by Celeste, B.
My reputation didn’t say a lot of great things about me on a lot of fronts, especially being associated with Anthony. Despite not participating in his extra curriculars, people thought what they thought. To them, I was the cruel businessman who refused to help his lifelong friend when he needed it most. Did I have moments when that guilt plagued me? Yes. I spent too many sleepless nights considering what I could have done differently. I could have lied for him. Had his back. But I’d had his back, his entire family’s back, for too long. I wasn’t going to lose everything because of his choices. I wouldn’t go down with him over things I didn’t know. And I’d like to think he wouldn’t want me to. Not after he talked to me about Adele.
“Somebody needs to be there for her, Theo. I’m glad it’s you.” But I doubted he knew the kind of ways I wanted to be there for her when she turned eighteen. It wasn’t like a switch flipped when I realized she was officially legal. There were consequences no matter how old she got, even without the obstacles that would normally be in people’s ways when it came to the fragile situation. It was the way she carried herself when she realized what power she held. Her movements became confident, her eyes lingering bravely, and her words—
Fuck.
The sass in her replies were why I became infatuated with the woman she became. And did I hate myself for it? Yes. Did that make me stop thinking about her in every way I shouldn’t have? No. It made it worse. Like the forbidden fruit I wanted to pick and keep for myself.
“Perhaps,” he agreed casually. “But I have a feeling you’ll change your mind. You can only handle so much. You’re only one person with limited power.”
“Are you trying to tell me something?” It was a nicer way of asking if he was threatening me. Even I had my limits on how to go about conversations with assholes like The Dick. He got his way by waving his money around and talking smack. He was the kind of guy who could charm anybody if he wanted to, so people listened. That left me at a disadvantage if he decided to go that route, which I had a feeling he would.
“I’m just making a point, Theo. Nothing to get upset about. We’ll talk another day. Maybe over lunch. My treat.”
His treat, my ass. People refused to let him pay wherever he went. I’d heard the rumors. He had enough dirt on people to get his way. It was how he played dirty. The more scandal he could collect, the likelier he won at whatever endeavor he went after. I just needed to know what his intentions were with me because it certainly wasn’t innocent.
“You still look after the Saint James girl, don’t you?”
My phone cracked when I tightened my grip around it. “Watch yourself, Pratt.”
The fucker chuckled. “Relax. I happen to know she’s still friends with my youngest. Samantha. Remember? They’d play together all the time when they were younger thanks to the wives.”
The wives. I remembered everybody Della was around, and I never did like that little girl with half the fucker’s DNA. Samantha Pratt always got into trouble. She was just like her mother and wanted to be the center of attention. I didn’t doubt she picked up a few traits from her father too. Whichever they were, I highly doubted they were good.
“I recall,” I said dryly.
“Considering their friendship, we’ll be in each other’s lives one way or another. I have it on very good authority they’ve rekindled their friendship quite recently. I’m just saying, we might as well make the most of it.” His or else lingered in the dead air between us. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe he brought up Adele out of genuine curiosity. Hell, last I heard he didn’t even like the family he was stuck with because his daughter could cost him his reputation and his wife was no better with the amount of money she spent and men she tried roping in.
My lack of response fueled his amusement, but it was better than me feeding him anything else. He wanted a reaction and I wouldn’t give him one.
“You have a good night, Theo.”
If I ground my teeth any harder, I’d need to get them fixed. “You too.” Jackass. “Tell your wife I said hello. I’m sure she’d be happy to know I’m thinking about her.”
The disgruntled noise he made was satisfying right before I hung up. I didn’t know his wife well, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know me. She tried to get me in her good graces years ago for her own benefit. What that was, I didn’t care enough to think about, but from what I heard, it involved a lot less clothing.
When I arrived on the ground floor, I said my usual goodbyes to the employees who worked the front desk and doors with the tip of my head and decided tonight was a good night to bust out the good whiskey while I finished up some work at home. A nagging feeling told me to be cautious because whatever Richard referred to was going to involve more than just me if he didn’t get his way.
Like it did too often, my mind drifted to Della.
A few days into the new week, I decided to stop holing myself up between my offices. It wasn’t a surprise that I found myself at the high-rise apartment complex that a certain blonde was living in, five floors up. It’d been a while since I checked in and I never liked texting her if I could see her instead. She couldn’t bullshit me face to face like she could on a screen.
I wasn’t expecting the muffled sound of something sounding oddly like a dog on the other side of the door when I knocked. I paused when I heard it, whatever the hell it was, and convinced myself it had to be the TV. Some sort of documentary.
But then I heard, “Shh! You’re going to get me in trouble.” That was undoubtedly Della’s voice, which wasn’t as quiet as I bet she’d hoped. It made a grin tug at the corners of my lips, but as soon as a door closed inside, I wiped it away in time for the front one to open.
Della peeked her head through the slit and straightened as soon as she saw me. I was about to reprimand her on not checking the peephole first when I realized how pointless it’d be considering it was the same conversation every time I showed up. Which, admittingly, was too many times as it was.
