They jumped and ran so quickly, I was sure one of them fell on their way out.
Picking up my phone, I went to settings, then screensaver, trying once again to change the damn photo, but once again I couldn’t do it.
Damn it!
Just then my phone rang. “Dr. Davenport speaking,” I answered.
“So, I figured out how you can make it up to Gwen for being an ass,” Logan said. “She’s moving into a new place. I was going to help, but—”
“Not interested. Goodbye.”
Why the hell did he have to help everyone, for fuck’s sake? I was worried that if Logan really did become a doctor, he would become way too attached to his patients.
Buzz. My phone vibrated as he texted me.
Why, God? Why?
Guinevere
Sometimes I hate this damn city. I looked up at the brick building that was to be my new home. A few million dollars for a decent-sized condo on the Upper East Side, and my realtor had even tried to make me raise my budget; it was freaking ridiculous.
“What do you think, Taigi?” I asked as I shifted the box in my hands.
As always, he was less than impressed, but at least this time I couldn’t blame him. I looked back in dismay at all the boxes left in the U-Haul. It was going to take a while.
Maybe I should have hired movers? I thought as I entered the building.
Taigi whimpered as his paws slipped and slid on the smooth marble floors.
Laughing, I grabbed his leash as we waited for the elevator. Luckily, the floors on our level weren’t as shiny.
34B was at the end of the hall, and just as I gripped the handle, I heard another door open behind me. Turning, I came face to face with Dr. Asshole himself.
His blue-green eyes stared back at me in confusion. He glanced at the box in my hands, then at the door, and finally back to me.
“Please tell me you aren’t moving in.” He frowned.
“Please tell me you don’t live there.” I pointed at the door behind him.
His lips formed a straight line, and it looked like he was grinding his jaw.
Taigi, wanting attention as well, ran up to him and started to sniff, rubbing his nose all over his jeans, which only made him sneeze on the fabric.
Good boy.
“Urgh! God damn it! Can you tame your wolf?” he yelled, waving him away.
“He’s a Siberian husky, not a wolf, you big baby,” I replied, dropping the box in the hall and pulling Taigi, who sneezed on him again.
His eyes widened and one eyebrow twitched as he glared down at me.
“Sorry, he's allergic to jerks.” I pushed Taigi behind me.
I swore, if he could have killed me with his gaze, I would have been six feet under at that very moment. Without another word, he turned back to his apartment, most likely to change his clothes.
When the door closed, I cupped the sides of Taigi’s face. “Good boy!” I grinned, letting us into our new home.
But really, out of all the condos in the city, why the hell had I ended up next to him? Meeting him at the hospital had left a bad taste in my mouth. I’d had this picture of him in my mind, the heartbroken man who was left by the love of his life at the altar. However, with each meeting, my image of him changed. He was so condescending!
How he and Logan are related is beyond me. I headed back down to get more boxes and got on the elevator.
Sadly, before the elevator door closed he came out again, dressed in track pants and a sleeveless sweatshirt. This time he didn’t pay any attention to me, putting his headphones in.
The ride down felt like it took forever, and when the doors opened, I made my escape quickly, heading straight to the back of the U-Haul.
“Can’t a con artist like you afford to hire movers?”
He, for some reason, had stopped and stared at the boxes I had to move. Just go on your damn run already. Wait… “Con artist?”
He nodded as if he didn’t know why I was confused. “I’ve seen your paintings. There's no way in hell they're worth what you sell them for. You are ripping people off, therefore, you are a con artist.”
Speechless, my mouth dropped open.
“That’s attractive,” he said, acting disgusted before adjusting his ear buds and leaving me as he continued down the street.
“ASS!” I yelled, earning me a few glances from passerby.
My phone buzzed.
Answering it, I snapped, “Hello!”
“Is this a bad time?”
I looked at the caller ID before speaking again. “Katrina. Sorry, yeah, no, we can talk. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m actually right by your place. Can we meet up for a second?”
“Okay, my place is still a mess, but you can come over,” I replied, looking for her on the street. However, she didn’t walk up the street. She, like all high-powered lawyers, pulled up right next to me in a sleek town car.
When she stepped out, I saw her short blonde hair was slicked back, and she was dressed in a tailored pantsuit. One word described Katrina Turner: intimidating. Which was why I'd hired her.