The Billionaire's Furry Wingman

A cat just jumped into my boss's lap. We're live on a company video call. A dozen executives watching. And sixty seconds ago, that cat was asleep in my camera.

Every face on the call swings to me. I open my mouth to explain. My boss pats its rump, calm as a man ordering coffee. "Good girl. Go find your mama." I want to die.

Chapter 1 I moved in with my boss by accident. Completely. Rhys Ashford. CEO of the company where I was a junior assistant on the project team, barely off probation.

The kind of nobody he had no reason to remember the name of. But I had a side gig. Inhome pet sitting. There's an app for it. You show up, you feed the cat, you leave.

It was an ordinary Saturday. I'd taken the booking, hauled my kit up to the client's place, and just finished blowdrying the cat after its bath when the door opened behind me.

I turned around. Rhys Ashford, home early from a business trip, looked at me. I looked back. Petrified doesn't cover it. I'd have passed for a statue.

Of all the apartments in this city, I'd been moonlighting in my boss's. I reached for composure. He can't know me, I told myself. He definitely can't remember me.

I ducked my head and got very busy with the blowdryer. The second it clicked off, he crossed the room and stopped beside me.

He'd changed into something soft and wornin, and he stood with the window at his back, and the light did unfair things to the shape of him. Not the moment to swoon.

I turned my face into my hair so he couldn't get a clean look at it. "Was it you the other times too?" he asked. I nodded.

And privately loathed myself, because I'd been here how many times and never once clocked whose place it was. "Good work," he said.

Then: "Any interest in something longterm?" "Sorry?" "The cat's difficult. If it weren't—" He stopped himself. "Never mind." A beat, then, even and unbothered: "Simple version.

I need someone to look after it longterm. Live in, ideally. Name your rate.

You in?" "...A livein nanny?" He laughed, low, like I'd landed on something private. "Call it that if you want." "But I have a job," I said, quieter. "I know you have a job." No pause at all. "You're Theo's assistant on the project team.

Aren't you." "I remember you, Sadie." My pulse shot into my throat. He had no business knowing my name. Men like him did not remember girls like me.

And yet he'd said it like it had been sitting in his mouth for years. "Office during the day, here at night to look after it," he went on. "Nothing you can't manage." "But, but—" Still digging for an exit.

Then, lightly, like it had only just come to him: "Company policy bars outside work, doesn't it. Second jobs." That sobered me right up.

The entire reason I dreaded bumping into anyone from the office was this exact scenario.

Lose the gig, lose the job I'd only just been hired into for real. "Stay and take care of it," he said, somewhere between a threat and a favor, "and I never saw a thing." So.

Here was the actual math. I was the sitter his impossible cat had all but requested by name, and that cat ran this house. He needed me more than I needed him.

The rate was mine to set. And, God help me, I wanted the cat hours. So I didn't cave. I negotiated. "Fine," I said. "My rate, my terms, in writing. I'm signing on for the cat.

Not for you." Something moved at the corner of his mouth. "In writing," he agreed. "Whatever you want." I should have heard the warning in how fast he said it.

That was how I ended up living with Rhys Ashford. Or, fine. With his cat. Chapter 2 The cat's name was Chestnut.

According to Rhys, Chestnut was proud, had no use for people, yowled all night, and liked to scratch. He put weight on that last one. Old grievances, clearly.

I had to bite down on a smile, because it dredged up a story from my intern days.

For a stretch back then, Rhys had been turning up to work with faint scratch marks down his neck and forearms.

A man that buttonedup and severe finally serving the office something that smelled like a scandal. People lost their minds.

One camp swore it was a girlfriend staking her claim, warning off every woman who circled him. Another camp openly admired the stamina.

Up all night, still at his desk past midnight. For about a week you couldn't get coffee without catching a fresh theory. Turned out it was the cat.

I was still swallowing the laugh when Rhys spoke. "I've got a video call tonight," he said. "Keep it under control." I nodded and accepted the sacred duty.

I figured there wasn't much room for it to go wrong. Then, ten minutes before the call, my mentor Theo messaged me. Theo: [8 p.m., this link.

I pulled strings to get you a seat in the room. Pay attention.] I looked at the meeting number. I looked at the cat, deep in its nap. I could have wept.

It had genuinely never crossed my mind that my day job and my night job might collide. Turns out you can only dodge for so long.

Got it, I typed, and set my camera up in the far corner of the room, as far from Chestnut as the walls allowed, and joined the call. The host opened the meeting.

A breath later, the cat strolled into my frame, slow and unhurried, setting each paw down like it was getting paid by the step. The host stopped talking.

Every executive on the grid looked up.

The cat reached dead center of my shot, ignored the dozen stares riding on it, dropped flat with a soft thud, and went back to sleep. "Sorry, sorry," I blurted, already half out of my chair. "I'll move it right now." Rhys's voice landed before I could stand. "It's fine.

Let it sleep." The GM had spoken, so of course everyone cooed about how cute it was and let the moment slide. For the first ten minutes, most of me stayed on that cat.

The cat did nothing but sleep. So I let my shoulders down and put my head into the meeting, right as it landed on Theo to present.

