimp when you could be addressing the thing that you most regret in life."

  She paced in front of his desk, her hands clasped behind her back. "And, if this woman is actually in dire straits because of Buddy, then if you let her suffer, you'll be miserable. Might as well get an answer and deal with it instead of torturing yourself." There was that gleam in Bertie's eyes again. "Go find her."

  He grunted.

  "And third, if this woman is making up tales about Buddy, I'd think you'd want to put a stop to that right quick."

  Which he would. If Josie was lying. But he just couldn't quite convince himself that she'd been making the whole thing up.

  "Am I right?"

  He met Bertie's gaze. "Maybe."

  "That's a yes." She pulled open his top drawer, took out his keys and dropped them in his hand. "Go deal with this, Evan. Whether she's telling the truth or not, you have to take action. Find Buddy, clean up his mess, or clear his name."

  Bertie was right. He had to deal with this. "I'll take care of her." Evan ignored the knowing look on Bertie's face as he walked out of his office. This wasn't about Josie and her ability to keep him up all night. It was about standing by his family.

  Evan scowled as he headed for the parking garage housing his car. Why did he even consider that she might be telling the truth? Where was his cynicism? His protective defenses? The wall that had made him the success he was?

  He needed to get a handle on his emotions and regain his control. Never would he let Josie Harper rattle him again.

  So what if she was being evicted?

  Things could still be worse.

  She could still have Buddy in her life. Or she could be bald. Or her breasts could have sagged prematurely to her knees. Or she could suddenly develop an allergy to chocolate.

  See? Things could be much worse.

  Maybe it was better to be evicted. Now that she was broke, she certainly didn't have the luxury of spending five hundred dollars on a studio apartment. Move across the hall to Monica's place, grab the couch, and split the rent. A fiscally sound decision.

  Wow, was her life heading in the right direction or what? Three months ago, she was married to a neurosurgeon who was making tons of money and was incredibly handsome. They were living in a classic New England home with two acres of land, contemplating getting a dog.

  Now, she was broke, carless, and hungry. Oh, and homeless as well. And an emotional shell of her former self.

  And it was all Buddy's fault. If not for Buddy, she'd just be a loser, sitting home by herself when everyone else was out dating. Now, she was a loser and she had no material goods whatsoever.

  Maybe a small difference to some people, but to a woman trying to become independent, self-reliant and professionally magnificent, it was a definite stumbling block.

  The phone rang, and Josie hopped over the back of her faded orange couch, landing with a thud on the lumpy cushions. At least the phone company hadn't shut off her phone. Yet.

  "Hello?"

  "Josie?"

  "Alice?" The sound of her boss's voice sent Josie's mind whirring. Had she screwed up yet another thing in her life? "Was I supposed to work today? I swear I thought I had today off."

  "You aren't on the schedule." Alice sounded tense.

  "Oh. Good. What's up? You need me to come in?" That would be great. Cash was...ahem...a little scarce these days. She'd take all the overtime she could get. She crossed her legs on the couch to make a bed for her kitty, who showed her appreciation by kneading into Josie's bare legs with very sharp claws. Nothing like a little physical pain to distract her from her misery.

  Alice cleared her throat. "You closed the office two weeks ago yesterday, right?"

  "Um...probably. I'd have to look at my calendar to double check."

  "You were on the schedule."

  "Then it was probably me. Why?" She scratched Zeus's head, grinning at the deep purring. She needed to be like a cat. Not worry about anything as long as she had a lap to sit on and someone to scratch her ears.

  Except she didn't have a lap or an ear scratcher. A lumpy couch and her own fingernails would have to suffice. How romantic.

  "Approximately five thousand dollars in supplies disappeared after the final inventory check that evening."

  Josie stopped scratching and a dull ache spread throughout her gut. "What are you saying?"

  "Where are the items, Josie? You were the only one there."

  "I'd never steal from the clinic. You know that."

  "Give me another explanation, then."

  This was so not turning out to be the Year of the Josie. "Um...." Think, Josie. What could have happened to those supplies... Oh. Relief washed over her. "I know what happened."

