Wall Street Titan (Wall Street Titan #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,2

the shelf. The cat weighs a solid fifteen pounds, and with his paws windmilling in the air, he feels twice as heavy. “I told you you’re not allowed to sit there.”

I set him down on the floor, and he gives me a squinty-eyed stare that says it’s only a matter of time before he gets the rest of my accessories. Like his siblings, Mr. Puffs is white and fluffy, the perfect embodiment of his Persian breed, but that’s where the similarity ends. There’s nothing calm and placid about him. I’m not sure the cat sleeps. Ever. It’s possible he’s a vampire who shapeshifts into a huge Persian for daytime.

He’s certainly evil enough for that.

Just when I’m about to yell at him again for tearing up the scarf, he rubs his head on my wet jeans and emits a loud purr. Then he looks up at me, big green eyes blinking innocently.

I melt. Or maybe it’s the icy droplets clinging to my clothes that are melting, but either way, there’s now a warm and fuzzy feeling in my chest.

“All right, come here, you stinker,” I mutter, kneeling down to pet the cat. He purrs louder, rubbing his head against my hand like I’m his favorite person in the world. I’m almost certain he’s manipulating me on purpose—the cat is scary smart—but I can’t help falling for it.

When it comes to my cats, I’m a total pushover.

The petting goes on until Mr. Puffs is certain I’m not going to yell at him. Then he strolls over to my bed and joins the other cats there, curling up on my pillow next to Cottonball.

I sigh and trudge to the bathroom to take a hot shower. As much as I hate to admit it, Kendall is right.

Somewhere along the way, I’ve turned into a bona fide cat lady.

As I shower, I try to convince myself that it’s not a big deal. Okay, so my clothes are old and a little ratty, and I don’t do anything with my hair except wash it and occasionally put a little gel in it. And yes, I have three cats. So what? Lots of people love animals. It’s a positive character trait. I’ve never trusted anyone who doesn’t like pets. It’s unnatural, like hating chocolate or ice cream. I can see how one might have preferences when it comes to animals—some sadly misguided individuals prefer dogs to cats, for instance—but not liking pets at all? One might as well be a serial killer.

Nonetheless, something about that label—cat lady—stings a bit. Maybe it’s because I’m only twenty-six. Like Kendall said, I’m supposed to be in my prime. If I come across as a hot mess now, what’s going to happen when I’m fifty or sixty? Maybe my dateless stretches will widen from a year-plus to a decade, and I’ll wander the streets cackling to myself while knitting hats out of cat hair.

No, that’s ridiculous. Besides, I don’t want a man. I really don’t. Okay, fine, maybe I want one for sex—I’m a normal, healthy woman—but I don’t need someone dictating my life and dominating my time. That’s what happened with Janie, my other best friend from college. She got a serious boyfriend, and now I never see her. And even Kendall, who prides herself on being independent, disappears for weeks at a time when she’s dating someone. My last serious boyfriend was my senior year of college, and I nearly flunked a class because he needed so much attention—and that was before I got the cats. Now that Queen Elizabeth, Mr. Puffs, and Cottonball are in my life, I can’t imagine squeezing in a man as well.

Still, when I come out of the shower and grab my phone, some devil on my shoulder—a tiny, stylish one who looks suspiciously like Kendall—makes me pull up a dating app that Janie had me join months ago. It’s the same one where she met her current boyfriend, the one who made her disappear from my life. Before said disappearance, she somehow strong-armed me into setting up a profile there. I played around with the app for a couple of days with some vague idea of finding a nice, laid-back guy who likes cats and long walks in the park, but after about a dozen dick pics, I gave up and stopped logging in.

“You didn’t really give it a shot,” Janie said in frustration when I informed her about the pics. “Yeah, there are some assholes on there, but there are also some