The Taming of the Billionaire

by Jessica Clare

  “Did you hear me?” Bianca said, her voice a bit louder.

  “I heard you,” Edie muttered. Bianca used her little-girl voice when she was trying to sweet talk people, and Edie had developed an immunity to it long ago. She shooed the cats off of the paper and unfolded the instructions to look at them again. “I’m busy.”

  “But . . . it’s work.” Bianca moved directly in front of Edie and waved the paper. “You need money, remember? We both need money. Especially if we’re going to get costumes for Gretchen and Hunter’s big engagement masquerade party.”

  Edie made a face at her sister’s back. “Don’t remind me.”

  “I won’t remind you again if we go to this job.”

  Edie took a look at the paper. House call. New cat, very aggressive. The appointment time was that afternoon. She handed the paper back to Bianca. “Can’t go today. I’m volunteering at the shelter on Tuesdays.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since they got shorthanded. They need more help.”

  “We need clients,” Bianca said, waving the paper again. “We—”

  “If you stick that in my face one more time, I’m going to cram it down your throat.”

  “We also need to pay the electric bill,” Bianca said. “And this person is going to want an ongoing consultation. I quoted him a thousand dollars up front and three hundred bucks each additional visit, and he said that was fine.”

  Edie paused in her contemplation of the world’s worst cat-tree instructions. A thousand bucks would go a long way to fixing their anemic bank account. Cat behavior therapy was fun, but it sucked for paying the bills. “Really? A thousand today?”

  “Yup.” Bianca looked pleased with herself. “Some rich guy with a new cat. Can’t we go check it out? You can go to the shelter later.”

  Edie blinked and took the paper from Bianca again. “He’s in New York City.”

  “He offered to pay us for drive time, too.”

  Edie’s eyes widened. “How much?”

  “Something like a hundred an hour? I’ll tell him we insist. It’ll cover gas, wear and tear, and our time.”

  That was fourteen hundred today. Eighteen hundred if they counted there and back. “I’m not sure. I—”

  “Great,” Bianca said sweetly. “I told him we’d be there in a few hours. You should fix your hair.”

  “What? Why?” Edie touched her two short braids, one behind each ear.

  Her sister gave her an exasperated sigh. “Because he’s rich, of course.”

  Typical Bianca. Edie gave Dopey’s head a rub as he walked past. “Guess we’re going out for the day.”

  Chapter Three

  They drove the puttering car the hours it took to get into New York City proper, and then it seemed to take another hour to find a parking space. By the time they got out of the car, Edie’s knee was throbbing and she was starving. Bianca fixed her lipstick before they got out of the car, which made Edie curious. Then again, it was a rich guy, and Bianca was all about trying to snag herself a wealthy boyfriend. She’d harassed Edie about dressing up, and Edie’s only concession had been to take her hair out of her braids and throw an old blazer over her T-shirt, and the blazer was simply to hide the cat hair. Most clients didn’t care what she looked like as long as she could help them. They kept a box of work stuff in the back of the car, and Edie picked through it. Then, she stuffed toys, catnip, treats, and a few other items into a backpack and slung the pack over her shoulder. They walked down the side street, looking for the correct building. Edie limped behind Bianca as her sister consulted her phone’s GPS.

  “Here we go,” Bianca said sunnily.

  “Oh jeez,” said Edie, staring up at the townhouse. “It’s kind of swanky.” The building was on the corner of a rather elite-looking street, and that made Edie wonder if she should have changed out of a cat-hair-covered shirt after all. Hearing someone had oodles of money was different than seeing it.

  “Told ya,” Bianca said smugly, and hopped up the steps to the front door. Edie leaned heavily on the railing and followed her up.

  The door opened a moment later and a man appeared in the doorway. “Oh good,” said a familiar, smooth baritone voice. “You’re here.”

