Shots rang out, two of them. The first embedded in the wall behind them. The second with a soft thud and an exclamation of pain.

In front of her, protecting her body with his own, Andrew lurched forward and sank to the floor. On her knees beside him, when she turned him to his back and onto her lap, she saw blood gushing up through his fingers at his throat. His blue eyes met hers, dazed with shock and pain.

Her screams for help mingled with her cries to him. “No, baby, please. Stay with me. Don’t go.”

Sirens sounded in the distance.

“Help is on its way. Hang on a little longer. Please, Master, for me,” she whispered as she pressed her hands to the burbling hole in his flesh, but the blood—so much of it—welled between her fingers. His hand encircled her wrist, and he squeezed, though with fading strength, and only for a moment. Then, it went slack and slipped to his chest.

“Andrew!” she wailed as the light went out of his eyes. But as they stared vacantly back at her, they weren’t the light blue they always were, but a deep familiar green.

Again, she screamed her anguish, but oddly, they were mixed with the startled high-pitched yowl of a cat. Esme shot up in bed, shaking from the skewed yet vivid memory, her pajamas wringing wet with sweat.

The dreams had been frequent, almost nightly the first year. Prescription drugs had helped decrease them thereafter, but they’d never entirely stopped. Now, stressful events triggered them, like Latrice’s revelations about Finn, and the vision that followed.

But today, they had changed. Before, they’d always been an exact replay of the shooting with her waking just as Andrew faded away. It hadn’t ever altered or included anyone else.

Esme stumbled weakly to the bathroom. She stripped and stepped into the shower, turning the water on full blast, not waiting for it to warm, and not caring if it was ice cold. Turning her back to the wall, she wrapped her arms around her trembling body as she slid down the tile to the floor. As the water went from frigid to lukewarm, to steamy, the spray heated her skin and the shaking finally stopped.

A horrible thought occurred to her then.

What if it hadn’t been a dream, but a premonition?

She didn’t go back to sleep, too afraid to. With the rest of the weekend yawning in front of her, she decided to go to work. It was a Sunday, no one would be there, and she could catch up on what had piled up while she’d been distracted all week with Finn.

“There’ll be no more of that,” she told herself firmly, as she headed upstairs to get dressed.

By the time she dragged into the office, it felt like late afternoon, but it was only eight-thirty, which is what happens when you stayed up all night. She eyed the instant coffee she kept on hand for Pax but couldn’t bring herself to drink it. Instead, she consumed her usual twenty-ounce diet Dew at home, but still feeling sluggish, turned into a drive-thru on the way in for another thirty-two-ounce vat to go. Needless to say, by the time she unlocked her door and set down her keys and purse, she was wired. She also had to pee, really bad.

In the ladies’ room, once she’d attended to urgent matters, she stood in front of the mirror trying to do something with the atrocious bun she’d configured—messy didn’t begin to describe it. While she could smooth it into something half decent, there was no help for the circles under her eyes. If any of her colleagues had seen her looking like death warmed over, they would have held up a cross to ward off her bad energy. Okay, that would have been Jasmine, but the others would have kept their distance and urged her to go home and rest, and since she worked with a bunch of germophobes, adding to stay home until she was better.

But resting might lead to sleeping, which meant dreaming. Fuck no. She might never sleep again.

At her desk, she took a sip of bottled water, then dug through her purse for Val’s card. She dialed the number hoping to get her machine, leave a brief message about her need to cancel, then work non-stop as she compartmentalized like she always did.

Damn her luck, instead of an automated message, Val answered on the first ring.

“Valerie Thornton.”

Her eyes shot to the clock. Eight-fifty a.m. What were the odds she had a private practice, a new husband who kept late hours, and she’d be available early on a Sunday morning to answer her own calls?

“Um, Val, it’s—”

“Esme, thank God. Are you all right? We’ve all been worried sick.”

“Why?”

“The way you ran out last night. You had a flashback, didn’t you?”

“How—?”

“I’ve seen it before and, honey, Eric and Keiran… Well, they own a security firm, both are licensed investigators, did you think they wouldn’t dig?”

“It isn’t any of their business.”

“One runs the club where you’re a member and you’re involved with the other, they think it is.”

“Not anymore.”

There was silence on the other end for a count of five. “Not any more to which one?”

“Both. I won’t be back. I can’t.”

