Page 81 of His Temporary Assistant

Who could blame him?

“Do you have pets?” I asked as she latched the carrier.

She got back in her seat and clicked her belt back into place as I did the same. She looked seductively mussed with her lipstick partially worn off and her dress askew, and I couldn’t stop staring at her.

“I have my hands full with plants.” She grinned, studying me. “Your hair is a wreck.”

I flipped down my visor mirror and discovered she wasn’t lying. I tried to get it back into a semblance of order, and she huffed out a sigh before grabbing her purse. “Come here.”

I came.

She did some magic with her hair brush and some spray I didn’t question yet probably should have. “Have you ever tried guyliner? You have the eyes for it. That panty-melting golden brown.”

“Not sure it’s the proper image for a law office,” I said dryly once she moved back.

Luckily, she hadn’t added a pink stripe or God knows what to my hair. I just looked put together again.

I had no reason at all to be disappointed.

Smoky let out a plaintive meow, which was my cue to slip the car into Drive.

We arrived at Pet-O-Rama a few minutes later. I wasn’t back to normal, but I was no longer prepared to take her in the front seat. Although I could be ready in an instant, should the situation warrant it.

I had a feeling it wouldn’t.

As I parked, Ryan quickly fixed her lipstick and rearranged her hair, ensuring that no one in the world would ever guess we’d behaved highly inappropriately. My biggest regret was that we’d been interrupted.

“I had sex in a fountain once,” I announced as she was about to get out of the car.

She glanced back. “Drinking or ornamental?”

I had to laugh. “Ornamental. It ended with us in the back of a police car.”

“Ouch.” She grimaced. “But did you get an orgasm first?”

I frowned. “I can’t quite remember.”

“I’m gonna go with no then. Pro tip—always make sure you have the orgasm first. C’mon, Smoky,” she said into the back. “We’re going in to get you all kinds of stuff. Daddy’s got a platinum card.” She climbed out to open the back door and free the cat from his prison.

I was still smiling when it fully clicked in what she was doing. “You can’t bring a wild animal into a retail establishment.”

She snorted as she nestled the cat against her chest. “Watch me, PMS.”

She shut the door on my astonished expression.

I joined them at the double doors and she tapped the sign that said pets welcome before we walked inside.

We were immediately confronted with a leashed Saint Bernard who lifted his head and licked my likely terrified cat with a pink tongue the size of a chaise lounge.

I expected the cat to hiss and jump down before running away to hide in the bowels of Pet-O-Rama, never to be seen again.

Instead, Smoky turned his head and began to wash his face.

“I thought cats hated dogs,” I said when my voice returned and we’d turned down an aisle with many fish tanks.

“Don’t believe the hype.”

“Hmm.”

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