by Jenna Sutton
“First, you need to reduce the amount of food you’re feeding her, and I recommend buying food that is specifically formulated for indoor cats, which are less active than outdoor cats.”
Shifting her attention to Adele’s head, Margo scratched gently behind one of the cat’s ears. She began to purr, arching her neck in pleasure.
Greg sighed gustily. “Adele spends most of her day in the studio with me, either sleeping or sunning herself on the windowsill.”
“That’s a hard life,” Margo deadpanned before asking, “Studio? Are you an artist?”
“A tattoo artist, although I prefer to be called a tattooist.”
That explained the colorful tattoos that wrapped around his arms and crawled up his neck. She didn’t mind a little body art, but Greg McNeil was a walking advertisement for his profession.
Returning to the subject of Adele’s sedentary lifestyle, she said, “You might want to buy a laser pointer. The red dot is irresistible to cats. It will definitely get her moving.”
He nodded agreeably. “That’s a good idea.”
“Other than her weight, Adele seems to be in perfect health.”
He beamed. “That’s my girl.”
“If we find any abnormalities with her blood work or urine, we’ll give you a call.” She gave the plump feline one final stroke. “Did you name her?”
He nodded. “After Adele. She’s my favorite singer.”
Margo barely managed to hold in her laughter. Based on his appearance, she would have bet that he listened to heavy metal or alternative rock. She would have lost that bet.
But then again, Greg McNeil already defied a big stereotype: he had a cat. Typically, most guys preferred canine companions.
Grabbing a note pad, she made a list of food brands that she thought would work for his pet. “Here are some suggestions for Adele.” She handed the paper to him. “Give me a call or shoot me an email if you have any questions or concerns.”
He folded the list in half and shoved it in his T-shirt pocket. “Thanks, Dr. Lange.” He picked up Adele’s carrier and set it on the exam table. “How long have you worked here? We saw a different vet last time.”
“Today is my one-month anniversary with Bay Area Animal Care.”
This morning, her co-workers had surprised her with balloons and a big box of cupcakes to celebrate the occasion. The sweet treats had been decorated with a variety of animal faces including a hippo.
She had saved that one for Zeke, hoping it would garner a chuckle or two. He didn’t laugh enough, and she found herself saying and doing things just so she could hear the deep rumble of his laughter.
Noticing that Greg was having a hard time maneuvering his pet into the carrier, Margo hurried to help him. As she held the carrier steady, he gently shoved Adele into it. The chubby cat let out a mournful meow that clearly conveyed her displeasure.
As Greg latched the carrier, he asked, “How do you like working here? I took Adele to another clinic closer to my place, but I didn’t like it.”
“I love working here,” she answered honestly.
So far, her new job was working out even better than she’d hoped. She had been worried about fitting in with the existing veterinarians and support staff, but everyone had welcomed her and gone out of their way to be helpful.
The two other veterinarians on staff, Jon and Tricia, had invited Margo to their favorite bar for cocktails last week. She’d had a good time, and afterward, Tricia had suggested that the three of them should have a “vets only” happy hour every Wednesday.
Jenny, the vet tech, had persuaded Margo to attend a Pure Romance party at her apartment in The Haight-Asbury neighborhood. She had never attended a sex toy party before, and she’d figured it was something she needed to experience at least once.
She hadn’t purchased anything at the party. What was the fun in buying flavored massage oil when you had to massage yourself? And she already had a vibrator that worked just fine on the rare occasions she used it.
She walked Greg and Adele to the reception area. They were her last appointment of the day, and after she said good-bye, she went to check on her overnight patients.
The clinic was designed in a big rectangle, and the space was divided into three distinct areas. The lab, surgery suites, break room, and stainless steel cages were located in the back, the reception and waiting area were situated in the front, and a row of five exam rooms were sandwiched between them.
