“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.