I shouldered my way in, listening to her close the door behind me before she walked over to where I stood and crossed her arms over the ridiculous overall shorts she wore. They were spattered in paint, blues, reds, and yellows coating the front of her, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. The outfit was the same one her mother used to like dressing her up in and I always wondered if she was paying homage to the woman that I knew she loved so much.
My eyes found a large bag of dry dog food resting against the kitchen counter before an eyebrow quirked at a yapping noise coming from behind the door of her bedroom.
She winced at the deadpanned expression I gave her. “Before you say anything—”
“You know animals aren’t allowed in the building, Della,” I told her anyway.
Her frown was instant as she toed the floor with her bare foot. “They technically allow fish and small cats. I figured I could convince them that a small dog was no different.”
The yapping got louder.
Walking over to her bedroom, I opened the door and watched a tiny blur of brown dart out. I turned and watched whatever it was spin around in the open area between the kitchen and living room, chasing its tail. “What the hell is that thing?”
“He’s a mutt. Be nice!”
“They’re not going to care what size it is, there’s a reason dogs aren’t allowed.” I pointed to where the fluffball growled at the bag of food like it was offending him somehow. “They’re loud, for one. I have no doubt the pretentious assholes who live on your floor will complain. Then there’s the fact you live on the fifth floor. They need to be trained, taken out, and what if it has an accident?”
“I’ll clean it up.” I hated the way her voice sounded so small, but I was only trying to make a point. She bent down and scooped up the dog, letting it lick her jaw. “He’s kind of cute, don’t you think? There’s no collar and he’s way too skinny to have a home. I found him going through some garbage outside the building.”
I cursed. “You picked up a dog from
the side of the road?”
“It’s not like I picked up a human off the streets, Theo.” I had no doubt she’d do that too if she felt the person needed help. “How could you even question this cute little face? He’s got nowhere else to go.”
Her theatrics didn’t work on me. “I’m trying to get you to see the facts before you get too attached. You can’t help everybody that needs your generosity. There are shelters for strays around the city.”
To nobody’s surprise, she held the dog closer to her body in protection, like I’d snatch him up and run. “Some of the shelters euthanize innocent animals for no good reason other than limited space. At least if I keep him, I know he’ll be safe.”
I blinked. “You didn’t name it, did you?”
She gave me a timid smile.
“Della,” I chastised, pinching the bridge of my nose as the dog barked again.
“His name is Ramsay. Like Gordon Ramsay because his hair reminds of the chef’s.”
I blinked again. Twice. Slowly.
Her teeth bit into her bottom lip. “I’m going to train him, so he doesn’t make noise, and most of the apartment is hardwood or tile flooring so it wouldn’t be a huge hassle to clean up.”
“And smuggling him in and out to go to the bathroom?” I questioned, eyeing her skeptically.
Her face contorted to one of deep thought, but I could tell she was coming up blank based on the pleading look in her eyes. “I’ll figure it out, Theo. Promise.”
I’d heard those words before. It’d been a long time, but a much younger version of Della had delivered them when she tried convincing me that she could raise a cat without anybody noticing. Her mother was allergic though, and even if she weren’t, she probably would have had a heart attack over the fur that’d be everywhere. She was OCD and needed everything to be clean and precise.
“I’ll figure it out, Theo. I promise. Mom won’t even know there’s a cat in here. It’ll live in my room and I’ll feed it and bathe it and play with it and everything will be okay.”
The thought made me smile, just a tiny one that I doubted Della could even see. It eased the tightness in my chest that’d lasted the work week so far in the slightest way. Della always did that, even if she didn’t realize it. “I don’t see how this is going to work in your favor.”
“But…?” she hedged, eyes widening.
I blew out a breath and shook my head. “I don’t have anything else to say. You’re old enough to make your own decisions, I’m just here to tell you that they’re not the smartest.”
Her shoulders dropped. “Gee, thanks.”
I simply shrugged. “Speaking of bad decisions, you need to be careful around Samantha Pratt.”
“What?” I didn’t miss the way her face paled at the name.
“Samantha Pratt,” I repeated.
“I heard the name just fine the first time, but I don’t understand—”
“She comes from a family you don’t want to get twisted up in. I know you two used to play when you were younger, but it’s better if you steered clear now.”
Della frowned. “It’s not like Sam and I are friends, Theo. I saw her once last week, and that was the first time in years.”
Good. “Better to keep it that way.”
Her frown deepened. “You know, people say that about me too. They think it’s best to stay away from the Saint James’ because we’re all bad people thanks to Dad.”
“Della—”
“I’m just saying. I have no intention of hanging out with Sam, or the others, like we used to when we were younger. I’m not stupid. Things have changed with all of us. We’ve grown up. I just don’t like thinking that families are all alike because they share the same blood. That’s all.”
My sigh was heavy. “You’re right.”
She set the dog, Ramsay, down and it began circling around her. “What if he lived with you?”
“Excuse me?”
She beamed. “It’s perfect!”
“No.”
