“He’s the stupidest creature I’ve ever met. He walked into a wall before he tripped me.”
Ellie bristled. “He’s going blind and struggles more at night, you big bully?—”
“Ignore him.” I caught her wrist before she could launch herself at Fletcher.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” She tried to shrug out of my hold, but I held tight. “No one talks about my cat like that.”
Fletcher pushed away from Harrison and Vlad, stumbling forward.
“Your little blind angel destroyed my Rolex,” he spat. “He’s a pest that should be put down.”
Ellie gasped, going deadly still in front of me, while Lovejoy stepped forward with a nervous laugh. She lifted her hands placatingly. “Why don’t we all just take a moment to practice our breathing exercises together?”
But Ellie’s breathing was picking up, and she spluttered—too angry to form words.
“Fletch, go take a walk,” I said, my voice deceptively calm. I wanted to deck him myself. “Now.”
He jerked his head back, nostrils flaring. “You’re taking the cat’s side, too? This is so dumb. I’m done with you all.”
He scowled as he stumbled past us, dripping salt water onto the deck on his way to the door. I exhaled, just happy he was leaving—until he caught sight of Whiskey in Grandfather’s arms and froze midstep, glaring daggers. “What are you looking at, you stupid little shit?”
Whiskey wiggled until he escaped my grandfather, then jumped down and trotted toward Ellie, but Fletcher wasn’t done. He faked a lunge forward, making Whiskey freeze and arch his back, hissing at Fletcher.
“Stop taunting him,” Ellie demanded with her own far-less-intimidating scowl. She tugged her wrist free from me so she could crouch, holding her arms out for Whiskey. “If anything, you should be apologizing to Whiskey.”
“Are you mental?” Fletcher moved closer to the cat, who let out a low hiss. “I’ve got a better idea.”
“Fletch,” I warned evenly, only to be ignored.
He struck quickly—yanking Whiskey up by the scruff of his neck, earning a cry from Ellie as she jumped forward—before swinging the cat back and hurling him over the railing.
Time slowed, and we all watched in horror as the cat soared through the air, paws outstretched and tail straight as an arrow, before hitting the dark water with a minusculesplash.
“Whiskey!” Ellie’s scream made my blood run cold. She lurched toward the railing, but I grabbed the back of her robe and bunched the cotton in my fist.
Ellie couldn’t swim, but she’d jump in after Whiskey in a heartbeat.
And no way in hell would I let that happen.
I moved before I could think—pushing Ellie toward the man behind me. “Mac, keep her safe.”
Not waiting for a response, I ran and leapt over the railing, launching into a practiced dive toward the dark water.
It was a stupid move. Moronic, even. Amateur hour at its finest. Anyone with even a crumb of swimming experience knew not to jump into unknown waters at night.
Yet here I was, throwing every safety rule out the window to save a fucking cat who didn’t even like me.
kiss it better
. . .
Ellie
Ellie’s Guide toProfessional CuddlingBeing a Fake FiancéeNOT Falling for Your Fake FiancéHiding Any Trace that You’ve Fallen for Your Fake FiancéKeeping It TogetherSurviving as a Fake Fiancée, Tip #26: If he risks his life for your pet…good luck ever moving on from that.
One second, Cade had been standing behind me while I confronted my cat’s bully.
The next, he was gone.