“Don’t make decisions now, while you’re upset. What if we meet for lunch? We’ll talk.”

“I’m sorry, Val. Being at the club and with Finn brings up too much—I can’t.”

“I understand, Esme. It’s scary starting over. I had to do it myself after my husband died, but I didn’t have the added trauma of him dying tragically in my arms.”

She closed her eyes. “Finn knows about that, too?”

“Like I said, they’re PIs, and very good at their jobs.”

“Isn’t that my freaking great luck?” she grumbled under her breath. “Listen, Val, I appreciate your concern, but I need to go.”

“Are you going to be all right?”

“I’ve survived five years with these memories, I’ve learned to cope.”

“Honey, survive you may have done, but trust me, you aren’t coping. Promise to call me if you need to talk. Any time.”

“I will, Val. Thanks.”

“A word of caution. Don’t be surprised if a worried, very pissed off, extremely good-looking Irishman with a panty melting accent—sorry, but you know it’s true—arrives at your door first thing.”

“I came into the office to catch up on work.”

“Then expect him at your office door second thing. These guys are good at finding people.”

“I’ve got the alarm system on.”

She chuckled, and Esme could picture her shaking her head. “I don’t think an alarm exists that a Rossi man can’t bypass.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“You’ve met Keiran Finnegan, haven’t you?” she deadpanned. “Good luck, Esme and don’t forget I’m here if you need me.”

She stared down at the screen as the call ended and her phone switched back to her home screen, a close-up picture of Phineas. What she wouldn’t give for a kitty cuddle, or better, a Finn hug.

“That was Val giving you a heads-up I was on my way, I take it?”

Closing her eyes, she willed her heart, which had jumped into her throat, back into her chest. It didn’t go, nor did it slow, before she looked up. Finn leaned in her doorway, watching her.

“How did you know I’d be here?”

“I didn’t. I pinged your phone.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Do I even want to ask how?”

“It’s probably best if you didn’t.”

“You shouldn’t have come, Keiran. I’m swamped and can’t talk right now.”

Something flashed in his eyes at her use of his first name, probably because she’d never used it before. But he didn’t comment, his gaze shifting to her desk, empty, the way she’d left it Friday at five o’clock when she’d emptied her inbox. Caught in a fib, she felt the heat of embarrassment slowly rise in her cheeks.

One dark brow arched. “What did I say about honesty, Esme?”

“I know you know about Andrew. Val told me. But it’s not something I discuss with anyone—ever.”

“Which is part of your problem, lass. You can’t keep such an awful thing bottled up inside you, but I’m sure Val told you that.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “You didn’t close your eyes last night, did you?”

“You’re wrong. Closing my eyes was the problem.”

“Bad dreams?”

She nodded.

“I can only imagine. What triggered them for you?”

“The club, it’s too much. I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I didn’t mean to lead you to believe I could.”

“Bullshit.” Like a whip cracking, his expletive reverberated in the room. “You’ve been coming to the club for thirteen weeks without having a panic attack and running into the street. I stripped you naked and spanked your ass raw and you didn’t freak out. And when I blindfolded you, chained you and made you come in the middle of the dungeon, you were begging me to fuck you, not panicking.”

Her jaw dropped, then snapped shut. “I think you should leave, I have work to do.”

“Not until we settle something first.”

“You’ll get me fired.”

“If that happens, you can come work for me. I need someone to handle a two-foot-high stack of contracts, but we can discuss that later.” He walked forward, circumvented her desk, and moved into her space.

She rolled back in her desk chair, but he followed.

“I need my job, and you’ve got a lot of nerve being so nonchalant with it.”

“You’re right, I couldn’t care less about your job.” He bent over, gripped the armrests, stopping any further retreat. “I’m only interested in you, lass. What you went through was horrific, unthinkable, but it’s in your past. You’re not yet thirty, you can’t let it stifle the rest of your life.”

“I can,” she whispered. “It’s safer.”

He caught her chin, and though she resisted, gently but firmly tipped her face to his.

“What are you afraid of, Esme? Me?”

She didn’t hesitate in her reply. “Yes.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“Maybe not intentionally,” she whispered.

“Ever, darlin’, I have more control than that.”

