I scowl at him.

“Still ruffled, are we?”

“I’d like to see how happy you’d be after being unjustly arrested and made to apologize for it,” I reply pettily.

“You should write an article about police brutality,” Indira suggests, unable to hide the amusement in her voice.

“Nice shirt,” Richard tells her.

She winks. “Thanks, boss.”

I roll my eyes and hide under my desk to pat Chevron, who promptly nudges my calves in support.

“So.” Richard squats down next to us, eyes level with mine.

For a moment, all the air leaves my lungs. Finding myself almost nose-to-nose with Richard is giving me heart palpitations. When will he stop having this effect on me?

“Want to check out the clinic?” the boss asks, scratching Chevron behind the ears.

The treacherous dog forgets all about me and goes to nuzzle Richard’s face. And for the first time in my life, I’m jealous of a quadruped.

***

The veterinary clinic is only a ten-minute walk from the office, but as our trio strolls down the streets of Brooklyn, I can’t help noticing the seething looks of envy New Yorker women send my way. Walking with Richard and a happy puppy, I must look like I’m living the dream. If only the ladies knew how far from picture-perfect my life really is.

Needless to say, the vet is female. Not only that, she greets us with a perfect smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial. Actually, her general wholesomeness would play well in a family friendly advert. With big blue eyes, chestnut hair, and rosy cheeks, she’s an image of friendly beauty—particularly friendly toward Richard.

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.