  Edie stared at the man in the doorway. It was that Magnus guy from the party. One of the jerks. The one who had made comments about cat ladies. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “Hi, Edie,” he said, extending his hand out. He gave her a polite smile that didn’t quite reach his face. “I’m glad you and your assistant could make it out today.”

  “I’m not staying here,” Edie began.

  “Yes, you are,” Bianca said, taking Edie by the arm and pulling her close despite her protests. Bianca gave Magnus a tiny little smile. “May we come inside?”

  Edie looked at her sister in horror, planting her feet. “Wait. You knew it was this guy? Why didn’t you fucking tell me? This is a setup, isn’t it?”

  Bianca gave Edie a hurt look, her lower lip quivering. “Of course not.”

  “Bullshit.” Edie glared at Magnus. “What the fuck is this game?”

  “This game,” he said in a cool voice, “is that I have a new cat and it is a nightmare. I can return it to the shelter and have them put it down, or I can call a cat behaviorist for help. Someone suggested you were the best in the area, and I thought I’d give it a try despite our past. Or shall I just take the animal back to the shelter right now?”

  Edie’s gut churned. He was hitting her right in her soft spot. Somewhere in there was a shelter cat who’d just been taken out of one scary environment and into another. If she turned and walked away, he might find another cat behaviorist . . . or he might just take it back to the shelter.

  She bit her lip, undecided. Then, scowling, she glared at Magnus. “If you’re a dick, I’m leaving.”

  “I won’t be a dick,” he told her, putting his hands in the air in the universal “I surrender” gesture. “I promise. I just want to help my cat, all right?”

  “All right,” she grumped, and ignored the happy look Bianca flashed Magnus.

  Edie stepped over the threshold into the house. Inside, she immediately began to assess it how a scared cat would, and she frowned at the sight. The floors were a chilly painted cement, the walls bare and hung with a few pieces of modern art. The furniture was minimalist and strange, with a beaded (beaded!) throw rug in front of a glass fireplace. A shattered vase was in one corner of the open room, next to a few hanging twiglike things that she assumed were more modern art. She rubbed her scarf hard against her neck as she walked in, trying to cover it in her scent.

  “Hey,” that annoying baritone voice said. “You okay? You’re limping.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m fine.”

  “Do you need to sit down? I—”

  “Do I look as if I need to sit down?” She bit out the words, glaring at him. Then she turned and glanced around. “Where did my sister go?”

  He shrugged. “She went to go discuss payment with my brother, I imagine.” Big arms crossed his chest. “You want to see Cujo?”

  “Cujo? Really?”

  “What’s wrong with Cujo?”

  “You’re setting up the cat to fail, that’s what. Giving him a undesirable moniker just reinforces the negativity in your eyes.” She tugged at her scarf again and limped into the kitchen. At least, she assumed it was the kitchen. It was set up more like an old-fashioned diner, with the long counter and barstools, and the fridge and appliances behind the bar.

  “Annnd for the millionth time, he’s a damn cat, so who cares what I call him?” Magnus said, following her. “He’s in my bedroom, by the way.”

  Well, that was a start at least. “Show me where that is.”

  “Right this way, your majesty,” Magnus said, doing a mocking little bow as he moved in front of her.
He headed to the back of the building and then up a twisting staircase.

  Of course it was upstairs. There were always damn stairs. Edie ignored the throb of her knee and followed him as quickly as she could, not wanting to seem as if she needed help or was lagging behind. She didn’t want to be seen as “less” in his eyes, damn it. Not when he was so smirky and judgy already.

  Upstairs, the barren motif continued, and Edie wondered why someone would get such a big house to put hardly anything in it. Magnus strode down the hall toward a closed door, and then turned and gestured at it. “This is my room. Last chance now to back out.”

  “Why? Am I going to be bombarded with blow-up dolls or something?”

