She could feel the tug, as if a string had been tied to her heart.
“There you go, little guy. She loves you, see?” As Jake palpated the dog’s stomach, his brows drew together. “Has he been off his feed? He’s way underweight. And full of burrs. Do you live in the country?”
“What?” She massaged the wet fur lightly and felt gritty dirt. “He’s not mine—I mean I picked him up when the Boston butt-head hit him.”
“Boston’s your boyfriend?”
“No. A car in front of me with Boston plates. I just got stuck with damage control.” And speaking of damage, she was totally screwed. “Oh Go—goodness, I have to get to work.”
When she looked at her watch, her heart sank. She was horrendously late. And her suit was wet and muddy and covered with dog fur. “I need to leave. Or I’ll be fired.”
“I see.” Jake’s dark brown hair fell over his forehead as he watched her with green eyes the color of leaves in midsummer. “I don’t think any bones are broken, but I’d like to take some X-rays and check for internal damage. You can pick him up tonight on your way home.”
“Pick him up? But he’s not my dog.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Our tech will check if anyone’s looking for him.” He stroked his hand down the dog’s side, flattening the curly fur. Rainie could see the hollowing below the ribs. “I’d say he’s been living on the streets. Might’ve been dumped.”
“Seriously? A little dog?” That was just wrong. A warm wave of kinship to the animal ran through her. She knew how it felt to be abandoned. Alone and not wanted. Surviving on the streets. “Poor baby.” She gently ruffled the dog’s ears and heard his soft whine of…gratitude? Longing?
Oh heavens, what was she thinking? Brows pulling together, she scowled at Jake. “You are not going to coerce me into keeping this dog. I don’t do animals.”
“All things change, subbie,” he said softly, for her ears alone. The light amusement of an utterly confident Dom made her insides shiver. His voice returned to a normal level. “You pick up the dog tonight, and I won’t charge you for his care.”
Her mouth dropped open. Charge me? But…but… This day kept getting worse. She hadn’t even thought about a vet bill, and from the professional appearance of the office, the clinic probably charged a whack of a lot.
But, to be fair, it was Jake’s living.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have the cost of a vet visit in her savings. If he’d take care of the little dog for free…
In return, she’d be stuck finding the little guy a good home. She drew herself up and gave him the iciest look she could muster. “Fine. I’ll be in around five-thirty.”
“Mmmhmm.” His firm lips quirked. “That works.”
* * * *
Half an hour later, Rainie’s new boss sneered at her. “You think to work in my place looking like you got screwed by every long-hauler at the truck stop? Haven’t changed much, have you?”
Her jaw tightened at his ugly allusion to when she’d been a teenager, but she didn’t dignify his rudeness by checking her ruined suit. “A dog was hit by a car. I took it to the vet.”
“Nice to know you have priorities,” he said. “It’s a shame your job doesn’t head up the list.”
“Listen, I—”
“No, you listen.” He walked over, close enough that her breasts almost touched his chest. “You want to keep working here, you got to give me your all.”
She knew what he was implying—that he wanted more than office work from her. Disgust held its own taste—a foul one. “I work harder than anyone else you’d find for this job. That’s why your father made me manager.”
And Cory’d never worked hard a day in his life.
“Excuse me. I need to get the payroll started.” She sidestepped him and moved toward her desk.
The phone rang. Rainie glanced that direction, but, as always, Mrs. Fitzhugh had things under control. After dispatching a truck, the gray-haired woman gave Rainie her usual good morning smile and returned to record keeping. Not a chatterbox, Mrs. Fitzhugh.
But thank goodness she was here.
Since Cory took over, Rainie had made sure she was never in the office alone with him. He probably wouldn’t be stupid enough to get physical, but she’d discovered early in her life how a boner could shut down every cell in a man’s brain.
And, although the company’s owner, Bart, liked her, he wasn’t here, and he might not believe her against Cory. He thought his boy was all pure and wonderful.