I was scribbling notes, head down, sure he'd quiz me tomorrow, when he stopped midsentence. I looked up. Somewhere in the last few minutes, a cat had appeared in Rhys's frame.

Curled, of all places, in his lap. Nobody said a word. Then, in perfect unison, the whole grid turned to look at me.

I turned too, slow, and found the spot where my cat had been sleeping very, very empty. It had bolted. Into Rhys's frame.

My brain went into overdrive, hunting for a way to explain— The cat in his lap wriggled its backside and meowed, twice. My stomach lifted.

And Rhys patted its rump, soothing, the way he must have a hundred times before. "Good girl. Go find your mama." I want to die. Chapter 3 Dead silence on the call.

Every single one of them had the wrong idea. Two department heads who used to make my life difficult were already looking at me with sheepish, apologetic eyes. I lowered my head.

There was no version of this I could walk back. There was no walking it back. Those looks said it, plain as a banner: so you're the mother of Mr. Ashford's cat. I let out a breath.

Too soon, as it turned out. Because Chestnut actually did what Rhys said. It trotted out of his study and straight back into my room.

The blueandwhite shorthair planted itself at my feet, fixed two bright, enormous eyes on me, and gazed up like I hung the moon. My mind went blank.

When it came back, one thought stood out, sharp and urgent. That cat could not end up in my frame again. Or I'd never, ever live it down.

I was working out how to talk it down when Rhys spoke, like a man surfacing from a daze. "...Where'd your cat go?" What?

I grinned at the camera through my teeth. "Oh, it just moved somewhere else to sleep." "Huh," he said, easy. "Looks a lot like mine." One line, and the fog over the whole meeting lifted.

Theo recovered first and cleared his throat. "So, Mr.

Ashford, picking up where I—" Rhys sat back in his chair, every inch himself again. "Go on." Chestnut didn't breach my frame again for the rest of the call.

It crouched at my feet, playing and dozing, dozing and playing. I held my breath the whole way to the end. When the camera clicked off, I exhaled.

My shirt was stuck to my back, soaked through.

I looked down at Chestnut, playing without a care in the world, and flicked it square on the forehead. "Don't even think about sleeping in my bed tonight," I muttered.

After my shower, I carried Chestnut back to its bedroom, which was bigger than mine. I'd just opened the door when I ran into Rhys, out for a glass of water.

He'd just showered too, his hair still damp.

A bead of water slid down past his brow, vanished into his collar, and traced the line of muscle underneath before the fabric drank it up.

My eyes followed it the whole way down before I could stop them. I dragged them back up, pressed my lips together, and found something very interesting on the wall.

He wasn't doing much better. He drank from the same glass of water over and over until it was nearly empty, and neither of us said a word.

It hit me then that the disaster might have started with my day job, but I'd dropped the ball on the night job too. "Sorry, Mr.

Ashford," I said quickly. "I didn't keep a good eye on it tonight." He blinked, caught off guard. Then: "It's fine.

That one's on me too." Like he was worried I'd misread it, he added, "I say it out of habit. Don't read into it." He meant the good girl, go find your mama.

I shook my head. "I won't." The reason Rhys had started calling me Chestnut's mother went back to one line, on the day I signed the contract.

That day, besides me, Rhys, and the lawyer, there was a pet behaviorist in the room. She was there to assess Chestnut's state of mind.

The short version: Rhys wanted the bad habits fixed. No more yowling, no more scratching. A sweet, easy cat. And that job landed on me. Not for free, mind you.

The bonus was very generous. The behaviorist knew her stuff, too.

She offered some advice. "A cat that's gone a long time without affection, in an environment short on security, can develop a few personality issues. But that's an easy fix.

Give it the kind of love only a mother can, and I believe one day it'll understand all the care you and Mr. Ashford have put in." My guess is Rhys heard exactly two words that day.

A mother. Because from then on, he had me pegged as Chestnut's mom. Every time the cat interrupted his work by accident, he'd pat its rump and say, good girl, go find your mama.

The one mercy was that Rhys hadn't decided he was Chestnut's dad yet. Because if he had, the wiring of this household was going to get very confusing.

Chapter 4 The morning after the video call, Theo pulled me into his office first thing. For once he was stiff, hesitant. "Last night. That cat. You and Mr.

Ashford, you two..." I jumped in before he could finish, with a dry little laugh. "I know, right?

Can't believe my cat looks that much like his." "It's really not the same cat?" He laughed, dry too. "A few people have come up to ask me what it's like having the boss's wife as my mentee." "It's not like that," I said evenly. "Mr.

Ashford said it himself. They just look alike." "Good." He sighed. A second later, he was suspicious again. "On our whole mentormentee relationship, tell me straight.

There's really nothing between you and Mr.

Ashford?" I answered just as straight. "There is really nothing between me and him." He still looked halfconvinced, so I went all in. "Maybe set the record straight for me while you're at it.

The boss's wife is a big hat. No way it fits my head." He finally nodded. I walked out feeling ten pounds lighter. Smooth sailing until the end of the day.