After confirming that the overnight staff had clear instructions for the badly behaved beagle who’d eaten more than a pound of dark chocolate, Margo hung up her white doctor’s coat and pulled on the North Face fleece over her navy blue scrubs. She’d found the hot pink jacket at the Goodwill store on Fillmore Street, and she’d paid only ten dollars for it.
So what if it clashed with her hair? It would have cost at least a hundred bucks brand-new.
Now that she was bringing in a regular paycheck, her financial situation was more stable. But she would need several months to rebuild her savings account to a level where she felt comfortable enough to splurge on little luxuries.
Fortunately, Zeke had allowed her to pay a reduced rental rate for the first couple of months and make up the difference once she wasn’t so cash-strapped. She was grateful that he was so flexible. In fact, he’d been the one to suggest it.
Margo draped her messenger bag across her body, grabbed the box with Zeke’s hippo cupcake, and left the clinic. Her commute consisted of a short bus ride and a fifteen-minute walk.
Usually, she enjoyed the trek from Pacific Heights to the Marina District, but last week, it had rained every day. The monsoon-like weather was an anomaly for mid-April, according to Jenny, who was a San Francisco native. It rarely rained so heavily in the Bay Area, and the rainy season normally ended in March.
Zeke, once again displaying his chivalrous streak, had offered to drive Margo to work so she wouldn’t get soaked. But she had declined, not wanting to inconvenience him. The animal clinic was on the opposite side of the city from his office, which was located in downtown, near the Financial District.
Zeke May was exactly what her uncle Dave had promised—a decent, honorable man. She couldn’t imagine a better roommate, male or female. He was tidy, considerate, and surprisingly generous.
Despite her initial trepidation about having a roommate, she really liked living with Zeke. He usually got home before she did, and she liked knowing he would be there when she walked in.
She liked the sound of his voice, the smell of his shower gel, and the sight of him lounging on the leather sofa. She liked everything about him … a little too much. In fact, she was starting to compare every man she met to Zeke.
Yesterday, a guy had asked her out after she had examined his black Labrador. She had turned him down, not only because she thought dating a client was a bad idea, but also because he hadn’t appealed to her on any level.
She hadn’t liked his perfectly styled blond hair or his clean-shaven face—so unlike Zeke’s modified crew cut and perpetual scruff. She hadn’t liked his pale eyes, narrow shoulders, or soft, manicured hands—so different from Zeke’s chocolaty gaze, broad shoulders, and callused hands.
And she’d hated the way the guy jerked on his dog’s leash and snapped at the beautiful animal. His actions were a complete contrast to Zeke’s treatment of Roby—the tender way he stroked the Doberman’s back and the gentle, quiet tone he used when he spoke to him.
More than once, she’d come home from work to find Zeke and Roby playing fetch in the backyard or snuggling on the sofa. And without her mentioning it, Zeke had offered to install a doggy door. Now, Roby could come and go as he desired while she was at the clinic.
As she exited the Muni bus, she sent a quick text to Zeke to let him know when she’d be home. He’d never asked her to do so, but she thought it was the considerate thing to do when it was his night to make dinner.
Minutes later, she entered the apartment. A deliciously spicy ar
oma saturated the air. Her stomach growled in anticipation, despite the fact that Zeke’s version of a home-cooked meal involved opening packages, cartons, and bags, and heating up the contents.
Roby dashed into the living room to greet her. She knelt down and let him sniff her scrubs to his heart’s content, knowing that he smelled the scent of other animals on her.
Holding the cupcake box out of his reach, she rubbed behind his ears. “How’s my sweet boy?” she crooned. “Did you have a good day?”
Zeke stepped out of the kitchen. He wore a plaid button-down shirt in shades of blue and brown, open over a dark brown T-shirt, and a pair of dark-washed Rileys. He gave her a small smile, revealing a flash of straight, white teeth.
God, he was gorgeous. And somehow, he seemed to get better-looking as the days passed.
“Yeah, I had a good day,” he said, answering the question that she’d posed to Roby. “Thanks for asking.”
