The Next Mrs Russo

Miller is completely nonplussed by my revelation. “Duh. You don’t have to play football to be cool. And I don’t go to bed at nine-thirty on the weekends, which helps.”

“I told you it was closer to ten,” I retort, sullenly. “And while we’re on that topic, stop telling Warren all my secrets.”

Miller makes a motion like he’s zipping his lips. “My lips are sealed, boss.”

I stare at him, arms crossed. “That’s a lie.”

“Probably,” Miller readily agrees with a shrug. “How about I go make you another sale and we call it even?”

Well. He’s got me there. “That would be fine,” I agree with all the nonchalance of a person with no real bargaining power.

Chapter Thirteen

After a day of wielding homecoming dresses and teenage girls with Miller, I’m ready to relax.

And by relax, I mean attempt to read a book in my newly acquired—or, I guess, borrowed?—fancy bed at the governor’s mansion.

There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.

Though it is sort of hard to focus on reading. There are many reasons. One of them being the ghost. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t like me. Or maybe it really, really likes me because there are cold spots wherever I go. Maybe it’s trying to be friends? Maybe it’s hitting on me? It’d be the only person in this house hitting on me, that’s for sure. Or the only spirit, in any case.

The second reason is, obviously, Warren. Because he did not, as I had hoped, use our close proximity to ravish me during the night.

He most definitely did not approach me with an array of sexy ties he’s worn during press conferences and make a kinky suggestion. At least he didn’t in reality. What he does in my imagination is my business.

Except I didn’t pack Victor the vibrator and now my imagination is frustrated. And I couldn’t even go for another jog this morning because I didn’t pack my running shoes. And also because I’m lazy.

The point being, I’m a little wound up and I need to relax. Everything on my e-reader is full of sex. Well, that might be overstating it, but it’s all romance—slow burn, instalove, historical, marriages of convenience, enemies-to-lovers. Every single one of them is about kissing.

That’s not going to help anything.

So I went old-school and grabbed an actual physical book from one of the governor’s many, many bookshelves. I don’t actually know what it’s about since its old leather cover’s been beaten to death, and letters that were once gilded gold have now faded to complete unreadableness. But I’m confident that whatever it is, it won’t be about sex or kissing or even unrequited lust, and will thus keep my mind firmly off of Warren.

But as soon as I’ve settled in under the covers Gary strolls in and leaps onto my bed. Warren made a big deal about animals not being allowed on the beds or sofas, but let’s be real, clearly Warren has never had a cat because cats do what they want. Gary yawns in my face, then settles in to stare at me. Which he will do until I magically figure out what he wants.

“Gary,” I say, putting the book down. “Whatever do you want, you tiny troublemaker?”

Gary continues his staredown as Duke edges in around the doorframe, grinning his adorable dog smile.

“Duke!” I coo, because I adore Duke. The whole following rules thing is quite charming in a pet. Duke prances expectantly as Gary continues to stare at me. Wait. Wait one second.

They’re up to something.

And it’s likely Gary’s fault.

“Gary,” I begin in my best mom voice, eyeing him suspiciously. “What are you two up to?”

Gary slow-blinks at me.

Then he exchanges a look with Duke. Seriously. A look. Like, what the hell?

“I’m very busy,” I tell Gary. “Reading,” I add, tapping the book as if that will get through to him. “And don’t tell me this is about food. I’ve already fed you tonight. Both first and second dinner.”

I used a bowl I found in Warren’s outdated kitchen. A very old, very white bowl. I remember thinking it was probably an important bowl, a piece of New York history, and that maybe I should’ve brought Gary a bowl from home. But Gary was hungry, and desperate times and all that.

The point is, I already fed the little beggar. “You’re not getting a third dinner.”

Gary flicks his tail and thumps loudly to the floor, heads to the door and gives me a meaningful look. Duke barks, apparently in agreement.

Obviously I’m going to have to see what they want.

I follow them as Gary prowls ahead, tail in the air. Duke’s thrilled to just be near him, and I have to admit, Gary’s pull is pretty damn magnetic.

They lead me downstairs, Gary stopping every few yards to look back and ensure I’m following like the obedient pet owner I am. To my surprise it’s not the kitchen they lure me to. No, it’s actually the room where I first met Warren, but it’s dark so I assume it’s empty. I have no idea what Gary wants. Unless… oh, God. I hope he hasn’t cornered an unsuspecting mouse in Warren’s office. Or worse, left one on his desk. That’d be a dead giveaway that Gary isn’t obeying the no-furniture rule. Literally dead. Perhaps I should slip in there while Warren’s not home to check for evidence. But as I stand outside, I hear the tell-tale tapping of keys.