  “No, just one super pissed-off cat,” he said, his tone as sarcastic as hers. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Magnus opened the door and Edie stepped inside. It . . . wasn’t what she expected his room to look like. She knew he was into computers and his big shoulders and muscular build spoke of an athletic lifestyle. But again, he had the minimal room set up with hardly any furniture. There was a treadmill desk in one corner of the room, a big brass bed off to one side and some strange-looking scarves covering the window that trailed onto the floor. One was slightly destroyed, and the other puffed out at the bottom, a tail flicking underneath.

  That would be her charge.

  Edie slid off her shoes since the floor here was wood and they’d make a lot of unnecessary noise. Her stockinged feet wiggled and she stepped forward, eyeing the room. “This is a rather unfriendly place for a cat.”

  “Why’s that?” Magnus’s deep voice made her jump. She didn’t realize he was so close behind her.

  She gestured at all the empty air. “There’s no place for him to hide. Did you just move in or something? There’s no furniture.”

  “It’s called a minimalist look,” Magnus said, and he sounded as if she’d insulted his decorating. “The last owner of this place was an artist. We paid a lot of money to buy the place.”

  “I’d have paid more for some furniture,” Edie commented, studying the bed. “I would have thought he’d go under the bed, but—”

  “There’s storage under there. No room.”

  “Cats like having a secure place to hide, you know. He’s probably terrified.”

  “He’s a demon,” Magnus said in that grumpy voice. “You know he bit me?”

  “Were you trying to pick him up?”

  “How do you think I got him in here?”

  Her heart softened. Poor cat. “He’s scared. Don’t make any sudden movements, okay? I’m going to go say hello.” She slung her backpack off of her shoulder and set it next to her shoes, and then padded forward. Her bad knee throbbed as she knelt next to the curtain, but she ignored it. She sat down and crossed her legs, then tugged her scarf off and folded it neatly, then placed it near the curtain.

  A paw swiped out, and the low growl started.

  That was okay. She’d be patient and wait. Edie settled her back against the wall a few feet away and stretched her bad knee out, rubbing it.

  “You want a chair or something?” Magnus said, clearly uncomfortable standing around. He had his arms crossed over his chest again.

  “No, on the floor is good,” she said, her gaze on that huddled form behind the curtain. “It makes me less frightening. Where’s his litterbox?”

  Magnus was silent.

  She looked over at him again. “Well?”

  “Uh, I haven’t gotten one yet.”

  Seriously? What kind of cat owner was he? She looked around at the room again, and then her lips twitched. “That might explain why he took a shit on your bed, then.”

  “What?” Magnus barked, striding toward his bed and the white coverlet with a brown stain on the end.

  “Don’t raise your voice,” Edie said, keeping hers low and soothing. She set her hand on the floor and stretched her fingers between her scarf and the wall. “Dumbass.”

  “He crapped on my bed,” Magnus whispered. “That’s disgusting!”

  “He’s an animal,” she said, keeping her voice soft and sweet—kind of like Bianca’s fake tones. “That’s what he does when no outlet is provided for him.” The cat wasn’t moving, so she decided to keep waiting. She’d give him more time. Sometimes cats needed a lot of time, especially when the new environment was frightening. And hell, this one wasn’t even welcoming to people. “You might as well take a seat,” she murmured. “It might take him a bit to come out.”

  A clattering sound made her grit her teeth, and she looked over to see Magnus removing his shoes and then taking a seat on the floor across the room, mimicking her pose as she leaned against the wall. He looked . . . annoyed. Not concerned for his cat like any good pet owner. Strange man.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the curtain move a little, saw a nose stick out to sniff her scarf. Well, that was promising. Daring greatly, she kept her movements slow and peeled the curtain back, revealing the hissing occupant.

  The cat was utterly terrified, which broke Edie’s heart. Drool leaked from its mouth and it panted, a sure sign of anxiety and stress. The warning rumble continued in his throat, so Edie didn’t reach for him. She did, however, study the cat’s markings, the tufted ears, the size of him, and looked over at Magnus, frowning. “What made you pick this cat out of the shelter?”

