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“Luke, for fuck’s sake!” Todd sounds like he’s close to tears, and I finally relent, looking at the clock as I drag myself out of bed.
“Three fucking a.m.,” I mumble, trudging downstairs in my boxers. “All right, I’m coming,” I call, opening the kitchen door. “What the fuck?” I cast my shocked eyes around my designer kitchen, taking in the mess, until they fall on a white, cute, furry bundle sitting in the middle of all the duck feathers. “I give you a goose down duvet and pillow, and this is how you thank me?”
Steve whimpers, looking at me with sad eyes. The little shit melts my heart. I sigh. “Come on.” I turn and make my way back upstairs, hearing his paws pitter-pattering behind me. His little body overtakes me as I make it to my room, and he charges at the bed. Jumps. And headbutts the side of the mattress. I laugh, scooping him up and setting him on the duvet. I realize I shouldn’t be encouraging this, but, fucking hell, I just need to sleep. Falling into bed, I pull the covers over me and drift off to the light sound of Steve snoring.
Todd and I stand on the threshold of my kitchen, staring in silence at the mess before us. In my sleepy state last night, I didn’t appreciate just how much carnage he caused. The door has been scratched down to bare wood, and the fucker has had a go on some of the cabinet doors too.
“How can such a small thing cause so much damage?” Todd asks, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. “And make so much fucking noise?”
I pad into the middle of my kitchen and gaze around. “It’s not quite on the level of your apartment.” Frowning, I look down, lifting my foot when I feel a wet warmth between my toes. I grit my teeth and search out the unruly puppy I’ve stupidly adopted. He’s sitting by the fridge, his tail whacking the tiled floor. “Your behavior needs to change if you and I are gonna get along.”
Steve yaps and Todd laughs, leaving the kitchen. “Have a good day, bro,” he calls.
What was I thinking? “This mess better be gone by the time I get back downstairs,” I snap, marching out of the kitchen, wiping my foot on a pile of duck feathers as I go.
While I get myself ready for work, Steve plays shadow, following me from the shower to the bedroom, to my closet, to the hallway and, finally, to the car. I don’t bother buckling him in, letting him sit on my lap as I drive to the office, stopping off at Starbucks on the way to pick up a coffee and some breakfast for Steve.
When I get out of my car in the underground car park, I look like a frigging snowman, my grey suit covered in white dog hairs. “Great,” I mutter, brushing myself down. Collecting Steve off the driver’s seat, I head to my office. I get a dozen women swooning all over the pint-sized fraud on my way to my floor, and each time I grunt at their comments about his cuteness. When the elevator door opens, Pam is waiting for me, a pad and pen in her hand. She spots Steve, then my face, and she laughs.
I growl, marching past her. “Did you purposely save the devil dog for me?” I ask, pushing my way into my office and lowering Steve to the floor. He bounds over to Pam when she drops to her haunches, giving him lots of fuss. I look on in disbelief. “Don’t praise him.”
“Luke, he’s a baby.” She scoops Steve up and lets him ravage her face with his tongue. “You need to bond.”
“We did plenty of that in bed last night when he wrapped himself around my head.”
Pam gives me a disapproving look. “He slept in your bed? Oh, Luke, you’ve broken rule number one.”
“What was I supposed to do? He was howling until three a.m.” I drop into my chair and run a hand down my unshaved jaw. “He’s massacred my kitchen, ripped his bed to shreds, and pissed everywhere.” I throw Steve a dirty look. He looks far too pleased with himself.
“Where’s his collar?” Pam asks, looking at his neck. “And his lead?”
“I haven’t got them yet.” I click my way into Outlook and scan my emails.
“And if you’re bringing him to work, you need a bed in here for him.”
“Anything else?”
“A water bowl, a food bowl. Has he eaten this morning?”
I peek up at Pam, pouting. “He had a blueberry muffin on the way to work.”
Her eyes bug. “Luke, you can’t feed blueberry muffins to a twelve-week-old puppy. What about the food I gave you?”
“We were late,” I say. “Now, what’s my day looking like?” Pam places Steve on his paws and his nose goes straight to the ground, sniffing his way around my office. I follow his scampered journey all the way to my desk, where he squats. “What’s he doing?”
