Darkness tinges the edge of my vision as I assess the damage, unable to make sense of the scene before me. How is this possible? This building has the best security in the city.
Okay, so if not burglars, then who?
There’s a skittering of nails on the hardwood floor, and a tiny ball of gray and white fur rounds the corner, charging straight for me with a scrap of black fabric hanging from its mouth.
Oreo.
The puzzle pieces click into place instantly. Mystery solved.
How the hell could one tiny dog create this much bedlam? I was only at the gym for an hour. Two max. For chrissake, I didn’t even leave the building.
The dog clearly has no sense of self-preservation, because instead of turning tail and finding a solid place to hide, she runs right to me, like I’m going to scoop her up and pat her on the head for destroying my damn house.
Ignoring the yammering pup, I slowly walk through the lower level, following the muddy footprints that could only belong to my new four-legged roommate.
It’s even worse than I imagined.
A row of tiny teeth marks stretches up the leg of the coffee table, making it look as if a ravenous beast used it like a toothpick. Oreo rubs up against my leg, and I glare down at her.
Not far off the mark.
Next to the table, there’s a puddle of what can only be piss staining the rug. My pulse thrums harder, pounding at my skull like a jackhammer. I flex my fingers at my sides and count to ten.
I don’t give a shit about the table or the rug. The designer who furnished the condo chose both, but that doesn’t mean I have time to deal with this mess.
I have work to do. Emails to answer. Reports to review.
A condo to clean.
Fuck. Even if I could tolerate the disarray—which is a big if—there’s no way I can leave this mess for the cleaning service. I rake a hand through my sweaty hair, trying to remember where the cleaning supplies are stored.
Do I even own carpet cleaner?
A guy can hope.
It takes three tries, but with Oreo’s help, I finally find the cleaning supplies in the laundry room. She scampers into the cabinet, tongue lolling, and yips like she’s just found the mother lode. I sigh and haul her furry butt back out.
“Oh, no you don’t. You’ve caused enough terror for one day.”
The last thing I need is to add a poisoned dog to this shit show.
She looks up at me and grumbles under her breath, like I’m the one being unreasonable here.
“Don’t look at me like that.” I meet her stare head-on. “If you hadn’t wrecked the house, we could be enjoying a nice doggie treat right now, but no, you had to go all Tornado of Terror on the place.”
She gives me a disgruntled look and grumbles again, slightly quieter this time.
“Are you seriously arguing with me right now? Because I can send you back to wherever you came from. Or Miles’s place. Or—”
Oreo grumbles again, the sound barely audible.
Holy shit.She’s trying to get the last word. And like a jackass, I’m arguing with a fucking puppy.
No, I’m not. I will not get in a pissing match with a dog, no matter how infuriating her behavior might be. I turn back to the cabinet, and I’m sorting through a dozen spray bottles when my phone chimes with a text alert.
I dig it out of my pocket and glance at the screen.
Miles:Have you looked at the latest Epos numbers?
