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“You’re at MELCR Tech?” The name Hennessy gives it away. I know the richest people in Chicago, thanks to my brother being one of them. And Sherman Hennessy is up there. “You worked for Sherman Hennessy and gave that up to babysit a bunch of brats?”
Matthias Hennessy is a household name, as is his grandpa. Besides my brother and his husband, the Hennessys are the second-wealthiest family in the city. Hennessy’s Gadgets startedfifty years ago, and has grown into Hennessy’s Incorporated, manufacturing bicycles for half of the world, but specializes in bikes for racing, and customized special orders. Like most companies nowadays, they have branched out, manufacturing everything from car parts to technology. Their empire is impressive.
She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t take shit from others. Sherman knew it was what his grandson needed if he was going to be successful. And I couldn’t say no to Sherman. I’ve been with him since my senior year in college. I rose through the ranks and worked one on one with him for years. Plus, there’s the little issue of a bonus that was offered. But, I do more than babysit. I draft press releases and new product announcements, and I work with our clients.”
She loves what she does and it shows. “In this day and age, so many companies are very involved in social issues. A company like ours won’t work with another company that vehemently declares that the LGBTQ community isn’t relevant. Matthias won’t stand for such ignorance. So, I have my homework to do. If a company is known for that sort of tunnel vision, we’ll walk away, even if it costs us hundreds of thousands. That’s just one example.”
“You love what you do?”
“Yes. Why work forty to fifty years in a field you hate? I know it’s not that simple, but since it’s just me, and no other responsibilities, itisrather simple. Well, it’s just me and Otis.”
I stop at the name I’ve never heard her mention.
“Otis? Should I be concerned?”
“Nah, not unless you feel threatened by a flat-faced, curly-tailed, compact pug, who will follow you around, and you’ll never go to the bathroom or shower alone again.”
“You have a dog? And wait, he sits there while you shower? Well, fuck, I’m threatened by this dog you call Otis.”
I push to my feet, bringing the coffee pot over to her and refilling her cup, dropping a kiss on her cheek, placing the coffee back on the counter and returning to my seat. It seems so natural, so fucking domestic. I’m lost in my thoughts, and then it hits me—Otis. What a name.
“And Otis, in and of itself, is a funny name. I mean, did you pull it out of thin air?” I ask.
“Ah, I forget sometimes you’re a baby compared to me.”
“I don’t think ten years is that big of a deal, and more so, what does my age have to do with the name of your pug?” I counter with a snort.
“Maybe nothing, but you most likely have never watched the movieMilo and Otis, about a bratty yellow cat and his sidekick, a cute pug.”
Her smile radiates off the light pouring in from the outside, and my eyes stay on hers. “And let me guess, Otis was the pug?” I ask.
“Ding-ding. You’re correct.”
“But a pug? I mean, they’re so ugly, they’re cute,” I disclose, imparting a large grin her way.
She stands, clearing her throat and straightening my T-shirt. Moving her hands to her hips, I know where this is going. Sandra has a little bit of a dramatic side.
“Okay, so this is clearly never going to work out between us.”
She walks back to my bedroom and I follow, pulling her by the waist back against my body.
“You’re a tease. Anyone ever tell you that?” Instantly, I realize I don’t want an answer to my question. “Wait, don’t answer that. As far as Otis goes, where is he?”
“First, you have to take back what you said about my baby boy.”
She’s so close to my face our noses touch.
Rolling my eyes, I match her dramatics. “Cross my heart, and hope to die, I’ll never call Otis anything but a cute little guy.”
She quirks one brow higher than the other. “I guess that’s okay, for now.”
I tug her toward my bed, and we both fall onto the blankets. “So, where is the flat-faced, curly- tailed, compact pug, who follows you around everywhere?”
She rests her head in the crook of my shoulder, and this closeness and the intimacy we’ve shared is more than all the other women I’ve been with combined. But with her, it seems so familiar.
“He spent the night with a neighbor. She’s a widow in her late sixties wholovesOtis. Mrs. Winslow takes him during the days when I’m at work, and for any overnights, and walks him for me during the day while I’m gone.”
“Where was he Thursday night, after the date with that jackass, when I ended up in your bed?” Yeah, I’m cocky.
