Page 78 of My Favorite Boss

The kitten shut its eyes and kept making the odd noise with a little bleat breaking up the constant hum.

Magnolia appeared, a piece of paper in one hand, a towel in the other.

“It’s making a funny noise,” I informed her. “I think it’s sick.”

She leaned in and grinned. “He’s purring. He’s happy.”

“Why?”

“Because he knows he’s safe.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but she interrupted me.

“You have a choice,” she informed me. “Bathe him or go to the store.”

“How about we put him back outside?”

“Not even funny, Bane.”

I plucked the list from her hand. “Fine, Myers. But he’s out of here when the shelter opens up in the morning.”

“We’ll see.” She managed to remove his claws from my shirt, and she bundled him in the towel. “There is a pet store one block over. I called, and they’re open. They’re waiting for you. Hurry.”

I looked at the list in my hand. “Seriously? For one night?”

She rolled her eyes. “Accept it, Bane.” Then she grinned. “It’s me and the kitten—or the socialite and the five-hundred-dollar dinners.”

I waved the list. “You owe me.”

She grinned. “Hurry. He needs food.”

And for some reason, I did exactly as she told me.

I had no idea I lived that close to a pet store. Or that kittens needed so much stuff. The owners helped me out, and when I couldn’t answer the questions, I called Myers and she talked to them. As I was waiting, I spied a fuzzy little tepee-looking structure.

“What is that?” I asked.

“For the cat to sleep in. Unless, of course, you have one?”

“No.”

“We don’t recommend they sleep on a bed. Too high for them. And they like the comfort of being closed in. It makes them feel safe.”

Thinking how cold the kitten had felt when I first touched it, I plucked the tent off the shelf and added it to the pile.

Besides, there was only one pussy sleeping in my bed tonight, and it wasn’t the little ruffian who had claimed me as his own.

I walked into the condo, hearing Myers cooing and talking softly.

“Who is such a handsome boy? So cute! Look at that fur!”

I walked into the kitchen, finding her holding the kitten. She met my eyes. “Congratulations, Daddy! It’s a boy!”

I snorted. “Not his daddy. And he isn’t staying.” Then I dumped the bags on the counter. “All this goes with him tomorrow.”

She ignored me, pushing the kitten at me. Having no choice, I took him. Even with his fur damp, I could see the ginger color beginning to show. He snuggled into my chest again, making that purring sound. Absently, I stroked his head, mimicking the actions I had seen Myers make. I watched her mix up some mushy stuff and add a bit of horrendous-smelling food from a can into it.

“I think he is about seven, maybe eight weeks old,” she muttered, taking him from my hand and setting him in front of the food. “Oh, he is so hungry!” she exclaimed then laughed as he began to eat, supposedly so famished that he set his front paws in the dish, making growly noises as he devoured the wet mess in front of him.