Page 124 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“Everywhere. But yes, at the firm. Rich people can get very casual about making everyone else feel replaceable. You don’t.”

“I have no interest in cruelty for sport.”

“No. You prefer surgical efficiency.”

“Which isn’t cruelty.”

I scoffed. “Depends what you cut.”

He absorbed that without defensiveness, which made my respect for him expand another inch. Max returned with the ball but didn’t drop it. Instead, he walked to me, pressed his head into my lap, and exhaled hard through his nose.

“Hey, bud,” I murmured, setting one hand behind his ear. “All done?”

He leaned more of his weight into me.

Rafe’s attention sharpened immediately. “What’s wrong?”

The question and the concern in it came so quickly that I felt it in the center of my chest.

“Nothing bad,” I said. “He’s overstimulated.”

“Too many dogs?” Rafe asked.

“Too much everything.” I stroked Max’s head slowly, letting my thumb move in the rhythm he liked. “He does incredibly well in public, but sometimes he hits a point where he needs quiet and space, not more smells and movement and strangers making high-pitched noises about his face.”

A woman across the park squealed as the corgi finally trotted three feet after a ball.

Max pressed closer against me.

Rafe’s mouth tightened. “Can we leave?”

“We will.” I smiled down at Max. “Sometimes I take him on the subway out to quieter parks when I can. Early mornings, mostly. Or Avery and I load everybody into her van and get out of the city if she can spare the time. That’s best. Somewhere with actual open space where he can run without dodging French bulldogs named Linguine.”

“Is there a French bulldog named Linguine?”

“There is, and he’s a menace.”

Rafe looked thoughtful.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“I know a place Max might like.”

My hand stilled on Max’s head. “You know a place?”

“Yes.”

“In the city?”

“No. It has open space. Fewer dogs. No Linguine.”

“That sounds like a paradise for him. Are you serious?”

His eyes met mine, piercing and warmer than they had any right to be. “I’m always serious. I can have the driver bring a different vehicle. Something larger. Max can lie down for the trip.”

I stared at him.

Maybe it was too much. A spontaneous trip out of the city with Rafe Virelli, who I wasn’t attracted to except in every possible category, after he had paid for another outfit and thrown a tennis ball as if he could bend physics to his will. There were professional boundaries and practical concerns to consider. The fact that I had laundry drying over my shower rod and an email draft open on my laptop were just a few of them.