Executive Toy Read Online Free Page B

slide behind the steering wheel of my car and I’m about to close the door when I freeze. It’s not too late. I can go back up.
    I swing my legs outside, and I’m about to stand when I hear a faint meowing.
    Slowly, I get out and take several steps away. There’s another meow, this one louder, and I realize it’s coming from under the car, so I slowly, carefully, and yes, awkwardly, squat. I can’t quite see under the vehicle, so I gingerly place one of my palms on the dirty concrete and bend over.
    It’s Bandit. I named him that because of the dark mask over his eyes. He’s skinny but larger than the last time I saw him, two weeks earlier. It’s silly, but I was reading a book about Maslow’s hierarchy of needs when I first started at Sunrise Imports, and I explained to Bandit, while feeding him scraps of my lunch, that I couldn’t take him home with me because I was still on the second step: physical safety. Having a pet would fit on the third step: love and belonging. He’d stared at me with pleading yellow eyes while I told him that life with me wouldn’t be any better than living near the dumpsters, and anyway, he should value his freedom.
    Then the owners of the apartment complex got sued or something, and overnight, all the cats disappeared. I’d planned to ask what happened to them, but I hadn’t really wanted to know.
    I am inordinately happy to see Bandit.
    “Hey, kitty,” I say.
    He opens his mouth to make the most pathetic meow I’ve ever heard.
    “Now there’s a familiar pose,” a deep voice says as polished shoes and pressed pants move into my peripheral vision.
    Ignoring Hawthorne, I hold out my hand to Bandit and make a soft kissing sound. I expect him to be shy and stay put, so when he creeps forward, crouching low, his belly nearly dragging along the ground, excitement shoots through me.
    “Here, kitty,” I say, and Bandit seems to make up his mind. He comes right up to me. The poor thing is in worse shape than I realized. He’s skin and bones, his long fur is matted, and when I run my hand over his small head, I feel that he’s trembling.
    Without thinking about it, I gather him into my arms and stand. His eyes close into slits, and his whole body seems to vibrate with a purr.
    Hawthorne says, “I thought the feral cats were removed.”
    My arms tighten protectively around Bandit. “Shouldn’t you be throwing hundred-dollar bills off the bridge or something?”
    He seems to stifle a smile, but I can’t be certain. “You know it can’t stay here.”
    “Yeah,” I say as I stroke the top of Bandit’s head. “I’d take him if my apartment building allowed pets.” It’s a lie, but I do wish I could keep him. But I can’t afford a pet or friends. I have to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.
    “Give me the cat,” he says.
    “So you can stick him in a burlap sack and drown him?”
    “My sister is a vet. I’ll see he gets his shots and make sure he’s healthy.” He takes Bandit from me, and to my irritation, Bandit doesn’t fight him and instead snuggles into his arms. The cat has no common sense.
    “He’ll be fine,” he says.
    “But—”
    “I said he’ll be fine.”

Chapter 4

    The best thing about my apartment is that it’s safe. The building itself is central enough, but the short commute pales in comparison to its top-of-the-line security, all of it automated and high-tech. It’s the one thing I can’t skimp on no matter where I live. I learned that lesson already.
    I park in my assigned space in the underground lot, get the groceries from the trunk, and take the elevator to the lobby. Even though there is never mail for me—it’s always bulk rate and addressed to “Current Occupant”—I check my box anyway. While I’m waiting for the elevator, I glance in my bag and see my phone flashing red with a missed call.
    No one ever calls me except for spammers. Though I see it’s a local number, so it could be a customer. I call back; if there’s a