Page 11 of Autumn at the Cat Cafe

Then he remembered the feel of her hands in his hair, the enticingly light touch of her fingers moving, massaging, bringing his body to life... in more ways than one.

He shook it off. He shouldn’t have gotten so irritated about the cat hair, but driving from California on only three hours of sleep and little food had taken a toll. Then again, he had no choice. His uncle had made sure of that. But his tired and still-hungry state had to be the reason his body was sparking out over her.

“We might as well walk to Bennett’s together,” Via said.

He grimaced. “I don’t recall giving you permission to attend my meeting.”

“After everything I’ve done for you? Did you forget the gourmet Cocoa Puffs already?”

He couldn’t gauge if she was serious. “You hit me with a lamp.”

“You were in my apartment—”

“Let’s not rehash.”

Her mouth curved into a triumphant smile.

If he weren’t in such a hurry and annoyed by his situation and his heightened state, he might have returned it. Even in his current mood, he noticed again that her bottom lip was slightly fuller than her top one, her teeth the perfect size, although not perfectly aligned. Natural. Almost irresistible. And for dozens of reasons, he had to resist.

“Fine,” he said, straightening his tie, despite knowing it wasalready straight. He had to focus on something instead of her. “We’ll go together. Anything to expedite the process.”

She led the way down the stairs, and they walked into the cool morning air. His disposition was cruddy, but at least the weather was nice, the colorful fall leaves and crisp temperature reminding him of growing up in New York City. The changing seasons were one of the few things he missed during the last eight years of living in Los Angeles. But it wasn’t worth leaving the life he’d built there, and there was nothing that would make him do it.

“This way,” she said, turning to the right and passing Pawsitive Vibes. He glanced at two cats sunbathing in the picture window. He’d never heard of a cat café before. Maybe it was a Midwestern thing.

They walked in silence for a minute before his phone buzzed inside his pocket. He pulled out his cell and checked the screen. His admin, Robert, was calling.

“Hey,” he answered, slowing his steps.

“I’m checking to see if you made it, sir.”

It didn’t matter how often he told Robert to call him Leo, the man insisted on being formal, an unusual stance in casual LA. “Got here a little while ago. Drove all day and night—” He glanced at Via. She was a few steps ahead. He turned his back to her and lowered his voice.

“I’m leaving after I sign the papers, then I’ll be back tomorrow night at the latest. Contact Arcadia Financial and confirm our meeting. I don’t want to lose that account.”

“Yes, sir,” Robert said. “Is there anything else you need me to do for you?”

“No thanks. See you soon.” He hung up and looked at Via again. She had stopped in front of a record store, Needle Drop Vinyl. He hurried to catch up to her.

“Driving back to LA in one day again isn’t smart,” she said, facing him. “You didn’t handle the drive so well the first time.”

“So you were eavesdropping.”

“Your voice carries.”

He side-eyed her and they started moving again. “While I appreciate the unexpected concern, the Turismo cuts several hours off the trip once I get on the highway.”

“Why didn’t you just fly?”

“I didn’t buy my car just for the looks. It drives like a dream.”

“I’m sure it does.” But she was giving him that look again, a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

He didn’t bother saying anything else. She’d find out he was telling the truth soon enough.

They stopped at the end of the block in front of a building with a sign painted on the large picture window in old-fashioned letters:Bennett Pipkin, Attorney at Law. He glanced at Via, who shot a quick look at him.

“Here we go,” he muttered and opened the door, gesturing for her to go first. As the door closed behind him, a wayward thought entered his brain.