"Thanks," I mutter to the cat.
Smoke hisses. Asshole.
Twenty minutes later, we finally make it into the building. The doorman looks at our procession—two guys, seven animals, various carriers and supplies—and doesn't even blink.
"Good evening, Mr. Jackson."
"Hey, Martin. Uh. Temporary pet-sitting situation."
"Of course, sir."
The elevator ride is its own special hell. Taco won't stop barking. Cheeto's trying to claw his way out of Ace's grip. Candy's the only one behaving, pressed trustingly against Ace's chest.
We finally reach Ace's floor, he unlocks the door, and pushes it open with his shoulder. I step inside and—
"Ohhh. So you'rerich-rich."
The apartment is gorgeous. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, the nighttime skyline glittering like someone scattered diamonds across black velvet. Hardwood floors that look original. The furniture is that perfect mix of masculine and sophisticated—a leather couch that looks butter-soft, a coffee table that's definitely real wood, not particle board, abstract art on the walls that might actually be original pieces.
In the distance—a vast distance, mind you—the open kitchen gleams with marble countertops.
"It's not—" Ace starts, and his ears go pink. "I mean, yeah, I guess. The team pays well."
"This is more than 'pays well.' This is 'I could buy a small country' money."
"I can't buy a country."
I shrug as I continue shamelessly looking around. "A small one. Like Luxembourg."
He's full-on blushing now, and it's stupidly endearing. This massive hockey player who just gave me a massive orgasm in a car is embarrassed about his fancy apartment.
"It's nice," I add, softer. "Really nice."
"Thanks." He's still holding Candy, who's surveying her temporary domain with her clouded eyes, nose twitching as she takes in all the new smells. "Okay. Let's get everyone settled."
The spare bedroom (though it might as well be called a spare airport, with the size of it) becomes animal central.
We set up the carriers as little houses, arrange water bowls, scatter some toys Mama Paws sent with us.
Lulu and Boba claim one corner immediately, cuddling together in a pile of fluff. Sir Reginald finds a spot near the door and lies down like he's posing for a portrait. Taco's investigating everything, tiny legs moving at hummingbird speed.
The cats have claimed the bed like conquering generals, Cheeto sprawled out like he owns the place while Smoke surveys the surroundings from the highest point.
"This is madness," I observe, setting up another water bowl.
Ace chuckles while arranging the last carrier. "It's not that bad." Then, he straightens up and looks at Candy, who's been pressed against his chest this entire time. "Actually, you're not staying in here."
I look up and ask on her behalf, "She's not?"
"Nope. She gets the rest of the place. She can sleep in the master if she wants to. Hear that, girl?"
He presses a kiss to the top of her head. Aww.
I'm setting up the last water bowl when I trip over Sir Reginald, who's moved from his spot without warning, and water sloshes everywhere.
Including all over Ace, who half-turns at the last moment to shield Candy from my clumsiness.
"Shit! Sorry! Oh my god, I'm so sorry—"
