As she comes out from behind the admission desk, her cheeks become rosier, her smile broadens—how is that even possible? How many teeth does she have?—and her eyes sparkle with something that could only be described as utter adoration. So the vet, too, has a crush on the boss. Have they dated in the past? Is everything Indira said true? Has Richard literally left a trail of broken hearts sprinkled all over New York?

After greeting us and introducing herself as Michelle, the vet shifts her entire attention to Chevron. Not even Richard’s Bambi-like eyes can compete with real puppy eyes.

Michelle picks Chevron up and cuddles him. “And who do we have here?” The puppy loves the attention and yaps and nuzzles in response. “Good boy, oh, you’re such a good boy.”

As Michelle walks away with my dog, an explicable pang of something makes my throat tighten. Okay, no need to get territorial. Not over Richard and not over the dog—who’s not your dog, by the way, as there’s no way you can keep him. Begrudgingly, I follow the vet into an examination room.

With Chevron placed on a metal table, Michelle asks me an infinite series of questions—most of which I have no clue how to answer—and then she tells us she needs to do a full checkup. The clinic closes at six in the evening and Chevron will be ready for pickup after four.

Even if I know I’m going to see him in just a few hours, I get withdrawal syndrome symptoms as early as my first step away from the room. His desperate cries following us as we leave don’t help either.

Richard must notice because he tries to distract me with conversation. “You actually named the dog after the gas station?” he asks as we walk back to the office.

“Every time someone said Chevron he barked, what was I supposed to do?”

“That fur ball is so adorable, he makes me want to go to a shelter and adopt a little guy just like him.”

“No need for a shelter, you can adopt exactly him.”

Richard stops dead in the street and turns toward me. “You’re not keeping him?”

“Even if I wanted to, there’s no way I can.”

“Why not?”

“My apartment is too small, I’m out all day, and I don’t have a car.”

“You could bring him to the office. He could become our mascot. And since when is a car essential to having a dog?”

“For one, he’s not allowed on the subway.”

“How did you come to work today?”

“We walked.”

“All the way from Manhattan?” Richard seems impressed, and we start walking again. “You could’ve told me. I would’ve picked you up.”

I wave him off. “It’s no big deal.”

“So what are you going to do with the puppy?”