Something snapped inside her and she leapt out of her chair. Taking him by surprise he rose with her. She leaned toward him, her voice ravaged with emotion when she refuted his claim. “No, you don’t! Andrew thought he had control, but a bullet from a piece of human shit ended him.” She clapped her hands together, as she shouted, “Just like that! I loved him, and he left me. And you,” in an explosion of livid energy, she pushed hard against his chest with both hands, “are just like him!”

Her shove rocked him back on his heels, but otherwise, he went no further. As for Esme, she was far from done.

“Andrew fucked with the mob. And now, here you are fucking with drug gangs set on vengeance!” She shoved him again. “Are you insane? It’s right in their fucking name, Keiran Finnegan.”

Her hands fisted and fell to her sides, and she backed up a step, shaking her head vehemently. “I won’t have it. Not again. I won’t fall in love with another hero set on saving the world from the dregs of humanity only to have him leave me trying to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart without him.” Esme’s voice cracked, and her shoulders slumped as the utter physical and emotional exhaustion of not only the last twenty-four-hours but the past five years, leaked from deep in her bones. “The last time broke me. To go through it again will kill me. I can’t survive it again, I’m not strong enough.”

Out of breath, and energy, she trembled, her knees rubbery. Rational thought returned, and she realized all she had just shared. She hadn’t even told Pax some of those things. Venting was freeing as well as frightening, and like when he spanked her to an emotional release that first night, a strident cry erupted from her throat and a torrent of tears followed.

As he’d done then, he picked her up, set her in his lap and held her.

When it went on, endlessly it seemed, he didn’t try to stop it, just kept his arms clamped tightly around her, his lips on her hair, and with the benefit of the swivel office chair, rocked her gently murmuring soft words of reassurance. And he didn’t let go when her sobs had slowed to hitching, hiccupping breaths.

“How do you do it?” she asked brokenly, between sniffles when she could speak again.

He shifted, taking her with him, as he reached for a box of tissues she kept on a shelf next to her desk. Once he’d grabbed a handful and settled back, he asked, “Do what, sweet lass?”

“Get me to admit things I haven’t told another living soul.”

While he leaned her back in the crook of one arm, and dabbed beneath her eyes and wiped her cheeks, he tucked several tissues into her hand and ordered, “Blow.”

She did as he told her, indelicately, because after that deluge there was no pretty way to do it. When she was through, and looked up at him, she was still sniffling.

His expression contained no judgement, and none of the anger of before, she read only concern, and affection. “Better?” he asked, a little smile curving his lips.

She nodded.

“Good.” Then, he answered her question. “I haven’t done anything except give you what you need, Esme. Whether by turning you over my knee, offering you a shoulder to cry on or by confronting you with the truth.”

“Others could have done that. A few have tried.” She huffed a short, humorless laugh. “Except the spanking part, but the rest, and I didn’t have an emotional breakdown and bare my soul to them.”

“Perhaps because you refused to let them in.” One big hand framed the side of her face, his thumb stroking a still damp cheek, his touch tender, but purposeful in that she couldn’t turn away from his next words. “I’m different, though, aren’t I, lass? It’s been that way since the night Carlos was such an ass. You trusted me then, moving in close, seeking my protection, and you didn’t even know my name.”

“You had a badge,” she muttered, a pitiful attempt at an excuse.

“Mmm…” he murmured, skeptically. “Tears are a good outlet for you, and wiser for a submissive than tearing into her Dom and getting physical.”

“I shouldn’t have done either, especially shoving you. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

He snorted softly as if offended. “Do I look like I can’t take it?”

“No, and you barely budged.”

“It’s good you don’t make a habit of it, or you’d have to retire your sub card and start carrying a quirt, like Latrice.”

“I’m sorry I lost it on you.” She sniffled again, and then, as shame washed over her, closed her eyes. “I learned pushing you around, or trying to, is very unsatisfactory, and not only because you’re as movable as a concrete wall. I don’t know how she does it.”

“Darlin’, look at me.”

She obeyed, without reservation, and seeing affection in his gaze, not the hard edge of anger, and disappointment like when he’d first arrived made that warm, melty feeling stir inside her again. That’s when she knew her plan to become the crazy, sexless, single, cat lady of Northridge was on shaky ground.

“You are no Latrice. She’s wired differently, more like me. It goes against your grain to dominate, even in anger, which is why you felt dissatisfied, and remorseful afterward. We’ll take care of absolving you of your guilt with a good paddling later, and since I’ll enjoy it too—because that’s the way I’m wired—you’ll be making it up to me at the same time.”

