I step out of the car in front of my apartment building just as the time on my watch hits eight o’clock.

This is day three of Simone and Stuart living with me, and day three of me being home by eight—almost. It’s one of the conditions I agreed upon during our negotiations at the prenup signings. It seemed like a minor inconvenience at the time, especially since I’m in the habit of bringing my work home with me anyway. The only difference being, in the past I came home to a quiet oasis of solitude and quiet. The past three days have been the exact opposite of that.

Stuart has taken over the second bedroom and Simone has turned my bedroom-turned-home-office back into a bedroom for her. She explained the separate sleeping arrangement to Stuart—who asked why we weren’t sleeping together if we were married ‘like Mummy and Daddy’—by blaming my perfectly made up snoring. I was more than happy to fall on that sword if only to keep her decorator’s hands firmly off the last little bit of my own personal space.

I can feel the tension inside of me rise along with the elevator. When the doors open on the fiftieth floor I stare at the door to my apartment at the end of the hallway, bracing myself for what lies behind it. I take a deep breath and exit, walking down the short hallway. My face begins to contort in confusion as I get closer and closer. Thank God the walls in this building are soundproof because it sounds like a damn concert is taking place behind that door.

I stick my key and turn the knob with a sense of dread. The noise hits me as soon as I open it and I’m quick to step inside, slamming the door behind me before the loud chorus to Pharrell’s Happy fills the hallway.

I stare at the surroundings that look completely foreign to the apartment that I left early this morning. Simone wasted no time in hiring a decorator. When I left today there were already paint samples on the walls and strangers brought in to measure and move things around.

Today I can see that the black, gray, and chrome has been replaced by bright white and pops of color everywhere. What little there is left of my furniture—I gave her permission to put mine in storage—is covered with plastic sheeting. If my key hadn’t worked I’d swear I had entered the wrong apartment.

Then the worst part comes…in the shape of a rat-looking thing that is running straight for me yapping for dear life.

What the hell is this?!

I stare in horror down at the little dog that is currently running around my feet, barking nonstop.

“Simone!” I roar.

There’s no response, probably because my voice is fighting a losing battle with Pharrell’s. I exhale a frustrated sigh and storm down the hallway to the guest bathroom. The dog, a Chihuahua, follows me, adding his own chorus to that of my new housemates singing along to the lyrics that are getting louder and louder as I approach the source.

Clap along if you know what happiness is to you (Because I'm happy)

Clap along if you feel like that's what you wanna do.

The door is open and I walk in to find Simone on her knees in front of Stuart who has his Batman bathrobe on while she rigorously dries his hair with a towel.

“What the hell is this thing?” I yell above the sound of the music as I point my briefcase down at the dog who has followed me in.

They both turn in surprise, then completely ignore me as the dog scampers through my legs to run toward them.

“RiRi!” Stuart yells, bending down to pick the little thing up in his arms, laughing as the dog, now blessedly silent, licks his face.

Simone stands up and stares down at him laughing before turning to me. The happy expression on her face disappears and is replaced by one that tells me an explanation is coming.

She reaches to turn off the music, then skips over to me and takes my hand leading me out of the bathroom while Stuart screeches with laughter behind us. I let her lead me into the hall preparing myself for battle.

She’s in that casual around-the-house attire, which is something else that I’ve also had to adjust to—for entirely different reasons. A pair of thin, short sleeping shorts show off long, shapely legs and an amazingly round ass. Up top is a tank top with PINK emblazoned across the chest, splattered with bathwater and bubbles. Her hair is pulled back to the nape of her neck in a messy loop that bounces as she walks.

She turns around to face me and I refocus my attention back on whatever bullshit reason she has for this little surprise addition to the household.

Before I can say a word, she puts her hands up in a silencing gesture as she dives into her little spiel. “Don’t worry, she’s not ours permanently.”

Ours, as if this family arrangement was real.

“She’s CoCo’s. We’re just watching her while he’s in Iceland.”

“Is that so?” I say raising an angry eyebrow. “I don’t recall pets being part of the deal during the prenup negotiations—where, I may remind you, I agreed to most of your demands.”

“This isn’t about us, Archer,” she says in that patronizing tone I hate. She looks past me toward the door to the bathroom where Stuart is still laughing, then back to me with a meaningful stare. “Stuart loves her, and his therapist says a pet would be good for him. Don’t worry, I already checked with the apartment manager and he said that we’re allowed to have pets on a temporary basis for three weeks without having to pay an additional deposit.”

“I still haven’t agreed to this little—wait, did you just say three weeks?” I ask with alarm.

She gives me a reassuring smile. “Oh, stop fretting, RiRi’s not ours for all three weeks.”

“So just how long do we have ‘RiRi’?” I ask. “What the hell kind of name is that anyway?”

“She’s named after Rihanna. Only two weeks. She’s CoCo’s favorite singer, RiRi is her nick—”

“Two weeks?!” I say, my voice rising with angry surprise, not missing the fact that she tried to gloss over that important piece of information.

“CoCo’s on a getaway with his new boyfriend. He’s in love and wants to make this trip special. I said we’d watch her,” she pleads.

“And this is my problem because…?” My voice is still raised in outrage. I hear the shower turn on for some reason and the yapping starts up again.

Simone ignores my question and her eyes dart toward the bathroom door with a frown on her face. “Stuart, what are you doing in there?”

“Don’t change the subject here,” I begin, then stop in surprise when she walks right past me back to the bathroom, completely ignoring me.

“Oh Stuart!”

The exclamation sends a ripple of trepidation through me. Now what?

“What the hell is going on?” I say, heading toward the bathroom after her. Before I can reach the door, the dog that was once a rat-looking thing is now a water-soaked rat-looking thing covered in bubbles as it races out of the bathroom, followed quickly by Simone.

I have no idea why, but I instinctively drop my briefcase and grab ‘RiRi’ before she can run past me. She wriggles in my arms sending bubbles flying everywhere—most notably all over my thousand-dollar suit.

“What the fuck?”

“Archer!” Simone shouts, giving me a deep frown of disapproval as she rescues the dog from my hands. “Watch your language!”

“I just wanted to give her a bath too,” Stuart cries as he joins us in the hallway.

“Well, she most definitely got one,” Simone says, looking skeptically at the dog as she holds it at arm’s-length.

The dog does another shake of its body and sends soapy bubbles everywhere. Simone and Stuart laugh. I just feel my temperature rising.

“Come on, let’s go rinse her off before she gives Uncle Archer his own bath,” she says, giving me a teasing grin before leading them all back in to the bathroom.

I’m left standing there with my slick, soapy hands splayed out in front of me wondering what the hell just happened.

“Can we get a dog of our own, Aunt Simone?” I hear him say.

“We’ll see, Stuart.”

Over my dead body.