Anthony: Signature Sweethearts Book Seven Read online

  “I don’t know much.”

  “I know he’s cute!” Saylor pipes in with a wicked grin.

  “Oo…cute, huh? What’s he look like?”

  I open my mouth to tell her it doesn’t matter, when Skye interrupts.

  “Like a freaking model. Dark hair, dark eyes, chiseled jaw…the whole shebang.”

  “The whole shebang, huh?” My mom smirks while giving me a knowing stare.

  “Mom.” I drag out the word while pulling my beanie down to cover my red face. “Yes, he’s attractive. But it’s a moot point because he’s practically a felon.” I shove the beanie back into place and stuff another bite of cinnamon roll into my mouth.

  “I thought you liked the bad boys,” Saylor quips.

  Skye answers for me. “Sway likes any boys, as long as they don’t want a relationship.”

  Aaand there’s the crap I was talking about. We need some more testosterone in this house.

  “Which means Mr. Wright might be the right guy for her.” Saylor tacks on a wink at the end of her terrible joke, and my mom laughs out loud.

  “Aww, Say, that’s too rich.” She wipes a tear from under her eye then turns to me before adding, “And a misdemeanor doesn’t make him a felon, Swayze Girl. It means he made a mistake and is going to pay the consequences for that mistake. But that doesn’t mean I want you messing around with him until I’ve made my own judgment. Understand?”

  Grimacing, I lick a bit of the frosting off my finger and say, “Trust me, Mama. That won’t be necessary.”

  Chapter Four

  Anthony

  The old Anthony would’ve found an apartment today. He would’ve rolled out of bed at a decent hour and exercised for forty-five minutes before showering for the day and tackling his issues head-on. He would’ve made an appointment with a realtor, eaten three square meals, and had the intention to go to bed at a decent hour.

  The new Anthony? Well, he doesn’t exactly give a shit. He hasn’t given a shit since the day his thirteen-year relationship ended like a freaking guillotine, slicing off any hope of the future he’d been building.

  And a month after that? His career ended too. Didn’t matter how much time he’d put in at that company, or how he put his job above anything and everything else in his life––including said ex-girlfriend. The company was sold to a foreign corporation, and they kiboshed the entire department before bringing in a new face for the company. Needless to say, the old Anthony didn’t make the cut.

  That’s when the new Anthony decided to take over. Although, I’m not sure I like him very much, either. Traveling around the country with no destination in mind while searching for a fresh start isn’t a bad plan. But doing it with alcohol in the front seat is.

  Which brings me to today. Nine o’clock in the morning. Hair a freaking mess because I didn’t feel like showering. And rumpled clothes because I couldn’t muster up the effort to iron them.

  I’m a mess.

  My ex, Indie, would be ashamed.

  But I guess she was ashamed of the old Anthony too, so it doesn’t really matter.

  Digging my fingers into my hair, I tug on the roots until the familiar bite of pain grounds me, then I head out the door.

  Judge Jeffers sanctioned that a breathalyzer be installed in my car, and it makes me feel like I’m giving the damn thing a blow job anytime I try to start the ignition. My nostrils flare with the knowledge I get to do it all over again as I open the car door and take a seat behind the wheel.

  Counting to ten to curb my frustration, I lift the stupid device and release a deep breath into the mouthpiece.

  This is freaking ridiculous.

  Once it deems me sober, I pull out of the parking spot from the hotel I’ve been staying at and head to Sway’s.

  What kind of a name is that, anyway? And the pink hair? I tilt my head and mentally pull up an image of her. Or maybe it’s purple? Doesn’t matter. It’s still bright and…well…. Does she want to be taken seriously?

  It doesn’t take long before I see the damaged sign in front of Sway’s home and cringe in humiliation at being the one who ruined it. I’m an idiot. With a sigh, I drive up the long driveway then put the car in park and step outside into the winter air.

  Rushing to the front door, I rap my knuckles against it and wait for her to answer.