She sat up and stared at him. “Did you not hear me when I said I was through? I’m serious, Keiran, that goes for men, Doms, and especially dominant male detectives.”

“I heard but don’t accept it. I will help you work through this, and you can address the PTSD with whoever Val refers you to. Most of all, we’ll conquer this habit you have of pulling away from those who care about you and avoiding getting close to others because you’re afraid to lose them like you did Andrew. You say we’re alike, so I know he would have wanted that for you, and I’m not going to allow it, because, baby, that’s no way to live.”

“Get out of my head.”

He chuckled softly, dipping close to brush a kiss across her parted lips. “Not gonna happen, mo chuisle.”

“What does that mean?”

“My pulse.”

More of her shields melted. His accent got to her every time he opened his mouth, and he used it to his advantage, calling up the heavy artillery by using sexy Gaelic endearments to weaken her defenses and win this little skirmish. Not that he wasn’t well on his way to victory before he called her his pulse.

“You’re tenacious,” she muttered. “Do you know that, sir?”

“Patient,” he replied, his green gaze unfaltering.

“Excuse me?”

“At the club, they say I’m patient as a saint. I wouldn’t go that far because last night I would have blistered your butt good if I could have gotten my hands on it. Today, I’m putting the plan I came up with into action.”

“Could you elaborate a little, since that plan includes me?”

“Operation live for the day begins today.” He caught her chin in his palm, when he added, “And you, sweet lass, are going to learn how to do it.”

“I don’t think I’m capable.”

“You will be because I’m going to teach you how.”

“Are you going to wear bulletproof armor 24/7? Because that’s what it’ll take.”

He grunted. “I don’t recall you being this sassy after your last deluge of tears, probably because I didn’t warm your ass first. But as I said, we’ll take care of that later.”

“Finn!”

He grinned. “I like when you call me that.”

“It slipped,” she said stubbornly. “I meant Keiran.”

His low throaty laugh chipped further away at her defenses. “Nope, I’m Finn to you, have been since the beginning, whether writhing in chains beneath my flogger, snuggled up against me during aftercare, or while I’m fucking you, and since I’ve heard you scream it more than once while you’re coming, and I really like it then, we’re sticking with it.”

Her head snapped around to check the door.

“I locked it on the way in.”

She turned back. “Why would you want to get involved with me and all my baggage?”

“Do you think I haven’t lost anyone? I served for over a decade, Esme. The men who died in my arms weren’t as close as a husband, but they were my brothers.”

Tears flooded her eyes again, and when one overflowed she whispered, “Oh my God, Finn, I hadn’t even considered— How do you live with the awful memories?”

“By dwelling on the good, rather than the bad. Death is part of life, a stór, and it sure as hell is a part of war. Mourning those we’ve lost is natural, and heaven knows it’s never easy, but we can’t stop living because someone we love does.”

Her hand rose to his chest. “I know that, and I’m trying, really, but I have to protect my heart. If I move on someday, it can’t be with a man who faces danger every time he steps outside. I’m sorry, but I won’t get involved with another cop.”

“I’m not a cop, Esme. And the case Latrice told you about isn’t typical for us. The men in San Antonio have dubbed the Rossi branch here in LA Security to the Stars for a reason. The bulk of our business is installing state of the art security systems and providing personal protection for the Hollywood elite. We take on venue security when they need to beef it up for a high-profile client, and our investigations are mostly into who’s cheating on whom among the rich and famous. And, occasionally, though we’ve had a run of them recently, we have investigated a few celebrity stalker cases.”

“Then how did a violent drug boss get dropped in your lap?”

“Our owner/CEO is ex-military, as are most of us. Emphasis on the ex, lass, so don’t think I’ll be deployed come tomorrow.”

“Andrew was a Marine. That doesn’t help your case, sir. He had hero in his DNA, and I suspect you do too.”

“Protecting the innocent and standing up for what is right isn’t a bad thing, Esme, but something we should all strive to do.”

