I grab a croissant and return to my notes, chewing thoughtfully as I consider what else to write.
A soft thump interrupts my thoughts, and I look up to find a familiar black shape materializing on the counter beside me. Black Cat settles his furry ass directly on top of my notepad, tail swishing with the supreme indifference of a creature who knows he owns every surface he touches.
“Hey, buddy.” I scratch behind his ears, earning a rumbling purr. “Where were you last night? I didn’t see you when we got back.”
He blinks at me slowly, offering no explanation. Probably hiding somewhere, traumatized by the sounds coming from the blanket fort.Smart cat.
“I missed you while I was gone, you know. New York was lonely without your judgment.” I run my hand down his spine and the vibration of his purr intensifies. “Charlie took good care of you, though. Four meals a day, I hear. You’re getting spoiled, and honestly? Good for you. Enjoy being loved.”
He head-butts my palm, demanding more attention. I oblige, working my fingers through the soft fur at his neck while my mind wanders to the life this cat must have had before we found him. Stray. Hungry. Probably kicked around by people who should have known better. And now here he is, living in penthouses and eating gourmet tuna, completely unaware of how dramatically his circumstances have changed.
Maybe we have that in common.
“You know what?” I say, studying his golden eyes. “I think it’s time to name you.”
He stares at me with the blank indifference of a creature who has never cared about human conventions and never will.
“I already have a Tweety in my life,” I continue, thinking out loud. “So how about Sylvester? Keep the theme going. You’ve got the coloring for it—black and sleek. And you’ve mastered cartoon-villain energy.”
The cat yawns, displaying an impressive set of fangs, then begins grooming his paw with absolute disregard for my poignant naming ceremony.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You don’t give a damn what I call you as long as the tuna keeps coming.” I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “Fair enough. Sylvester it is. Welcome to the family, officially. It’s small and new. But it’s a good one.”
I attempt to reclaim my notepad from beneath his furry body, but he’s dead weight. I’ve learned cats have this peculiarskill that defies physics—they become twice as heavy when they don’t want to move. I end up sliding the notepad out from under him inch by inch while he glares at me with the righteous indignation of royalty being disturbed.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m trying to write nice things for your other parent.”
He does not seem impressed. I’m mid-battle with Bla—Sylvester—when I hear footsteps approaching. The bathroom door must have opened while I was distracted.
Charlie rounds the corner into the kitchen, hair still damp from the shower, wearing one of my T-shirts that hangs to mid-thigh. She looks soft and rumpled and utterly beautiful—the kind of beautiful that doesn’t require makeup or styling or any of the beauty-armor she wears for the public. Just her, fresh-faced, rosy cheeks, freckles on display. So real.
“Morning,” she says, padding toward me on bare feet. There’s a slight hitch in her walk—a tenderness that makes heat creep up my neck when I remember why.
“Morning yourself.” I catch her hand as she passes, pulling her close enough to press a kiss to her knuckles. “How’d you sleep?”
“Yeah.” She pushes my shoulder. “You were gone when I woke up. What gives?”
I sigh. “Okay, remember that thing we need to talk about?”
A sly smile crosses her face. “Does it have anything to do with your father naming me in an illegal scheme to pay off a judge?”
My heart drops to my ass and throbs there. “Who called you?”
“Dad called me very early this morning. He oversees everything legal and finance for me. It’s in his DNA.”
My head droops. “Well, I’ve certainly made a great first impression on your dad.”
“Oh you did,” Charlie says enthusiastically. “He saw you grab a sleazy paparazzo by the scruff and nearly beat Grayson to a pulp. He says he’s very much looking forward to meeting you.”
The warmth settles in my chest. “That’s a relief. So what now?”
“We’ll do the Atlanta shows, then we’ll fly to New York, give a statement. Easy-peasy.”
“What if it gets out though?”
She arches an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a playful half smile. “The world will probably end. Real Armageddon zombie-apocalypse shit.”
“You don’t care?”
