I keep my eyes on the elevator doors, voice even. “Don’t confuse oversight with investment.”
The elevator dings, and when the doors slide open, Waffles bolts again, dragging her two steps forward before she digs her heels in. I follow at a normal pace, keys already in my hand, because one of us has to look like we belong here.
The lobby guard glances up, and his eyes immediately drop to the dog. I brace for a question, but I cut it off with a look sharp enough to make him think better of it. Tessa notices and straightens her shoulders.
Outside, the air is cool and sharp, and Waffles practically explodes onto the sidewalk. Tessa stumbles, recovers, and shoots me another glare.
“I had this under control,” she says, a little breathless.
“Sure,” I answer, stepping around them and heading down the block. “That’s why you’re half a second from being dragged into traffic.”
She pulls the leash tighter, cheeks flushed, her pace quickening to catch up with mine. “You didn’t have to come,” she insists, stubborn and defensive.
“Of course, I didn’t,” I say, keeping my eyes forward. “I also didn’t have to let the dog stay in my apartment, but apparently, I’m making a career out of bad decisions.”
She opens her mouth, shuts it, then tries again. “You don’t have to walk with us.”
“I know.” My tone stays flat, even. “That’s what makes it worse.”
Her lips part, caught somewhere between shock and frustration. She stares at me for a long beat before Waffles lunges toward a fire hydrant, jerking her sideways. She yelps, stumbling again.
I sigh and take the leash out of her hands before she can argue. The dog settles immediately, falling into step beside me as if he were trained for this.
Her jaw drops. “Seriously?”
I keep walking, not looking at her. “One of us understands authority.”
She sputters, tugging her jacket tighter around her. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” I say, giving the leash a light tug as Waffles stays in line, “here we are.”
She falls quiet, but I catch the way she folds her arms, the way her shoulders tense. She’s always been like that—resistant when anyone steps in, defensive when anything feels like she’s being taken care of.
We keep walking, Waffles tight at my side, Tessa hurrying to match my pace. For a block, the only sound is the dog’s nails clicking against the concrete until…
“Any fallout from your little performance?” My voice is even, but it makes her stiffen. “The broken window. Anyone at the clinic asking more questions?”
Her head jerks toward me. “No,” she says quickly. Too quickly. “They bought it. Everyone thinks I forgot my keys and panicked. I said I broke the glass to get in, and by the time I did, the dog was gone. Nobody questioned it.”
I glance at her briefly. “Nobody?”
She swallows. “No one.”
I nod once, not breaking stride. Of course, I already know that. I checked the morning after. No report filed. No request for follow-up from the precinct. I’ve got a contact who owes me, and if anything had shifted, I’d have known before she did. I didn’t need to ask; I just wanted to see if she’d lie.
“Good,” I say finally. “Because if you slip, it doesn’t just hit you. It hits me. And I don’t take hits for free.”
She bristles, hugging her arms tighter across her chest. “I’m not slipping. I’ve been careful.”
“Careful,” I echo, dryly. “You’ve been hiding a dog in my apartment while your roommate thinks you gave him to a classmate. That’s your definition of careful?”
Her mouth opens, defensive, but no sound comes out. She glares instead.
I tug lightly on the leash, Waffles falling back in line without resistance. “Keep it that way,” I add, quieter this time. “No cracks. No second-guesses. If anyone starts digging, you tell me first. Not after.”
She exhales hard, muttering something I don’t catch, and when I glance at her, she pastes on a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“You know,” she says, voice pitched higher, “most people would just say thank you when someone keeps their story straight. Maybe even buy them coffee. But no, not you.”