She looked down at her hands, unable to keep from remembering the last hero she’d held in her arms. “So, you were saying about this drug boss thing…”

“It fell into our laps when we learned one of our clients was in deep with a drug pipeline running from Mexico, through San Antonio, and all the way to LA. The DEA here pieced things together and called Tony. That we were the last to know did not make Tony Rossi happy. We don’t operate dirty—whether it be with money, drugs, guns, or women. Therefore, we did what was necessary to shut down this particular client and make sure we hadn’t been implicated in his dirty drug deals. Lo-and-behold, what was happening in San Antonio led us to Lopez here, something that made the Bureau ecstatic and the LAPD pissed as hell since he’d been slipping through their fingers for months.” He reached out and caught her hands in his, squeezing tight. “He’s locked down now, Esme, as is his crew. In a few weeks, when the papers quit droning on about it, we’ll be out of the spotlight and back to business as usual; designing security systems for multi-million-dollar celebrity homes and dealing with pop diva’s and pretty boy actors needing security for their next personal appearance or award ceremony.”

She looked up at him, uncertainty roiling in the pit of her stomach. “What about when Lopez gets out? Or, if they call out a hit on you through the Mexican Mafia?”

His brows slammed together, and his lips dipped, deepening his frown. “Who told you about them?”

“Mistress Latrice.”

Anger flickered in his eyes, but he replied gently, “As thanks for getting Lopez off their turf, La Eme is more likely to send me a gift basket than a hitman.”

“Who?”

“The M, aka the Mexican Mafia. In the gang world and LA drug trade, Lopez and his clan were small potatoes and more of a pain in the ass for La Eme than competition.”

None of it sounded safe to her. She shook her head.

“What if the big one strikes California?”

“What?” she asked, his question so random she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

“Or suppose some idiot blowing 4.0 gets behind the wheel and takes me out on the 401? I could keel over from eating too many Guerrilla Tacos chimichangas. I mentioned my obsession with the place so believe me when I say it’s a considerable amount. But there’s always a chance I could live to the ripe old age of ninety-seven and die in my sleep as my grandad did.”

She closed her eyes, now understanding where he was going with this. It made sense. Had she lived so long in the cocoon she’d woven around herself that she couldn’t even try, for a man as special as Finn?

He wouldn’t let her shut him out. “Look at me, lass.”

When she did, he was so close, all she could see was his beautiful green eyes.

“We can’t predict what will happen, baby. Only the big man knows, so we have to live our lives taking every day as it comes like it could be our last, no holding back.”

She gazed back at him, the warm, melty feeling inside catching fire and becoming the heat of desire. Still, she’d never been one to gamble, could she do so now? “I’m not exactly a glass half full kind of person,” she told him uncertainly.

Smiling gently, he curled his hand behind her neck. “I get that, a stór. Lucky for you, I am.” He drew her even nearer until they were nose to nose and his words brushed over her lips when he said, “Stick with me, darlin’, and you’ll be grabbing life by the horns and living like you’re meant to.”

“Tenacious and stubborn,” she muttered, though with a rasp in her voice and a quickness to her breathing, her resolve all but evaporated.

“As the day is long. You gave me a taste of something special, and possessive dominant that I am, I’m keeping it for my own.”

He kissed her then, not gentle, or sweet, but hungry. With avid lips and a wickedly agile tongue, he claimed her, plain and simple, and took her breath away.

When he raised his head, she was clinging to him, her fingers somehow entwined in his hair without her knowledge.

“I’m taking you home to rest, lass. We’ll talk more afterward.”

“My car is here.”

“I’ll get one of my guys to drive it home for you.”

She stared up at him, wanting to be with him as much as she wanted to run away. But she’d felt worse in the twenty-four hours away from him than she had in a long while. Suddenly too tired to fight him, she relaxed in his hold.

“Let me shut down; then I’ll be ready to go with you.”

With an approving squeeze from his strong arms, he set her off his lap, and moved back around her desk, out of the way so that she could see to her task.

In fifteen minutes, her hand enveloped by his much bigger one, Finn escorted her out to his car, this time a sleek, low to the ground, F-type Jaguar convertible in charcoal gray. He tucked her inside it, and she sank into the plush bucket seat, running her fingers appreciatively over the leather and suede interior. Either security to the stars or the BDSM club business were lucrative ventures because his car had to cost at least twice what she made in a year.

As soon as he was behind the wheel, she turned to him. “What happened to your SUV?”

“That was a company vehicle. The Jag is mine.”

“It’s amazing.”