  He shrugged. “Felt like having a cat.”

  Her brows drew together. “No, I mean, why this cat?”

  He shrugged again. “Why?”

  “Because it’s a Savannah cat.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “You, sir, have picked out a breed that is half wildcat.” Her mouth curved into an amused smile. “Good luck with that.”

  ***

  Magnus couldn’t stop watching Edie. When she wasn’t sniping at him or lashing out with that forked tongue of hers, she was . . . interesting. He wanted to know more about why she limped. It was natural curiosity, being an athlete himself once upon a time. He’d had dozens of injuries when he’d played football, from a torn ligament to a sprained ankle to whatever his opponents could dish out. A knee that injured . . . something bad had happened to it or she’d been born that way. Either way, it was a curiosity, and he wanted to know what had happened. Maybe it was why she was so damn cranky all the damn time.

  That overarching crankiness was what made her so fascinating to watch right now. Her fingers were gentle as the cat reluctantly pushed its head out, and she extended them toward the cat. Not moving more than that. Just waiting. And he leaned back to watch her, because it was more riveting than anything he’d seen in a long time. Minutes passed as the cat sniffed her fingertips, sniffed her scarf again, and then moved forward a tiny bit. It crept forward, shoulders hunched, and kept slowly moving until it was near Edie’s leg. She gave it a cautious head skritch, and when the cat decided it liked that, it moved forward a bit more. Within the space of about twenty minutes, she had the cat resting on her lap and relaxing as she rubbed and petted it.

  “I think this is a young cat,” she said in a slow, sweet voice that was like liquid honey on the senses. He knew the voice was for the cat’s benefit, but his dick still responded to it. “She’s frightened, but she also wants love and attention.”

  “Isn’t that what we all want?” He joked back, and his voice must have been too loud, because the cat jolted, earning him an ugly look from Edie.

  “This sort of thing takes time, you know,” she murmured again, her hands gently stroking the alert ears, smoothing over striped fur. “You’re free to leave at any time.”

  “I’ll stick around,” he said, modulating his voice to match her sweetness. “It’s my cat, remember?” That, and he’d told Levi he’d keep Edie occupied for at least two hours so Levi could nail Bianca or at the very least, get her out of his system. “So what’s a Savannah c
at?”

  “They’re a cat that’s part serval and part house cat. Yours looks like it’s probably an F2.” She touched the large ears and the stripes crossing them, then gestured at the ones on the cat’s muzzle. “The markings aren’t as crisp.”

  “And what’s an F2?”

  “Second generation, basically. Your cat probably has a granddaddy wildcat somewhere.”

  “Huh,” he said, since it all seemed a little technical for what looked like a stripey little cat to him. “So . . . do I feed her different things? Like gazelle?”

  Edie’s look was withering again, and he bit back a grin of amusement. He liked getting that rise out of her. Seeing that scorn quickly fly to her face. She was easy to tease. “You can feed the cat normal food,” she said. “Find out if Cujo here”—again with the withering look—“likes hard food or wet food. If she favors her teeth or seems picky or afraid to eat, try to get wet food into her so she doesn’t get dehydrated.”

  “I’ll send my assistant out for some,” he agreed. “And litter.”

  She shook her head, just a bit. “You’re not very prepared to have a new member of your home.”

  Yeah, that was probably because he hadn’t been anticipating having a damn cat. Fucking Levi and his schemes, all so he could bang the blonde with the tiny mouth. “I’ll be better prepared next time,” Magnus said. “So, what made you decide to become a cat expert?”

  Her long fingers stroked over an ear, and for some reason, Magnus found that small movement . . . arousing. Maybe it was how the cat responded, or the fact that she seemed to know just where to touch the cat to make it purr. Maybe it’d been too long since he’d had sex, because it was fucking sad if he was getting turned on watching Edie pet a cat. But the sight of those expert hands had him shifting in his seat and resisting the urge to adjust his crotch.