“Be good, you hear? Or there won’t be any special treats for my darlings. Give me a kiss, babies. Give Mommy a kiss. I love you all.”

Is Vivian ever going to leave?

I nod repeatedly with a polite smile lifting my lips. This is my attempt to keep a look of professionalism on my face as my part-time boss, Vivian Chandler, lowers to the floor to dole out embraces and kisses to her little ones in the hallway outside her penthouse condo front door. Well, not all so little. She still babbles on and on to me with instructions about her fur babies before she flies off for a three-week trip to Europe. Preston, one of the more senior condo concierge staff, waits patiently with her mountain of designer suitcases stacked on a shiny gold-plated rolling luggage rack at the elevator on the opposite wall.

After some more cuddling, the pampered pooches go back to what they were doing. Vivian rests her Salvatore Ferragamo designer handbag on the threshold and starts to put on her plush, all-cream fur coat. That’s progress.

“All the emergency numbers are in the email I sent you, and in the top drawer beside the fridge,” she reminds me again. “And upstairs in the dogs’ room.”

“I’ve got them right here in my cell,” I tell her, pulling my phone from the pocket of my sweatpants. “And the dog monitoring app is installed from the last few times I was here. Even while I’m on campus, I’ll know what they’re up to, and I’ll be close enough to get here fast if they need anything.”

“Great, and don’t hesitate to put them up in their playroom if you’re at school for more than a couple of hours. It’s one of the few doors Daisy still can’t open on her own. Just remember to fill the food and water dispensers, and they’re all set to stay in there for a while.”

“Sure. I’ll do that.”

“But make sure you take them out after they eat and drink. We want to minimize any accidents…especially on my Persians on the landing.”

“Got it.”

Vivian stares longingly past me at her three pets. Sheba, a tan-colored Shih Tzu, is at the far end of the expansive condo living area, bouncing off the floor every so often as he paws at the all-glass sliding door to the balcony. Bailey, a white Bull Terrier, is waiting in the middle of the marble foyer, sitting dutifully beside Daisy, the black-and-white spotted Great Dane that stands at almost my full five-foot-six in height. Like I said, not so little.

“I’ll take great care of them, Ms. Chandler,” I say for the hundredth time. “I promise.”

“And you’re sure you don’t mind sleeping here while I’m gone?” she asks with concern as she picks up her purse again, eyes fixed on her pets while distractedly sliding the leather straps over her shoulder.

“Not at all,” I say, beaming. And my expression is authentic, too, because who wouldn’t want to stay in a multi-million-dollar penthouse condo instead of a tiny, cramped Brooklyn walkup apartment for a few weeks. “In fact, it’s a big help. This building is fifteen minutes from Columbia, so you’re saving me a fifty-minute train ride each way from Brooklyn. Trust me, I intend to be here whenever I’m not in lectures. All the time. Day and night. Don’t worry, Ms. Chandler. They’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to miss you, my babies,” she whimpers out, a little choked up. “So much! But I’ll be back in a few weeks with all your favorite imported treats, my darlings.”

Daisy, Bailey, and Sheba more or less ignore her. They’re used to me being around. I’ve been pet-sitting off and on for Vivian for more than a year a half. That’s almost as long as it’s been since I moved from Cedar City, Utah, to New York to complete a degree in Veterinary Sciences at Columbia U. These dogs are practically my family. I’m also the only person Vivian trusts to take care of them. Which is why I got this gig.

Mind you, this is the first time that I’ll be with them on an extended overnight basis. The last time Vivian had to go out of town, she left them at the doggy spa. They were fine, but Vivian was not happy about Bailey losing a couple of pounds while she was away. She almost sued them for negligence, but changed her mind when I reminded her that Bailey has a history of picky eating, which was echoed by her vet.

Gosh, I hope she doesn’t sue me after this pet-sitting gig.

Vivian’s sure paying me enough. This will be the most money I’ve ever earned in one job. Five thousand dollars. I still can’t believe that round-the-clock pet-sitting pays this much. Vivian spent more than double that amount to keep them at the doggy spa last time. It’s expensive, owning three pets here in Manhattan. Daily boarding rates per dog can run in the hundreds. For me, the five grand will go a long, long way. My tuition is taken care of, thanks to scholarships and such, and my folks back home send me what they can, but I cover my own rent and other expenses. Even in Brooklyn, living expenses aren’t cheap.

In any case, I love these doggies just as much as Vivian does, so I plan to make sure they’re happy while I’m taking care of them.

The chime of the antique grandfather clock in the study gets our attention.

“Two o’clock,” Vivian choruses. “I’d better get going. See you soon, my babies. Mommy’s going to miss you. And please do whatever Dahlia asks you to do, okay?”

“Have a safe trip, Ms. Chandler,” I tell her.

“Thanks, Dahlia. Oh, before I forget. We have a new neighbor. Jackson Knight. Remember his name.”

“Jackson Knight. Got it.”

“He’s a handsome young man. But you know how the billionaires living in this building are?”

I nod, but Vivian, a trust fund billionaire, is also one of them. I don’t know for certain what she means.

“He’s all business. Cold as ice. Curt and impolite. Hates dogs. Sheba has already wandered onto his balcony. He didn’t like that very much, so make sure you keep an eye on him. Sheba, I mean, not the neighbor,” she says lightly with eyebrows raised.

“Will do,” I tell her with a nod. “Bye, Ms. Chandler. You’d better hurry, or you’ll miss your flight!”

“Yes, I really should go. Take good care of them.”

“I will,” I assure her. “Everything will be great.”

Vivian sighs, turning to walk over to the elevator and the waiting concierge.

I remain in the doorway, waiting with the door ajar until the elevator doors open. With one final wave at her dogs, she allows the concierge to roll the luggage rack inside, steps on next to him, and they leave.

Finally. Deluxe everything awaits me, and all I have to do for three splendid weeks is take care of three munchkins I love to pieces. The five thousand big ones are just sweet, sweet icing on the cake.

It’s only as I lock the door and turn around that I notice Bailey is the only one looming in the foyer. Daisy has managed to open the balcony door, and both she and Sheba are romping around on the granite tile slabs out there. It’s a sight to see. Daisy’s as large as a pony, while Sheba can almost fit in both my hands. Hurrying across the foyer and living room, I make it onto the terrace just in time to see Sheba’s hindquarters squeeze through a tiny space under the privacy partition—to the neighbor’s balcony.

“Sheba, get back here, boy,” I call to him, squinting with one eye through the narrow opening between the exterior wall and the frosted glass partition. Sheba doesn’t make a sound, so I walk over to the thick limestone railing at the ledge of the terrace, and peer around the opaque glass to look for him. “Sheba?”

Sheba begins to bark excitedly. Then I hear the tap of men’s dress shoes hitting the granite floor. Trailing my eyes to the sound, I freeze. That’s when I see the not so happy yet smoking hot man in his mid-twenties, dressed in a well-tailored navy suit with white shirt, hovering his smartphone an inch from his ear.

Jackson Knight, is my guess.

And he’s staring at me.

No. More like glaring.