“Bryson?” Odessa said.
“I’m sorry. Yeah, I’m leaving the animal hospital right now,” Bryson said. “I’ll head straight to Evie’s clinic.”
He ended the call with Odessa and looked over at his dog. “This is going to suck so fucking bad, Bells.”
Bella yipped.
Seeing Evie again was one thing. Being in the vicinity of his old lab partner would send him to a level of hell Bryson wasn’t up for visiting.
“Only for Doc,” Bryson said. “He’s the only reason I would subject myself to this shit.”
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and, through gritted teeth, said, “Siri, get me the directions to Maple Street Animal Clinic.”
Even saying the name of the practice Cameron hadinherited from his dad made Bryson’s ass itch. He’d suffered through countless hours of that cocky nepo baby talking about all he would do to the clinic once it passed down to him.
“You’re ten times more successful than that asshole,” Bryson reminded himself. Bella barked her agreement.
The navigation system took him almost back to the bar where he and Derrick had hung out Saturday night. Bryson had forgotten just how close the Broussards’ practice was to all the places he used to frequent that summer. Audubon Park, which included the Audubon Zoo, was less than a mile away. The Sanctuary was within walking distance of the zoo, and Doc’s house was only a few blocks from the animal refuge, not far from the Mississippi River.
The sense of loathing that pooled in Bryson’s gut as he maneuvered the Jeep into a spot across the street from the animal clinic was sizable, but he couldn’t let it show on his face. He had to be cool and collected the first time he saw Cameron after all these years. He would embody the rockstar, in-demand surgeon the rest of the veterinary world saw him as.
Granted, most rockstar veterinary surgeons didn’t go around carrying an eight-pound papillon with glittery painted nails, but it couldn’t be helped. He wasn’t leaving Bella alone. He unhooked her pet carrier and hoisted it out of the Jeep.
Maple Street Animal Clinic was housed in a camelback cottage in a neighborhood that boasted some of the most charming homes in New Orleans. Back when they were in vet school, the exterior of the building had been pink and looked like a cross between a preschool and a gingerbread house, with pastel-green shutters and a blue door. There had been a mural of animals frolicking in a meadow painted on the side.
Now the building was slate gray with white shutters and black trim. If not for the elegant wooden sign in the front yard indicating it was an animal clinic, the structure could be mistaken for the boutiques one would find lining Magazine Street and in the French Quarter. Cameron always talked about targeting a more sophisticated clientele than his dad had. He guessed this new look was part of that. Bryson was surprised he hadn’t changed the name to match the outside. Something French, or some shit like that.
He walked up the steps but stopped when he reached the porch. He had to ready himself to face Cameron again after all these years. His old lab partner would either be condescending, or he would pretend they were friends and try to kiss up to him like several people had Saturday night at the LVMA meeting. Either would make Bryson want to hurl his fist at him.
“We’re gonna just say no to violence, Bells,” Bryson said.
He switched Bella’s carrier to his right arm and opened the door.
The first thing he noticed was how the exterior renovations had not extended to the interior. Other than new paint on the walls, everything looked the same. From the yellow Formica countertop at the reception desk to the oak shelves that held a variety of prescription dog foods. Both had seen better days.
“Good evening,” the receptionist greeted, then held up her hand while grabbing the phone’s receiver. “One minute.”
Bryson couldn’t recall the name of the woman who’d worked for Charles Broussard, but he did remember how much Cameron bitched about her.
The receptionist ended the call and handed Bryson aclipboard. “You can sign in here. We just need your name, your dog’s name, and what brings you in.”
“Oh, I’m not here to see the doctor,” Bryson said. “Well, actually, Iamhere to see the doctor, but not for my dog.”
The receptionist’s forehead creased in confusion, and who the hell could blame her?
“I’m sorry,” Bryson said. “I’m here to speak to Dr. Williams.”
Or was it Williams-Broussard? He couldn’t see Evie dropping her maiden name entirely. Her family was more prominent than Cameron’s when it came to New Orleans high society.
“Oh, uh…” The receptionist hesitated. “Dr. Williams is—”
Before she could finish, Evie entered the lobby from the hallway that led to the back, carrying a cardboard banker box. Her steps faltered when she saw him.
“Bryson?” Her forehead crinkled. “What are you doing here?”
“He asked to see you,” the receptionist said. She pointed to the phone. “And Dr. Broussard said to tell you that he’s coming back to the office at five, so if you don’t want to see him, you should leave.”
“Oh, is that what Dr. Broussard said?” Evie huffed out a laugh and shook her head.
