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Where are you?

She panned the small area, carefully stepping farther into the room. A low grumble had her whipping her head to the chair in the corner.

At least I got a warning this time. Whiskers, as she’d renamed Hank, was settled comfortably in her favorite reading chair with his eyes focused on her.

“You tricked me,” she mumbled and moved into the kitchen, flicking on the light.

Imogene should’ve seen the signs at the adoption center. Eden’s excitement was over the top, which should’ve been the first red flag, though she chalked it up to Whiskers surviving euthanasia and getting a home.

When they brought out thick gloves to transport Whiskers into a carrier, there was an unsettling vibe in the room. A few staff members surrounded the cage with tension in the air. It seemed strange at the time. So did the fact that a doctor mentioned sedating him for the ride home. Her excuse seemed palpable at the time. Car rides were traumatic for some animals. It made sense. Lies!

Imogene glanced over at the pile of cat supplies in the hallway. That should’ve been the glaring red flag. They’d sent her and Whiskers home with a carrier, three large bags of dry food, two dozen cans of wet food, enough litter for at least six months, and a litter box. All free of charge. They even tried to waive her adoption fee, but Imogene insisted.

I’m such a fool.

She flicked on her coffee maker but froze when Whiskers stood. She kept her eyes locked on him with an escape plan formulating in her mind. She might be able to make it back to her bedroom before he could attack. Again.

So much for companionship. She was now sharing space with an angry, aggressive four-legged roommate who hated her.

When her phone pinged on the counter, she jumped, grabbing her chest. She was on edge and tense. It had been that way since the first attack. By the time she’d brought him home, he was still groggy, and she was able to take him out of the carrier. She settled him on the chair in the corner. My favorite.

He’d slept for another hour before waking up and inspecting his new home. Imogene had purposely given him space, knowing firsthand changes could be scary. But eventually, she walked over to him, slowly reaching out to pet him with some encouraging words.

Now, she was scarred for life in the shape of three deep claw marks down her arm. Imogene figured he just needed more time. Two bite marks on her hand, a dozen fresh claw marks on her arms and legs…this is not going as I planned.

Imogene tapped her phone, pulling up her new email. It was confirmation for her second meeting with her client, Logan. This was another thing that hadn’t gone as planned. Her first assignment was still weighing heavy on her. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this. She glanced over at the Satan furball.

“I’d rather spend time with you than him.” That spoke volumes.

But… She didn’t have much of a choice. This was her job. Her only source of real income. The library might as well have been volunteer work considering her pay. Imogene was stuck. The only positive was that her request had been approved by Judy. She’d made arrangements to meet him at a local diner as opposed to the halfway house. Lots of witnesses.

Imogene tossed her phone on the counter, made her coffee, and headed to her room to get ready.

“Today will be better. Positive thoughts,” she chanted.

Hopefully, putting those thoughts out into the universe would work.

*

It didn’t work.

“I miss sex.”

Even for those who thoroughly enjoyed their jobs, there were always challenges. This client, Logan, was Imogene’s. Small talk was to be expected, but this was teetering on the line of inappropriate.

“It’s been a while for me.”

How the hell was she supposed to respond to that? Thankfully, she didn’t have to.

“You never answered my question from last time.”

She raised her brows. “What question?”

“Are you single?”

She forced a smile, shifting in her seat. “I don’t see how that has any bearing on our meeting.”

“Two good looking people having lunch. Some might look at us and think we’re on a date.” He laughed. “Besides, we’re friends, right?”