With a laugh, she stood. No one would ever mistake Zeke for a sweet boy.
“Hey, Zeke.”
“Hey, Go-go. How was your day?”
Nicknames were a part of military life, based on familiarity and friendship. When Zeke had first called her Go-go, she had been on the fence about it. But now she liked it.
“I had a fantastic day,” she answered. “I love my job.”
She toed off her tennis shoes and used her foot to push them toward the wall. Zeke met her in the dining room, and the urge to stand on her tiptoes and kiss him hello was so strong that she had to put the table between them to stop herself.
He glanced down. “What’s that?”
“What?”
He pointed toward her hand, where the pink bakery box nestled. “That.”
Her fantasy of kissing Zeke had erased the hippo cupcake from her mind. “Give me a minute to change, and then I’ll show you.”
She placed the box on the concrete tabletop before heading to her bedroom. After shedding her messenger bag and fleece, she stripped out of her scrubs and replaced them with a long-sleeved Michigan State tee and black leggings.
Knowing her feet would get cold, she pulled on a pair of tan UGG boots that she’d discovered at the Salvation Army in Ithaca. They’d been almost brand-new when she’d bought them, probably discarded by a spoiled Cornell student.
She took a moment to toss her dirty scrubs in the hamper, wash her hands, and remove her makeup. After working around animals all day and dealing with a variety of bodily fluids, she always felt grungy.
As she left the bathroom, she heard Zeke’s phone ring. His deep voice floated from the kitchen. “Hello, Andrea.”
Zeke’s ex-wife called at least a couple of times a week. Sometimes the conversations lasted a few minutes, and sometimes they lasted an hour.
Margo felt her lips curl in disgust. Andrea.
A few days after Margo had moved into the apartment, she’d discovered a box of pictures in the hall closet. She had given in to the temptation to snoop and spent a few minutes flipping through the stack of photos before guilt had set in. That was how she knew what Zeke’s ex-wife looked like.
Andrea May wasn’t cute. She wasn’t pretty.
She was beautiful.
Tall and willowy like a supermodel, with thick, coffee-colored hair that waved down her back. Her smooth, olive complexion emphasized her light green eyes, and her lips were a perfect, plump bow.
Realizing that she was lurking in the hallway, Margo returned to her bedroom and curled up in the armchair situated in the corner. She told herself to think about the surgery scheduled early tomorrow morning, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Zeke and his ex-wife.
He never talked about Andrea, and Margo was intensely curious about her. She wanted to know how long Zeke had been divorced. She wanted to know why his marriage had ended. And most important, she wanted to know if he was still in love with his ex-wife.
Why else would he continue to stay in touch with her? Why else would he take her phone calls and spend hours on the phone talking with her? Why else would he—
A hard knock on her door interrupted her list of unanswered questions.
“Dinner’s ready,” Zeke said.
By the time she reached the door, he’d already left. She slowly made her way to the dining room, wishing that Andrea would accidently drop her phone into the toilet and be unable to recover any of her contacts.
Climbing onto the barstool, she asked, “What are we having?”
“Tortilla soup and salad with chipotle ranch dressing,” he answered curtly.
Regardless of how much time Zeke spent talking with his ex-wife, when the call ended, his mood was always darker than the sky during a thunderstorm. Margo briefly considered hijacking his phone and blocking Andrea’s number.
He stomped into the dining room with a bowl of soup in each hand and set them down with an angry-sounding bang. Turning on his heel, he headed back to the kitchen and returned a moment later with salad plates and a big wooden bowl overflowing with greens.
After dumping everything on the table, he slid onto the barstool across from her and reached for the salad tongs. She stopped him by placing her hand over his.
“Wait,” she ordered softly. “I want to show you what’s in the box.”
He met her gaze, his mouth tight with anger and impatience. “Show me, then.”
Leaning over, she nabbed the box. “The people at work gave me balloons and cupcakes to celebrate my one-month anniversary. I saved one for you.”