  With a soft squeak, it opens.

  “Hey, sorry I’m late,” I start.

  She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “No worries. Come on in.”

  My fingers are shoved into the pockets of my winter coat, and I rock back on my heels as I take a quick look around the entryway. Her home is…different. Mismatched furniture painted in bright colors like magenta, lime green, and yellow, is laid throughout the area, along with polka dot pillows and furry rugs. What I find most surprising is how it kind of…works…if you tilt your head and squint, anyway. However, it’s the four cats that grab my attention first.

  “Do they just roam around your house?” I ask, completely forgetting my filter.

  Sway laughs. “A few of them. They take turns because not everyone gets along with each other, and if I let them all out at once, I wouldn’t have any place to sit, either.”

  With furrowed brows, I take another look around the main floor. “Where do you keep the others?”

  “In the cattery downstairs.”

  “What the hell is a cattery?” I grimace as soon as the question is voiced.

  Again, she laughs, not offended in the slightest. “It’s just a fancy term for where I keep the cats. I’ll show you. Don’t worry. I was just making a cup of tea. Do you want one?”

  Tea?

  “No, thanks.”

  “Okay. You’re welcome to take a seat on the couch then.” She turns on her heel and disappears through an open doorway, leaving me on my own.

  Fidgeting with my jacket, I pull my arms out of the sleeves then hang it on the coat rack near the front door before smoothing down my wrinkled shirt and walking to the couch.

  When I see a big-ass black cat curled into a ball on the cushion, I turn to a wicker chair, instead, and take a seat. I’m surprised to find it relatively cat hair free. Bonus points for cleanliness, Sway. Not exactly what I was expecting.

  Within seconds, another cat jumps onto my lap and starts purring. This one looks different than any cat I’ve ever seen. About the size of a bread loaf, the cat has short, curly hair the color of sand and mismatched eyes. I notice one is blue, and the other is green as it peers up at me.

  My hands stay frozen in the air, and I find myself in the middle of a staring contest with the ugliest damn cat I’ve ever seen.

  “Tobias, get off him,” Sway calls as she enters through a different door with a cup in her hand. The cat doesn’t move an inch.

  Hurrying over, Sway picks him up with one hand then sets him on the ground near my feet.

  “I am so sorry. Tobias is a lover but has trouble understanding boundaries.” With a grimace, she adds, “He doesn’t mean any harm.”

  “No problem,” I mumble.

  With her mouth quirked up in amusement, Sway peeks down at me. “You’re not a cat person are you.” It’s not a question, but I answer her anyway.

  “Not really. I don’t do animals.”

  Quirking her brow, she takes a quick sip of her tea while assessing me over the rim of her cup. “And why is that?”

  I shrug before standing up and brushing off the back of my pants. “I don’t know. I’m allergic to dogs, and my parents weren’t cat people. Plus, they’re such a big commitment and don’t really do much, ya know?”

  “False,” she interjects. “They do a ton of stuff. It’s up to you if you want to see it or not.”

  “Says the lady with four cats,” I counter.

  With a grin, she corrects me. “Twenty-nine, actually. For the time being, anyway. I have a sweet little family coming by today to pick up Tiny,” she motions to the big-ass black cat on the couch, “And Macho, who’s around here somewher
e. Which will bring me down to twenty-seven by the end of the day. However, I did see a missed call from the local shelter so that might be changing too.”

  My mind spins at the influx of information. “So, you’re basically a revolving door for cats.”

  “I’m a foster home for cats until they find their forever one.”

  “That’s a lot of work for one person. Does anyone else help around here?”

  She shrugs. “My sisters help out on occasion, and I have a few girls in the county who help in the summer when they’re not at school, but nope. It’s pretty much just me.”

  “So what do you do for a living then? Is this your full-time job?”

