Punching her mate in the arm, Ronnie said, “Remember our many discussions about when to speak and when not to when it involved the Smith wolves? This is one of those not-speak times.”
Smitty looked at his sister comfortably resting on a leather love seat. Brendon Shaw’s apartment had big, comfortable furniture, and to the cat’s great annoyance, the wolves did love to come on over whenever it suited them and lounge.
“I’m Bobby Ray Smith,” Smitty said simply to his kin.
“You are,” Sissy agreed. “But apparently that don’t matter much to little Jessie Ann.”
“I know,” Shaw said, still laughing. “Let’s all go around the room and say what our names are. ’Cause that makes the difference.”
“Man, you are an asshole,” Smitty snarled, looking for a fight and maybe just finding it.
“Oooh. Those are mighty fightin’ words from a guy who just got shot down by a Rhodesian Ridgeback.”
Ronnie let out a sigh. “You never know when to shut up.”
Smitty stood. “Is there something you want to say to me, boy?”
“Not really.” Shaw stood. “Just like your little nongirlfriend there, I have absolutely nothing to say to you.”
And the last thing Smitty heard before he unleashed his claws and felt fangs bury into his neck was Ronnie Lee screaming at him, “Just not his face, Smitty!”
CHAPTER 4
“No.”
Smitty stared at the lion. “No what? I didn’t say anything. Did I, Mindy?”
Mace glanced at their executive assistant. “Don’t involve her.”
Mindy, a seriously hot cheetah hired by his sister, shook her head. “Do you two actually have time for this?”
“You’re not going,” Mace said again.
“Why would you want to?” Mindy asked, pulling folders out of her desk. “He’s going to pick up a check, not stop by a whorehouse.”
“He wants to see if Jessica Ward really has no interest in him.”
Mindy snorted. “That dog is loaded. No,” Mindy stated flatly, “she has no interest in you.”
Smitty put his hand to his chest. “Mindy, you don’t have to be jealous, darlin’. You know my heart belongs to you.”
“Which my wife greatly appreciates.”
“You’re not going,” Mace said again. “Jessica Ward can bring us some high-level clients. I don’t need you and your dick fucking it up.”
“Now, hoss, that just hurts.”
Mace’s eyes narrowed. “Look, hillbilly, you’re not going and that’s that.”
“Really? Well, with you gone, that means I can get on the phone, call sweet Dez, and tell her how much you love her and need her and how much you love her pot roast and how you really, in your heart of hearts, want a little housewife cooking and cleaning for you when you get home. A little housewife waiting. Just. For. You.”
“All right, fine! You can come.” Mace gritted his teeth. “You... bastard.”
He stormed out and Smitty sauntered after him.
“You are mean,” Mindy laughingly whispered.
“Just doin’ what I gotta do to make things happen, darlin’.”
Because he was determined to see Jessie Ann Ward again. And nothing, especially not a big, surly cat, would get in his way.
The Kuznetsov office building stood in the middle of Greenwich Village. A prime piece of real estate that would only go up in equity. They’d taken over an old multifloored warehouse and turned it into the coolest office in a twenty-block radius. Each floor managed or handled different parts of the business, but the top floor belonged to the Pack. Only those invited to the floor ever made it up there. The Pack simply couldn’t take the chance of a full-human seeing something they really shouldn’t see. So if you weren’t on the list at the front desk, you didn’t get in.
When their lunch arrived, Jess had no other option but to join in with her Pack and eat since they stood outside her office singing “Feelings” until she did. Cruel but effective. So while Phil played a computer game, May and Sabina surfed porn sites, and Danny zipped around the office on his skateboard by holding their dogs’ leashes and letting them run, Jess ate her tuna on rye and wrote e-mails on her laptop.
“Danny,” she said as Danny flew past her, “any word on the Bander account?”
“Weasel says it took him less than thirty minutes to get past their security. It was way too easy.”
“Bring Weasel in. I want to talk to him.” Weasel wasn’t an actual weasel but a full-human who could hack into damn near anything. Jess figured out long ago it was best to work with the same guys she wanted to keep out of the systems her company secured. Hackers didn’t usually ask for much—a couple of bucks, sometimes bottles of tequila or Jack Daniels, or computer equipment. And Jess had always gotten along better with the full-human geek males and females than the hoity-toity types whose money she took.
“And walk the dogs, Danny. Since you’re using them for your own amusement.”
“Will do.”
The dogs looped around Sabina’s desk in the back of the office and dashed down the last aisle toward the already open front doors. Jess had no idea how Danny did that. Of course, with her clumsiness factor, skateboarding with her dogs was a very quick way to break both her arms.
She watched Danny drop into a crouch so the wind resistance wouldn’t slow down the dogs. A few more feet at top speed and once they hit the door, they’d ease off so that by the time they reached the elevator, Danny and the dogs would cruise right inside.
But about ten feet before the doorway, Jess suddenly smelled the dogs’ fear as ripe and powerful as their bad breath. Then the two of them dashed off in separate directions. The power and suddenness of their move yanked Danny back and off the skateboard, which went airborne and slammed right into the head of the non-Pack male walking into the room.
There hadn’t been many places in this big wide world that Bobby Ray Smith hadn’t been able to charm his way into. Especially when there was an unattached female manning the front doors. But the pixie-like brunette with the adorable squeaky voice could not be charmed. Never rude, she still would not let him simply head to the boss’ offices.
“I’m so sorry, sir, but you’re not on the list,” she’d told him in no uncertain terms. “No, can’t call. They’d put you on the list if they wanted to talk to you,” she’d insisted. “I am sorry, sir.”
All said with a big grin and perfect white teeth.
Of course, Smitty wasn’t the kind of guy who ever gave up. He was still trying to convince her to let him head on up when the elevator doors opened and a bleeding, battered Mace Llewellyn had to be helped into the lobby by one tiny little She-dog and several of her tiny little Pack.
“What the hell happened?”
“It was an accident!” At least she looked distressed by the situation. Even better, she looked like the Jessie Ann he remembered. Gone was the polished, pristine, boring Jessica Ward he’d seen on Friday and Saturday, and in her place was the geeky, “I’m still wearing my hair in ponytails” beauty he’d always liked. “We forgot he was coming up for the final check.”
Smitty stepped in front of them, stopping their progress, and grabbed a handful of Mace’s hair. He lifted the big cat’s head and examined him closely. Not completely knocked out, but Mace was damn close with blood oozing down his face. “Well, good Lord, woman. What the hell did you hit him with, anyway?”
Jess cleared her throat. “A skateboard.”
“Excuse me?”
She shook her head and kept moving forward. “You need to get him to a hospital. He was definitely out cold for a couple of minutes there.” She stepped outside the building and glanced around. “Where’s your car?”
“There.”
“That’s a ‘no parking’ space.”