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?”

“I’m bringing him to a shelter… unless you want him.”

“He’s not going to a bloody shelter.”

This time I stop. “What else am I supposed to do? I’m only being responsible here.”

“That’s your problem. Maybe you should put more heart into what you do!”

I gasp. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“Me, why?”

“Because you should take your own advice.”

“Meaning?”

“Put your heart in what you do.”

“And where did you get the notion that my heart is not in what I do?”

“Maybe from the fact that in the short time I’ve worked for you, you’ve dated—what? Three, four different women? And the vet seems like another old flame.”

Richard doesn’t deny it. A dark shadow crosses his face, and he flashes me a hard, reproachful glare. “How I spend my time outside the office is none of your business. You’ve no place passing judgment on my personal life.”

“Neither is it any of your business if I want to adopt a dog or not, and you shouldn’t judge me if I say I can’t. Again, take your own advice.” With that, I march away, quickening my pace without waiting for my stupid boss.

***

Even if we don’t say another word to each other for the rest of the day, the moment I get up to leave the office, Richard joins me.

He stops next to me as I wait for the elevator. “I’m coming with you,” he threatens, and I don’t dare retort.

Wrapped in a heavy silence, we walk back toward the clinic.

Until Richard breaks. “I should apologize for earlier; it wasn’t my place to talk to you the way I did.”