On the train home, a message came in from my cousin. Cousin: [Haven't seen you take any bookings lately. What gives?] My cousin founded that petsitting app.

When stress gets to me, I like to be around cats. My building doesn't allow them, so the next best thing is grabbing a booking or two in my free time.

Decent reviews got me a handful of regulars who request me by name. Mr. Ashford used to be one of those regulars.

Cousin: [That client Tamara filed a complaint when the sitter got swapped.] Me: [How did she even know it got swapped?!] Cousin: [You sweet idiot.

People have cameras in their homes.] It clicked. And then another thought surfaced. Rhys had cameras in his place too.

So had he, or had he not, seen on those earlier visits that it was me?

And if he'd seen, if he'd known it was me, and still asked for me by name, didn't that make his motive a little suspect?

Was he just lying in wait to catch me out, so he'd have a reason to make me his livein catsitter? The messages kept stacking up.

I gave in and told her the whole thing, then asked her to make it make sense. Me: [So what's actually going on here?] Cousin: [You sweet, sweet idiot.

Your boss is obviously into you.] Me: [You really went there.] She went quiet. The quiet stretched. I sent a question mark. Cousin: [Nothing.

Just trying to work out whose side of the family your brain came from.] I pushed back. Me: [The man has someone he's in love with.

That cat is exhibit A.] I'd worked this out over my weeks in his apartment. Rhys didn't actually seem all that into cats. But everything that cat ate, wore, played with, slept on.

All top of the line. Its bedroom was bigger than mine, kitted out with everything, an oversized glamour portrait of itself on the wall.

If that wasn't the cat of someone he loved, why pour that kind of effort into spoiling it? She stayed quiet. I sent another question mark. Cousin: [Just Googled your boss.

He's a solid catch. If you like him, go for it. You have my blessing.] Me: ... Cousin: [Anyway.

Pick up a couple of bookings for me when you get a chance.] She walked it back a notch. Cousin: [At least help me break in the new hires.] For old times' sake, I said yes.

Chapter 5 Against all odds, when I ran the petsitting thing by Rhys, he agreed on the spot. Even did it with a flourish. "Leave Chestnut to me.

You've got nothing to worry about." So I went off to train my cousin's new hire with a clear conscience.

I walked the newbie through a client's place, telling him to write down each owner's preferences and habits, to follow whatever they'd asked for in the app, running down the checklist point by point.

A busy afternoon. We were right in the middle of grooming the cat when Rhys called. For the first time, his voice wasn't calm and steady.

There was an edge to it, something close to panic. "...How much longer do you need?" "An hour, maybe? Why?" "Chestnut won't stop crying." Short and to the point.

The line went quiet.

And there it was, Chestnut's wailing, one cry after another, genuinely pitiful. "Grab the freezedried treats it likes," I said. "Or try setting it on your lap and rubbing its belly—" "It scratched me." Now it wasn't just the cat.

Even Rhys sounded like something you'd want to comfort. I held my tongue a moment. Then turned to the newbie. "Can you handle the rest?" He nodded. "Great.

Something's come up on my end. I'm heading out." By the time I got home, cat and man had gone back to their usual harmony. Except for two fresh scratch marks on Rhys's neck.

I swallowed the laugh and owned up. "Sorry.

I shouldn't have taken the booking." The contract spelled out that I'd be on hand whenever the cat needed me, and Rhys paid me many times the going rate.

By any measure, I had no business taking outside work.

Rhys waved it off, breezy. "Mine's the bigger problem." He was working so hard at his straightfaced nothinghappenedhere act that I kept hearing that small, aggrieved it scratched me from the phone.

Cute, I thought. Still cute. "It's on me," I went on. "No more bookings." He didn't push.

Just asked, "Will that throw off your cousin's operation?" "No," I said. "I'll let her know. That's all." I figured no bookings meant smooth sailing.

What I didn't figure was the working stiff's other great enemy of free time. Overtime. The project group hit a snag, and on a weekend, no less.

The department manager hauled everyone in without mercy, and a small fry like me wasn't getting out of it. I sat next to Theo, dutifully taking orders.

We were halfway through overtime when the snack run arrived. And so did Rhys.

He stood in the doorway of the bullpen, a cat carrier slung across his front, completely unbothered. "You've all earned it. On me." The office erupted.

Then, like his shoelace had come undone, he bent down. The carrier, it turned out, was open. Chestnut seized the gap and sprang out, light as you please.

It was the first time the project group had laid eyes on Rhys's cat. They were riveted, every head tracking it across the room.

Chestnut crossed down the center of the aisle like a star working a red carpet, oblivious to all of it, graceful, unhurried, gloriously sure of itself.

In my mounting horror, it slowed and stopped right beside me. I gave it a look. Don't you dare. Cats, as it turns out, can't read looks.

It hopped into my lap like it had done it a thousand times. Found the exact curl it always found. Pushed its head into my side and settled in for the night, home.

Every pair of eyes in the room did the math at once. The boss's cat. Curled into a junior assistant's lap like it slept there every night. Because it did. Nobody moved.

I was so dead. Chapter 6