“To give it time to adjust. A new cat should always be left in a small room or the bathroom for a few days with its litter box, food, and water. It’s less scary for them that way.”
She blinked at Matthew for a long moment. “How did you become an expert on cats?”
He shrugged. “I’ve always had a cat. Well, except for the last couple of years. I was living in a pet-free house with several allergic roommates.”
Somehow this detail about Matthew didn’t fit. Hook-up Artists didn’t have cats. Having a cat required commitment, and players wanted to be free of all encumbrances. The shock of this discovery left her speechless.
Matt gave her a slow, sexy smile. “So is this your first cat?”
His question was simple, and yet Courtney thought she heard some kind of double entendre. Was he laughing at her because of the ridiculous question she’d asked him the other night? Or was he laughing at her because she was so desperate that she’d gotten a cat? “Yes, it’s my first cat.”
His smile widened, and a three-alarm fire started in her core. “You know, Courtney, I distinctly remember you telling me that you had a cat. It was the day Brandon left Laurie at the altar. I think you lied to me.”
Damn. She had lied to him. He’d been trying to pick her up, and she’d been leading him on a merry chase. “Guilty as charged,” she said. “But now I have become one of those single women committed to her cat.”
“Congratulations,” Matt said as Rory placed a Sam Adams in front of him. Matt hadn’t even ordered the drink.
The implications were earth-shattering. Matt was becoming a Jaybird regular.
She’d have to find some other place for cocktails, which would be difficult since only the Red Fern Inn and the Jaybird were within walking distance of her apartment. She stared down at her half-finished drink. She should never have come here tonight. Tomorrow was going to be a long day at the hospital. She should go home, capture Aramis, and put him in the bathroom.
No, wait. Why should she believe Matt about cats anyway? He was probably giving her a load of BS. The need to lash out overwhelmed her.
She turned toward him. “Did you really think that getting the county government involved would help the people living at Dogwood Estates?”
His eyes widened. “How do you know about that?”
“Sid Miller is a friend of mine.”
His frown deepened, but he said nothing.
“You don’t even know who Sid is, do you? For the record, he’s a great guy who’s fallen on some tough luck. And now he’s in the hospital, and he’s all upset about losing his apartment.” Her voice wobbled.
Matt nodded. “I remember Sidney Miller very well, Courtney. He ripped me a new one the first time I met him.”
“He told me that LL&K messed things up for the tenants at Dogwood Estates.”
Matt took a long sip of beer and put his glass down carefully. “It’s quite possible that we did. It’s also quite possible that the situation at Dogwood Estates was never going to end well for the people living there. I don’t know yet.”
“You don’t know yet?”
“I’m working on a theory, but I can’t talk about it. It’s way out there, and it will probably fail, but I’m as ticked off as you are about what’s happened to those people.”
Whoa, wait a sec. Who was this guy? Had an alien race snatched Matt Lyndon and replaced him with someone nicer? Or had she missed something?
Deep in the guarded part of her heart, hope awakened. Courtney wanted to push that feeling away, but it was too late. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, she’d started to see Matt in an entirely new light.
Chapter Seven
Matt’s mother threw herself into his apartment search with a gusto that was surprising. Did Mom want him out of the house that badly? Or was she just looking for something new to occupy her time?
He didn’t know. But either way she scored a great place on Rice Street within walking distance of the office.
The apartment building had been built in the early 1900s and had once housed a dry goods store on the ground floor. A decade ago, JL Properties, Uncle Jamie’s real estate business, had renovated the building, turning it into four apartments, two on the first floor and two on the second story, each of which had New Orleans–style wrought-iron balconies.
He and Mom toured the apartment on Monday morning, and Matt signed the lease that same afternoon. He was grateful for all her help until she said the words “interior decorator” right after the leasing agent handed him his keys.
“We’ll have to get someone in to measure the rooms,” she said as they left the leasing office. “I should call Pam. She has a wonderful decorator who did Andrew’s apartment for him.”
“I don’t want a decorator.”
“Of course you do, sweetie. You’re a grown-up person now, and you need a grown-up apartment.”
What he needed was to be left alone to figure things out for himself. Also, while he had a nice trust fund, he didn’t want to spend any of it on interior decoration. That struck him as a big waste of money.
All he needed was a comfortable bed, a couch and chairs, and a dining table. And a big-screen television—the biggest he could find.
And a cat. He needed a cat to make it all perfect.
He decided not to argue with his mother. After all, she’d done a great job finding him a place he loved. Instead, he figured he could always talk to Dad and ask him to ask Mom to back off. Hadn’t Dad always told him to invest the money he’d inherited from Granny Artzen? Furniture and fancy curtains wouldn’t give him any return on his money.
But on Tuesday after work,
