“That arrogant man.” I scowled, yanking my blue curtains shut.
The next night, I grew braver and went down to confront whichever unlucky goon Cade had sent. I tapped on the driver’s tinted window, and an older man with impeccable posture and a fancy burgundy bowler hat rolled it down. He said his name was Grady, and that he was here to drive me to the Nightingale. When he refused my polite requests for him to leave, I brought him a bagel and decaf coffee for a snack.
It wasn’t his fault his boss was impossible.
Thus began our ritual for the rest of the week. Grady arrived promptly at seven o’clock, we exchanged pleasantries, I asked him nicely to leave, he politely refused, he asked me nicely to getin the car, I politely refused, and I gave him a bagel and coffee for his completely unnecessary stakeout.
On the fifth night, I handed him his bagel and coffee with a sigh. “I’m sorry your boss sends you on a pointless assignment every night.”
“I don’t mind.” Grady smiled, gesturing to his phone. “I’m getting paid to wait here, and my nephew taught me how to watch movies on this thing, so I’m set.”
My shoulders relaxed. Well, at least he wasn’t bored.
“I better get back inside.” I pointed at the café over my shoulder, already stepping backward. “Have a good night, Grady. Enjoy your movies.”
“Thank you, Miss Darling. Same time tomorrow?”
I couldn’t stifle a scowl. “How long are you planning to do this for?”
“As long as the boss wants me to.”
I hesitated, but my curiosity won out. “Is Cade a good boss?”
“The best,” he answered without hesitation. He unwrapped his bagel and tipped it toward me like a salute. “I’ve driven a lot of powerful folks over the years, and it’s rare to find one so down to earth. I’ll work for him as long as he’ll have me.”
Well, then.
I hurried inside before I could ask any other stupid questions.
The next day, a call I’d been dreading from Whiskey’s vet clinic came in while I was sweeping the café’s foyer.
“Hi, this is Diane with Westport Pet Hospital. I’m calling to schedule Lord Whiskerson’s upcoming surgery.”
“Hey, Diane.” I clung to the broom, bracing myself. “Um, I’m sorry, but I can’t schedule Whiskey’s surgery yet. Funds are a little tight right now.”
My paycheck from the app didn’t hit until the end of the month. I also really needed to look into the financial penalty for breaking that NDA with Cade, but just thinking about it made me nauseous.
“Oh, it’s already been paid for,” Diane assured me.
I went completely still, brows skyrocketing. “…It has?”
“Yes, we have a card on file to cover the balance.”
Suspicion swirled in my gut, and I squinted at the pink cat-themed wallpaper. “Whose card?”
“It belongs to a Mr. Cade Westbrook. He called ahead to make sure Lord Whiskerson could get scheduled ASAP.”
My brain buffered. Cade was still paying for Whiskey’s surgery?
I wasn’t sure what I said back to the receptionist—it might’ve just been gibberish—but I hung up without waiting for a response, then dropped into the nearest wicker chair.
This changed things.
When seven o’clock rolled around that night, I kissed Whiskey’s fluffy head and marched downstairs without giving myself a chance to second-guess this.
After a quick goodbye to Kitty and the cats while I grabbed a bagel and coffee, I left the café and walked straight to the passenger side of Grady’s car. He didn’t say a word while I opened the door, plopped down beside him, set his coffee in the cup holder, and buckled myself in.
I let out a sharp breath and tugged on the hem of my crochet crop top before planting both hands on my thighs. “Okay. I’m ready.”
