“Yeah. As a matter of fact I am going to be like this every fuckin’ morning.”
“Hey!” Gentry snapped, standing beside their desks. “What did I say?”
Dez seemed to mull that over for a few seconds before replying, “Don’t annoy you?”
“And what are you doing? You’re annoying me, that’s what you’re doing.” She motioned at the elevator. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
She glared down at Crush. “You’re going wherever the fuck I tell you to go.”
Crush looked down at Gentry’s feet. “Did you know you’re wearing bunny slippers?”
Dez leaned over and again lifted her sunglasses. “And they’re blue.”
“Goddammit.” Their boss stormed back into her office to change out of her adorable and less-than-threatening bunny slippers and into some proper shit-stompers.
“My question,” Crush whispered to Dez, “how did she find bunny slippers in her size?”
“I heard that, you white-haired bastard!”
And when Crush and Dez started laughing, Gentry’s mood did not improve.
The front door to the penthouse opened and Van Holtz, looking exhausted but still extremely handsome, motioned them in.
“Thank you for coming. Chief Gentry should be here in a few minutes.”
Cella kind of expected him to take them to his living room considering the formality of this meeting, but Van Holtz walked right past it and into his kitchen. Like always. At the large table sat Dee-Ann Smith with her feet up on the chair next to her and a Led Zeppelin trucker cap on her head. Walking up to her, Cella remarked, “Where’s your banjo?”
“Stuck up your—”
“Dee-Ann,” Van Holtz warned from his stove. “Be nice.”
“The feline started it.”
Yanking the chair out from under Smith’s feet, Cella sat down and smiled at her.
Smith’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you smiling at me?”
“Because it annoys you when I do?”
She shrugged. “That actually makes sense.”
“Please,” Van Holtz sweetly suggested. “Sit. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”
When Nina and Cosworth only forced fake smiles and still did not sit, Smith snarled out, “He said sit down.”
“Dee-Ann.”
Cella scratched her nose to keep from laughing, then said to her bosses, “He makes the most amazing waffles you’ll ever have.”
When Cosworth sat, Nina had to grudgingly go along.
So there they all sat or cooked. Three cats and two dogs. Cella didn’t think it could get any more awkward. But after a few minutes, the doorbell rang again and Van Holtz walked out to answer it.
That’s when Smith suddenly turned to Cella and said, “You smell like bear.”
Without even looking at her, Cella slammed her fist into Smith’s face, knocking the She-wolf out of her chair and onto the floor. Then, while Smith got back in her seat and popped her jaw back into place, Cella tried not to shake out her hand. That girl’s face ... like granite!
Crush and the others followed Van Holtz into his commercial-quality sparkling kitchen. Already seated at the table were Cella, representatives from KZS, and Smith, who was busy moving her jaw around.
He immediately looked at Cella and she gave a small smile and a shrug. But an instant later she frowned and her hand reached up to her own face, her forefinger pointing at her eye. He knew she was silently asking about his black eye and swollen cheek, but what could he say at the moment? So he shook his head and pulled out a seat, dropping into it.
“Thank you all for coming this morning,” Van Holtz said, standing at the head of the table. “I know things took a difficult turn last night, but I wanted to touch base and have a frank discussion regarding how we should move forward on this issue.”
The room full of shifters and one full-human stared at Van Holtz for a solid minute before they all looked at Smith. She shrugged and muttered, “Let’s talk now before we get in a big fight with a bunch of bears.”
“Ohhh,” they all said.
While Van Holtz created one of his brilliant breakfasts and chatted with management, and MacDermot showed Smith the latest cell phone pictures of her adorable son, Cella and Crush wandered into Van Holtz’s living room.
“What happened to your face?” she asked.
He sighed. “Long story.”
“Then you better start talking so you don’t have to finish it over our breakfast.”
“It’s no big deal.”
Cella crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m still waiting.” When he still didn’t answer, she guessed, “Your brothers did this to you, didn’t they?”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “It was six grizzlies.”
“Were they alive when you dumped them?”
“Yes. Think I should tell the others?”
“I do.”
He smirked. “Wait. How’d ya know I dumped them?”
“You don’t like trash in your house. Especially with Lola there.”
“Admit it. You like Lola.”
“Don’t I have enough dogs in my life at the moment?”
“If you say so.” Crush gave a small jerk of his head. “Come here.”
“Why?”
“Because I told you to.”
“Oooh.” She stepped closer to him. “I like it when you’re all demanding and bossy. Maybe you can handcuff me later.”
“You ladies all say that, but then when I go for it—you all panic.”
“Such a lack of faith.”
“Now get your ass up here and kiss me.”
Cella went up on her toes and Crush came down a bit until their lips touched. She realized she kind of melted into that kiss, her body resting against his, her hands reaching up and gripping his biceps. Big arms slipped around her waist, pulling her in close. They kissed and clung to each other in Van Holtz’s living room until they both realized that they were no longer alone. Pulling away, they looked over at the archway. Smith and MacDermot stood there, both eating bacon, both watching them.
It was the bacon that, for some reason, made it all ... weird.
The She-lion, Cosworth, pushed back from the table and stood up, glaring down at Crush.
“Your foster mother is Peg Baissier?”
Crush, after tearing off the fat and handing the meat of the bacon to Malone, said, “Yeah.”
“And you didn’t tell us this before because ...”
Now chewing said bacon fat, “Because I haven’t lived with the woman in more than twenty years?”
“I don’t care if you haven’t lived with her for five thousand years.”
Crush frowned. “But then we’d be dead and most likely not having this conversation. Unless, of course, we were time travelers.”
Smith chuckled. “I do love me some bear logic.”
“What I’m trying to say,” Cosworth growled while cutting a lethal glare at Smith, “is that perhaps you’re actually working for Baissier.”
“That’s a possibility. Although the firing back and hitting the target might make me not so welcome at the annual Christmas party. Plus ... Baissier hates me.”
“But your brothers work for her.”
“So?”
“And you’re all triplets.”
“So?”
Cella placed her elbow on the table and her chin on her raised fist.
“Isn’t there a bond or something between triplets?” Cosworth demanded.
“Oh! You mean like when one of my brothers burns his hand and the other two feel it?”
“Yeah!”
“No. That doesn’t happen.”
Cella and Smith snorted, both quickly looking away while Cosworth’s golden feline eyes narrowed.
“Calmly,” Gentry warned, tapping her forefinger on the table. “You don’t want me breaking out in a five-hundred-pound, seven-foot panic.”