Page 135 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

“A little.”

Artem actually laughed.

“Everyone has a price,” he said.

Hudson looked pained. “Those are exactly the words that make me ask about legitimacy.”

That was when Fergus ran in with a slipper in his mouth.

He came around the corner at speed, small legs working with heroic commitment.

Maeve shot to her feet. “Fergus.”

Fergus accelerated. Behind him, a young housekeeper appeared in the hall looking distraught.

Maeve pointed. “Drop it.”

Fergus didn’t drop it. He made for the study rug.

“Those are my best Prada!” Maeve said, voice rising.

Fergus shook the slipper once.

Gregor moved.

Fergus changed direction like a fugitive who’d been cornered, and slid under Artem’s desk.

Ivan laughed so hard he turned away from the laptop.

Maeve got on her knees in front of the desk. “Fergus, I swear to God, if you chew that slipper, I will replace your treats with laxatives.”

Fergus growled around the slipper.

I started laughing.

Hudson looked from me to the dog beneath the desk, and his mouth softened.

“Let’s stay in London,” I said.

Maeve looked up from the desk. “What?”

I wiped my cheeks of tears, still half laughing. “Let’s stay in London. The building has security on the door. The penthouse has its own entrance. Why do we have to live in the country? He came here, not London.”

Hudson stiffened beside me. “You want to stay at the penthouse?” he asked.

I looked at him. “Yes.”

“Mary,” Maeve said gently, “you used to like living here. You said you painted the best landscapes here.”

Hudson turned his head toward me. Lincoln did too.

They knew I hated cream muslins and secretly liked ginger tea. They knew the shape of my fear. But they didn’t know I painted.

“You paint?” Lincoln asked.

I shrugged too quickly. “A bit.”

Maeve made a noise.