  Tucking a strand of her pink––yes, it’s definitely pink––hair behind her ear, she answers, “Yes and no. I’m also a licensed veterinarian, but I try to keep my schedule relatively flexible so I have time to help the cats who are brought in and need the extra care.”

  My business side is asking questions before I can stop myself. “So, do you work off grants from the state? How are you able to afford it? Especially when there’s a shelter for these animals, right?”

  “The shelter can only do so much. When they run out of space, or have had the same cat for too long, they only have so many choices. Before, they would euthanize them. Now, they send them to me.”

  My stomach drops at her honesty. I might not like cats, but I also hate the idea of them dying because their owners couldn’t––or wouldn’t––keep them for their entire lives.

  Sway heads toward the door and tilts her head for me to follow as she moves forward with her little story. “My grandma was a wealthy woman, and I used my inheritance to put myself through school. Once I finished, I used the rest to purchase this place, then I got to work. I still receive some funding from the state, but you’re right. The majority of it is pro bono. I’m lucky I get to do what I love…and that I don’t have to worry about money.”

  “Yeah.” I try to keep myself from sneering, when I know my entire world was thrown from its axis because of my greed and drive for it. “That would be nice.”

  “What do you do, Anthony?” She stops walking and turns around while taking another sip of her tea. Her eyes hold mine from over the rim of her cup, making me feel anxious. We’re standing at the top of a set of stairs that I assume lead to the cattery, but it seems Sway is too invested in the conversation to take me down them until I’ve answered her question.

  Gripping the back of my neck, I tell a complete stranger something I don’t even want to admit to myself. “I don’t really know anymore.”

  Quirking her brow, she asks, “You don’t know?”

  Awkwardly, I shift my weight between my feet before offering, “I used to work for a corporation in New York, but we were bought out, and I was replaced.”

  It sounds so cold and clinical when I put it like that. As if I were nothing but an outdated painting hanging on the wall.

  I’m surprised when Sway shifts her teacup to one hand then grips my forearm like she did at the courthouse and gives it a gentle squeeze. The innocent touch, combined with the open sympathy in her expression, nearly brings me to my knees. “I’m sorry about that. Sometimes our job can feel like our identity, and it can be hard to lose it. Did you enjoy what you did? Do you miss it?”

  I laugh, though there isn’t any humor in it. “Honestly? No. I hated it. But I was driven. I had a purpose. And it paid well. That’s all most of us can hope for in a job, right?”

  Her smile slips, and her arm drops to her side before she admits in a quiet voice, “I think happiness is more important than a paycheck, but I also know I don’t have a lot of room to talk.” Her honesty is an unexpected surprise. With a shrug, she continues. “Regardless, I hope you find what you’re searching for and do something with your life that makes you excited to get out of bed in the morning. I think that’s what most of us should hope for. And when you find it, hold on with both hands.”

  Turning on her heel, she starts skipping down the stairs, and I take a second at the top to register the poetic comment before I follow. A ghost of a smile appears on my face as I hear the difference in the noise of our descent. My heavy footsteps nearly shake the house while her dainty ones sound more like drops of rain hitting the roof during a summer storm. A small part of me wonders if the sounds have less to do with our weight and more to do with the heaviness in our souls.

  Chapter Five

  Sway

  When Anthony’s heavy steps hit the basement floor, he looks around with restrained curiosity, and I hide my smile by taking another sip of my once-warm tea. I give him a second to inspect the space and get his bearings for the cattery before I start throwing items at him for his to-do list. It isn’t anything out of the ordinary for me, but I can understand why he would need a minute to get a good look at the place. There’s one giant room on the left, with a closed door and glass windows that allow you to look inside. This is where the majority of cats get to hang out every day when they aren’t permitted to roam my house freely.

  On the right side, however, he’ll find a set of six doors for the cats that prefer to be isolated. They still get to come hang out with me during the cat rotation, but they prefer human interaction compared to that of the feline variety. If I’ve learned anything by being surrounded by these animals, it’s that you can’t change who they are, or what they like, and it’s one of my favorite things about them.