She opened the lid and turned the box so he could see it. He stared down at the hippo cupcake for a moment. Slowly, his lips turned upward until finally, his mouth stretched into a grin.
He looked up at her, his dark eyes shining with amusement. “Thanks, Go-go.”
Grabbing her fork, she cut a piece of cupcake and held it up in front of him. “Life is short. Eat dessert first.”
For a long moment, he just looked at her, unblinking. Then he laughed, that deep rumble that warmed her insides every time she heard it.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “Life is short.”
Grasping her wrist, he brought the cupcake-loaded fork to his mouth. His lips closed over it, devouring the moist cake and creamy frosting in one big bite.
“That’s all sugar,” he said, his fingers still wrapped around her wrist. “Maybe it will sweeten me up.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Neat and orderly. That was how Zeke preferred things.
He liked everything to be in its place, and his workstation at Riley O’Brien & Co. reflected his predilection for organization. He tried to minimize the use of paper, and when he couldn’t avoid it, he employed a color-coded system that allowed him to find the information he needed in seconds.
Everyone in Zeke’s department was borderline obsessive-compulsive about organization. You couldn’t be disorganized or scatterbrained if you wanted to excel in supply chain and logistics.
When Zeke had been in the Army, he had been part of the elite Logistics branch. The sheer size of military operations provided logisticians with a level of experience not found anywhere else.
Military logisticians accomplished the same five Rs of supply chain management that civilian logisticians did—getting the right product to the right place, at the right time, at the right price, and the right quantity—but they did it in environments where failure meant the difference between life and death.
Zeke had loved his job as a military logistician—the challenge, the people, the travel. If not for the IED attack, he would have happily stayed in the Army. But that attack had changed everything.
Fortunately, several people who worked in Riley O’Brien & Co.’s supply chain and logistics department had military backgrounds, so Zeke had immediately felt comfortable in his new position. The company also recruited graduates from Zeke’s alma mater, the University of Tennessee, which had one of the best supply chain management programs in the world. He was older than the other UT alums, but they still bonded over Vols
football.
Over the past several months, Riley O’Brien & Co.’s supply chain and logistics department had been reorganized to support the new business goals outlined by CEO Quinn O’Brien. Zeke had been hired to direct a new group that focused exclusively on company-owned stores.
Part of the department’s reorganization had included a redesign of the workspace. Because communication and collaboration were so critical, the company had done away with the traditional cubicle environment.
The new design included open layout workstations with short, glass partitions and a few lounge areas for quick conversations. Zeke liked his current work environment a hell of a lot more than he’d liked the chaos of a combat tent or the isolation of a closet-sized office.
Despite the lack of walls, the workspace wasn’t noisy or distracting; it had a vibrant buzz of energy. And if you needed privacy, you could use one of the huddle rooms, places where employees gathered to work on team projects.
Zeke’s laptop dinged, warning him that he had a meeting in thirty minutes. Grabbing a stack of red folders, he flipped through them. As he searched for the ones he would need for the meeting, he heard Justin’s voice float from the adjacent workspace.
“Dude, you’re killing me with the humming.”
Ignoring Justin’s complaint, Zeke continued to sort through his folders. He knew the younger guy wasn’t talking to him.
“Zeke!”
Startled, Zeke vaulted to his feet and looked over at Justin. “What?”
“You’re humming is driving me crazy,” he griped.
“I’m not humming.” Zeke frowned. “I don’t hum.”
Shaking his head, Justin insisted, “You’ve been humming for the last hour.”
With a glower, Zeke dropped down into his office chair. He hadn’t realized it until Justin pointed it out, but he had been humming.
Justin stood and leaned his elbows on the low partition separating their workstations. His dark brown hair brushed the collar of his flannel shirt. He’d buttoned it all the way to the neck, where a black bow tie nestled, and striped suspenders stretched over his shoulders.
