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“Since then, I’ve gotten to know him better. I know it’s cliche, but his hard exterior is a defense mechanism. He uses it to protect himself from people who only want to use him, which is basically everyone he interacts with on a daily basis. He’s still an ass. That’s undeniable.” She laughs softly under her breath, and then looks at me with direct, dark eyes. “But he’s not only an ass. Remember that, if you can.”
Thoughts race through my mind during the twenty minute drive home. Home. Funny, that I’m starting to call his estate “home.” When did that happen? Was it when I made myself comfortable drinking his scotch and playing with the kittens in his library? Or maybe it was during the week when we worked out of his home office, eating together at lunch. Or maybe it was that first day, when I took off my shirt and replaced it with one of his.
I park my car and enter the house, ready to set my endless thoughts aside and spend some quiet time with the kittens. As I approach the library, I notice a light shining from beneath the doors.
Shit. Someone found the kittens. It has to be Max. Paige was the only other person who knew I kept them in the library and she was out drinking margaritas with me.
My heart speeds up and my breath quickens. Max might not be as heartless as I thought, but he still expects people to constantly capitulate to his smallest desires. And here I am, hiding a litter of kittens in his brand new, unfinished library. With his temper, I won’t be surprised if he fires me. And I would deserve it. Secret kittens were not in the job description.
With trepidation, I hold my breath and open the doors to the library, hardening my heart to whatever I might find. I freeze in the doorway, stunned into stillness. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined the scene in front of me. My breath catches and my heart expands.
Maximillian Hawthorne the Third lays on the floor of the library, asleep on a rug with three kittens cuddled around him, also sleeping. Somehow, he discovered the kittens. Instead of throwing them out, he brought a sheepskin rug and what looks like a throw pillow into the library. Then he let the kittens out of the cage and fell asleep on his back, decorated with napping kittens.
My eyes fill with tears, and I press my hand to my heart. I’m overwhelmed by the emotions running through me. The animals I love with the man I’m coming to care for, in one place.
I need to get a picture. Later, I’m going to need evidence that this actually happened, because right now it feels like a dream.
As quiet as a mouse, I open the picture app on my phone making sure it’s in silent mode. Tiptoeing into a better position, I get him in the frame. It’s difficult. I keep getting distracted by the peaceful look on his face and his muscular physique.
The flash goes off as I take the first photo. Shoot. Cali, the kitten curled up on his chest, wakes up and blinks at me with big green eyes. I put my finger to my lips, hoping the signal for silence has some kind of universal understanding across species. I’ll never know because Max—still sleeping—instinctively brings his hand up to pet her, murmuring indecipherable endearments until she goes back to sleep.
I turn off the flash on my phone, hoping the lamp provides enough illumination for a few more pictures. The black kitten is curled up on the pillow by his neck. Eva is stretched out on his stomach, using his forearm as a pillow. I take a few more photos before tiptoeing out of the library and closing the door. A sigh escapes me as all the confused ideas in my mind come together to form one clear thought.
I’m in trouble.