  “Okay, so the first order of business is replacing the scratching posts with new ones along with building a new spot for the cats to perch.” My hands start motioning to different areas of the rooms, pointing at various objects as if he knows what I’m talking about.

  When I catch Anthony rolling his eyes, mine narrow in response. “Is that going to be a problem?”

  “Nope.” He sighs. “I’ll get it done. Anything else?”

  “Nope,” I return with the same condescending tone before a niggling voice in the back of my head––that sounds eerily like my mother––reminds me to cut him some slack.

  After a deep breath, I ask, “Have you ever used a miter saw?”

  His brows raise at the audacity of my question. “Should I be offended you asked that?”

  With a grin, I shrug. “Probably. But you can’t blame me for asking when you show up for manual labor in a pair of expensive jeans and loafers.”

  Grimacing, he looks down at his shoes then scratches the scruff on his jaw. “Says the girl with pink hair. It’s not my fault I wanted to look presentable.”

  I purse my lips in an attempt to hide my smile at his ridiculousness. “Are you saying pink hair isn’t presentable?”

  “I’m saying pink isn’t on the natural hair color wheel.”

  Natural hair color wheel? Who is this guy?

  He’s entertaining. I’ll give him that.

  “Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner. But it goes great with a pair of ripped jeans and a T-shirt, so….” Point made.

  His slow perusal as he scans me from head to toe, taking in my appearance with a casual glance, makes me squirm. Those same flinty eyes finally meet mine before he offers, “Can’t argue with you on that one. But back to the point. Yes, I can use a miter saw to put up the stuff you’re needing. Where is it?”

  Tilting my head to a door in the corner, I reply, “It’s in the garage. If you open that door, you’ll see a set of concrete stairs that’ll lead you right to it. I’ll be upstairs getting the paperwork together for Tiny and Macho’s new owner. If you need anything, let me know.”

  I take a step toward the stairs when his voice stops me. “Wait.”

  My feet stop, and I look over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

  “What about the cats?”

  “What about them?”

  “Well, they’re all down here.”

  “So?”

  “So…what am I supposed to do with them?”

  Chuckling, I start walking back up the stairs then call out, “Pet them!”

  * * *<
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  After Tiny and Macho are picked up, I start to make grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup for Anthony and myself when I hear one of the cats hissing downstairs. Curiosity piqued, I decide to investigate and tiptoe down the stairs.

  Folding my arms, I lean my shoulder against the door jamb to one of the private rooms. “There a problem here?”

  He turns to me with a scowl before pointing at Jasper, a big orange cat with an attitude. “That one just tried to bite me.”

  “Yeah…he does that.”

  “And you’re okay with it?” he replies, exasperated.

  I shrug. “We’re working on it.”

  “Well, work harder, or that guy is never gonna find a home.”

  “You’re not wrong,” I concede, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. Normally, I’d bristle at such a comment, but the guy is pretty clueless when it comes to cats, so I should probably give him a little education. With the patience of a saint, I press on. “He’ll probably live out the rest of his days in his little room with a few moments here and there to hang out with me.”

  “And you’re okay with that? Owning a cat who’s kind of a jerk?” Anthony looks more confused than angry now, so I try to explain.

  “He’s a cat, Anthony. They are who they are and don’t give a crap whether you like it or not. It’s why I like them.”

  “You like them because they’re little shits who don’t care about pleasing people?”

  I laugh and tuck my hair behind my ear. “I like that they aren’t afraid to be themselves. Like them or leave them, it doesn’t matter. They’re one of the most genuine species of animals on the planet. And at the very least, you gotta respect them for not being afraid to be themselves.”

  His eyes go back to Jasper who’s now curled in a ball on a blanket in the corner, and I watch as he gains a little more respect for a creature that’s kind of a jerk. I appreciate the fact that Anthony doesn’t bother to give me his rebuttal. That he takes a second to really think it over.