A burst of thunder shook the squatty building as sheets of rain slammed into the concrete outside. A wrecking truck drove by. The twisted mess of a brand-new pickup on the trailer was a pointed reminder that life could be fleeting.
She’d worked for Thompson Towing and Recovery since starting grad school. Apparently, in the last few years, she’d forgotten that nothing lasts forever.
Not that she planned to stay, now that she had her MBA. No, she planned to leave the Tampa/St. Pete area—and her white-trash background—far behind. She’d settle in a different state, find an established, distinguished corporation, and take a position doing something that would garner admiration and respect.
But Miss Lily’s illness had wiped out Rainie’s savings, and moving required funds. By the time her apartment lease expired in mid-February, she should have enough money to relocate.
At the sight of the mess on her desk, Rainie came to a halt. She turned to Cory. “What were you doing in my desk?”
He smirked. “Looking for a file.”
Rainie growled under her breath. Her “personal” drawer was open, and he’d rummaged through her stuff—makeup, breath mints, even tampons. The sense of being violated was keen. Unfortunately, after her years in foster care, this was not an unfamiliar feeling.
Cory was such a bastard. Her jaw clamped to keep from spitting out her fury.
Bart was an honest, good ol’ boy, like the truckers he employed. His son, however, was all show and no substance and never kept a job longer than a few months. Yet, Bart was convinced Cory could manage the company. Parents can be so blind.
A handsome thirty-year-old with carefully styled flaxen hair, a golden tan, and blue eyes, Cory figured if he wanted something, he should have it.
And to think he’d implied she hadn’t changed much. She huffed a laugh. He hadn’t changed at all. At sixteen, she’d run away from her foster home and a drug dealer took her in. Cory’d shown up to buy coke for a frat party…then tried to buy her too. For a quickie. When Shiz refused, Cory’d thrown his weight around…and gotten the crap beat out of him. They’d dumped him in a garbage bin.
One nasty night. One nasty memory. Shaking her head, Rainie straightened up her personal drawer. Soon after Bart’d hired her, she’d run into Cory—but he’d wisely pretended not to know her. She’d returned the favor. Just went to show St. Petersburg, Florida, really was too small of a city.
Now Cory was her boss, and his father was in Europe. Talk about an occupational nightmare.
Yesterday, when Mrs. Fitzhugh had taken lunch, Cory’d sneaked up behind Rainie and groped her. Her outraged shove had caught him by surprise—and he’d fallen over a chair.
Rainie smiled slightly. She might surrender to a Dom she liked, but when it came to physically protecting herself from slimeballs? She didn’t have a single submissive cell in her body. As she finished her tidying, she caught Cory staring at her.
“Were you looking for a particular file?” she asked. Her desk contained all her current projects. And she had a lot. She’d put her MBA coursework to work by taking on the business’s payroll, scheduling, and advertising. Last month, she’d started on the arcane arena of insurance. God, she loved juggling the multitude of tasks, and Bart’d been delighted to designate her the “office manager” and hand over the reins.
Unfortunately, now Cory ran the company.
Face flushed, Cory stopped beside her desk, crowding her. When a file drawer slammed louder than the thunder outside, he realized Mrs. Fitzhugh was watching. He took a step back. “I’ll do the trucker’s schedules this month.”
Hopefully he wouldn’t screw it up too badly. Rainie gave him a polite smile. “How nice.” With his history, he’d be bored with the company even before she quit. Be patient.
“Here are the requests for days off.” She handed him the correct folder and couldn’t resist adding, “The schedule is due up on Monday.”
Cory made a noise like a mouse flattened by a golf cart—lovely sound. But then he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You might consider being friendlier…assuming you want to keep this job.”
“I don’t need to be friendlier to manage the taxes, the advertising, the software, or the payroll,” she assured him in a kind voice. “And since the truckers get irritable if not paid on time, I’d better start.”
His gaze swept over her and lingered on her breasts.
With the soaking she’d gotten, her shirt was almost translucent. The perverted prick. Turning away, she buttoned up her suit coat, then pulled up the payroll on her monitor. Finally…he moved away.