  "Fill me in."

  Well, geez, Alice didn't have to sound quite so skeptical. What about that innocent until proven guilty thing? "I was dating this guy, Buddy, and he was there with me that evening, hanging out while I cleaned the cages..."

  "And he stole it without your knowledge?"

  "If stuff was stolen when he was there, I'm sure. He also cleaned out my bank account and stole my car."

  "So, you're telling me that your boyfriend was there, he's a crook and you left him unattended so he could steal things?"

  Hmm...it didn't sound so good when phrased that way. "I didn't realize he was a crook at the time."

  "Can you prove he stole the items without your knowledge?"

  "Um...he's sort of gone." Curse the man for taking off like that! The least he could have done was leave her an affidavit so she didn't have to take the blame.

  "Gone?"

  "Yes. Apparently, he left in my car. With my waffle iron, too," she added. Alice was a rather solid woman, so maybe the waffle iron would touch some heartstrings.

  "Unless you have proof, we're going to have to hold you responsible."

  Or maybe Alice didn't have a heart. Maybe she was a cyborg made of super light aluminum and fiberglass put on this earth for the sole purpose of driving the final piling into Josie's demise. "So, I owe you five thousand dollars?" Yeah, sure. That would be no problem. She'd just whip out a check and hand over the money.

  Not.

  "If you could pay us back, we won't press charges."

  Josie's head snapped up. "Press charges?"

  "We'll give you one week to return the items or give us the money. After that, we're calling the police. Either way, you're fired. And I can't give you a reference."

  "Alice, let's be reasonable about this. I can be down there in ten minutes..." Or more like forty-five, now that she had to take public transportation. "Give me a chance to talk to you." Please, please, please give me a chance.

  "I can't."

  "But Alice..."

  "Good-bye, Josie."

  Click.

  Un-friggin-believable. She was fired.

  Fired?

  Fired?

  Fired?

  This was the job she was going to keep part time as she worked her way through veterinary school. And now she was fired.

  With no ref
erences.

  Argh!

  She hurled the phone to the floor, but it slammed into her ankle bone instead. Pain shot up her leg and she howled with anger. Frustration. Pain. Self-pity.

  Zeus immediately jumped up and sprinted away, launching herself off Josie's lap by digging her claws into Josie's skin. "Argh! Don't do that!"

  Josie pressed her hand to her thigh, trying to stop the tears filling her eyes. Zeus glared at her from across the room. "Don't look at me like that. It's not my fault you're going to have to start hunting for your food because I can't afford to feed you."

  Not feed Zeus? Unacceptable. She had to find a solution.

  She took a deep breath. "All is not lost."

  Yes, it was.

  Okay, then, another approach.

  "Buddy is a bastard."

  Nope, not a lot of satisfaction there.

  "Buddy is a conniving, scheming bastard."

  Still nothing.

  "I HATE BUDDY!"

  Nope. Still nothing.

  Probably because it didn't change a single thing about her life. So much for speaking your feelings aloud being a successful therapy tool.

  Scowling, she tried to somersault over the back of the couch, collapsing in a disheveled heap on the floor. Okay, so she still hadn't mastered the backflip off the couch. Given her fragile emotional state, now would have been a perfect time to finally develop some acrobatic skills. Then at least something would be going right.

  There was only one thing left to try.

  Revenge.

  Cathartic release of hostility.

  Give in to her violent, warrior tendencies.

  Having a violent side wasn't so bad. It meant that she wasn't that far from being an all-powerful Amazon. It definitely wasn't an indication that she was a depraved psychopath.

  She climbed to her feet, stomped across the floor, yanked open the flaps of one of the moving boxes and grabbed a baggie with three mangled darts.

  Selecting the two which still had the most of feathers on them, she walked one pace back into the room, three paces to her right, then turned around and faced her target: a life size poster of Buddy, which Monica had given her ten days ago, along with the darts. Was Mo a true friend or what?

  Eyes were worth fifty points. Mouth sixty. And a crotch shot? Bull's-eye worth five hundred points.