“I think so too,” he agreed as he hit the push-button start. The engine roared to life, then settled into a low, seductive purr.

She licked her lips as a tingly thrill shot through her. “Do you think, since we’re living for today, you could put the top down and show me what she does? I’ve never ridden in either a convertible or a Jag before.”

He grinned, flipped a switch, and while the top was opening, crooked his finger at her. “For a price.”

Returning his grin, she leaned across the console and touched her lips softly to his. He allowed the sweet gesture for about a millisecond before his hand curled around her nape, fingers threading into her hair, and he took over.

When he pulled out into traffic several minutes later, she leaned back, dazzled by him and the power of his kisses, and savoring the taste of him still on her tongue. With the sunshine warming her face, Finn, capable and confident at the wheel, not to mention in conqueror-protector mode, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the ride—for all of thirty seconds, then she promptly fell asleep.

Keiran suspected it would happen, just not so quickly. When her head fell to the side, he picked up his Bluetooth headset, so he wouldn’t be as apt to disturb her and called Eric for her address.

“I take it you set her straight?” his partner asked.

“She’s in the Jag next to me, sleeping, and we’re on our way to her house, what do you think?”

“You set her straight.”

“If not all the way, I’ll have the kinks hammered out soon enough.”

“Damn, I hope not all of them? What would be the fun of that?”

“Her address, Dupree.”

It took him several minutes to look it up, testing Keiran’s vaunted patience while he chuckled the entire time. But as he glanced at the pretty redhead dozing peacefully in his passenger seat, nothing could spoil his good mood.

It was only a twenty-minute drive to her home north of the city. Located in a quiet, older neighborhood, Esme’s house sat on a large lot with a privacy fence and set well back from the street with a circle drive lined with tall shade trees. Though it wasn’t big, maybe 2500 square feet, in this part of LA County, it had to go for $600k, at least.

When he killed the engine and put up the top, she didn’t budge. Nor did she move when he slid her clutch from her lap, dug out her keys, and came around to lift her out.

Inside, he found her master suite upstairs. Once he set her down, slipped off her shoes, and undressed her enough to be comfortable, he pulled the covers up to her chin and left her to look around. A tri-level with three-bedrooms and three-baths, it was cozy, feminine like Esme, and had a fantastic backyard with a pergola covered patio, raised deck and views of the mountains and the San Fernando Valley.

He figured her husband had left her enough to cover it since paralegals didn’t bring in enough for an upper six-figure mortgage on their own. At least she had that, and the ability to leave her bad memories behind.

He couldn’t imagine how difficult it had been for her. Witnessing a brutal killing was traumatic enough, but to have a loved one bleed out in her arms as she tried to staunch the blood... Little wonder she still had flashbacks five years after the fact.

In the living room, he picked up a framed photo of Esme cuddling a cat. Looking around, he saw none with her husband, her parents, or friends. Poor lass hadn’t only shut down, she’d shut out everything from her past. Not all the submissives he’d been with had baggage, but many did—daddy issues, abandonment, abusive Doms who didn’t deserve to be called such. Esme’s issues were even weightier and would take time and patience to overcome.

No matter her beauty, most men would run like hell.

He shook his head ruefully. Eric said he needed a challenge, with Esme he had his work cut out for him, but in his gut, he knew she’d be worth it. Sweet responsive, funny, sexy as hell and the way she opened fully and submitted when she finally let down those walls—fucking beautiful.

Figuring she’d be out for a few hours, he went out and retrieved his laptop from his car. Might as well get some work done.

When he came back and set up at her bar, an over-sized tabby surprised him by landing with a solid thud directly across from him on the counter. He stared at him, blinked his big green eyes, then meowed making sure his presence was known before he walked forward and rubbed his cheek and the length of his body along the side of his laptop screen.

“Hello there, lad,” he murmured extending his forefinger for him to sniff. Tentative at first, it took only a minute before he started rubbing his face against Keiran’s hand. Then, he nudged his head under his fingers, for an ear scratch. “You’re a friendly one,” he commented, still petting the demanding feline who promptly crawled into his lap and purred loudly.

He chuckled, not offended by being claimed, mostly for a bed, and stroked a finger under the cat’s collar. When it appeared the big guy was settled in for a while, he reached for his wireless mouse and started working his way through the new client applications in his inbox, all fifty of them.