My answer didn’t deter her. “Come on, Theo. Ramsay is some sort of Pomeranian mix. It isn’t like he’ll get much bigger which means he won’t take up much space in that big old house of yours. And it’d be good for you.”
“How do you reason that?”
“You’re by yourself. A dog would be perfect company. Plus, I’ll come by and take care of him. I’ll buy him food, a bed, toys, everything he’ll need. You’ll just maybe need to take him outside occasionally.”
“Della—”
She latched onto my arm, her eyes widening into those goddamn puppy dog ones she used to shoot me with when she was little. It got me then and it still did now.
Son of a bitch.
The dog was ugly. Whatever it was mixed with didn’t do it any favors, and Della was right. It was too skinny. The ribs were evident through the patches of fur missing, but it seemed to be in good spirits despite its poor nutrition. But did I want a dog? No. Once upon a time I’d considered it, but a bigger one. One that could hold down the house when I was away, so people knew not to fuck with me. Whatever ran around our feet was no more than the size of a rodent. I’d seen bigger cats.
I cursed again when I met Della’s eyes. I knew better than to believe she’d relent. The idea was set in her head, so the chances of the dog showing up at my house when I was at work was more than likely.
Sighing, I stared down at the dog. “Is it housebroken at all?”
“Well…” Before she could answer, the fucker started peeing right there in front of us.
“Ramsay!” Della chided, frantically looking around. She ran into the kitchen and grabbed paper towels from the counter and frowned when Ramsay ran into her room.
She looked at me. “So, he needs some work, but I can handle it. I’ll get him a crate while he’s being trained. It’ll all work out.”
I didn’t believe it, but I played along while she told me all about how much she wanted a pet. As if I didn’t know. As if I hadn’t almost caved hundreds of times and surprised her with a damn kitten, bunny, puppy, anything she wanted.
But I didn’t.
And now?
Fuck me.
I had a damn dog for a roommate.
“Do you want anything to eat?” It was the third time Della had asked within a two-hour period and I hadn’t meant to snap at her, but I’d had a bad day and didn’t want to be bothered. I’d told her to leave me alone and get her fucking dog away from me because it’d been driving me nuts all day demanding attention.
Truthfully, he hadn’t been that bad. He’d had an accident in the morning, and I’d caught him gnawing on one of the kitchen chairs. Did I care? Hardly. I cleaned up his mess, scolded him, and gave him a toy to chew on instead. But the day had been trying with clients that continuously pissed me off and another email had dropped about a different partnership with somebody even less enthusing than Richard Pratt.
I could have apologized to her sooner, but I knew it would be better to put space between us. She cooked something for herself based on the smell of spice wafting into my office, and I was sure she’d gone to walk the dog when the door opened and closed sometime later. Now? The quiet hum of the television greeted me as I walked into the den to see her cross-legged on the couch with a sketchpad on her lap, the dog by her side, and a show about aliens on the TV screen.
Immediately, she looked up at me. “I’m sorry if Ramsay shouldn’t be on the furniture, but he seemed a little off and he calmed right down when he settled there.”
Of course, he would. Anybody would if they got to be next to her for even a second. I didn’t relay that information to her though. “It doesn’t matter to me.” If I’d still had the leather couch that Mariska bought, maybe I would have given a shit given how hyper the dog was. Then again, would I have really cared if he ripped the cushions? No. Not if it meant pissing my ex-wife off in some way. Not that it mattered, considering she’d taken the furniture set that she was adamant about picking out when we moved in,
along with a few other pieces—art, mostly. It was the only way she and Della had gotten along. They both enjoyed going to exhibits in the city, especially new ones that were limited time, so they could talk about whatever the hell method was used or where they felt something would go in the house.
“You’re angry,” she murmured, moving the pad off her lap. Today she donned basic jeans and a gray shirt that’s collar showed a little too much cleavage from the deep V.
“I’m not.”
“You’re glowering.” Was I?
“Thinking about Mariska.” It was all it took for understanding to cross her face. She reached over and ran a hand down the dog’s back. Ramsay stretched out beside her in satisfaction.
“Did she call you?”
“What?”
Her brows went up. “Did you hear from Mariska? I mean, it’d make sense if that’s why you’re in a bad mood. If I were in your shoes, I probably would be too.”
Rounding the couch, I sighed as I dropped onto a cushion opposite of her. The dog was in the middle, acting as a barrier to leave plenty of space between us. “I hope you never have to be in my shoes someday to understand.”
“How so?”
The chuckle escaped me quietly. “Being divorced and bitter doesn’t exactly make people want to be around you.”
“Do you want people to be around you?”
I turned my head to look at her, her eyes trained on me like she was trying to figure out my answer before I said it. “Most days? No.”
Her lips twitched.
“But even assholes like me enjoy having company from time to time,” I added, voice even. I didn’t tell her what company I wanted, but she seemed to draw her own conclusions with a muffled noise climbing from her throat.
“Is that your way of apologizing?”
I lifted a shoulder.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said next, making me sigh again. Before I could tell her she didn’t, she added, “Are you lonely? Is that why you want company?”