Page 8 of Curious Hearts (The Healing Hearts #2)

CHAPTER EIGHT

“So you’re telling me that Catkins is peeing on her owner’s shoes because she got a new boyfriend?” Margo paraphrased.

Ali nodded, jotting down notes. “Cats are incredibly sensitive to changes in their environment. The new boyfriend represents a disruption to the established dynamic. Catkins is marking our client’s shoes to combine his scent with hers, essentially trying to reclaim her.”

Margo wrinkled her nose. “That’s sweet, but gross at the same time.”

“Welcome to animal behavior,” Ali replied, checking her watch. “I need to head out for my appointment with Jessica Taylor. Can you email Ms. Wilber the recommendations we discussed? Make sure to emphasize the importance of gradual introduction periods for the boyfriend.”

“Will do.” Margo looked at her, a curious expression on her face. “Fourth visit this week to Ms. Taylor? That’s above and beyond your usual new client schedule. Shouldn’t you be paring back the meetings by now?”

Ali shrugged as she gathered her things. “Vivian Porter’s cats have complex needs, and her niece is completely new to pet care. It requires additional attention.”

“Uh-huh.” The corners of Margo’s mouth quirked. “And the fact that you’ve worn your good jeans and actually done something with your hair today has nothing to do with it?”

Ali paused, catching her reflection in the window.

She had taken more care than usual with her appearance.

She’d brushed her hair, twice, worn her favorite blue sweater that brought out the color in her eyes, and yes, she had selected her “good” jeans, the only ones that fit properly instead of hanging off her hips.

The truth was, time spent with Jessica had rapidly turned into her guilty pleasures.

“I have multiple clients today,” she said, a little defensively. “Including a home visit to that tech CEO with the anxious greyhound.”

“Right. And I’m sure you dressed up for Mr. Silicon Valley and not for the gorgeous investment banker with the cheekbones.”

“She’s a client, Margo. A professional relationship.”

“If you say so,” Margo almost sang, clearly unconvinced. “But for what it’s worth, Kristi texted me asking why you’ve been ‘too busy’ for dinner this week… again. I think she suspects something’s up too.”

Ali shouldered her bag, heat creeping up her neck. “Tell Kristi I’ll call her tonight. And for the record, there’s nothing ‘up.’ Ms. Taylor’s aunt’s estate is paying for my professional services, and I’m providing them.”

“Professional services,” Margo repeated with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Goodbye, Margo,” Ali said firmly, heading for the door.

“Have fun with your ‘client’!” Margo called after her.

As Ali climbed into her Subaru, she couldn’t help checking her appearance once more in the rearview mirror.

Her stomach offered a tiny flutter, which she assigned to professional nerves…

nothing more. It was normal to want to look professional when meeting a client, she told herself.

Especially one as put-together as Jessica Taylor.

The drive to North Downing Street took longer than usual, giving Ali unwelcome time to consider Margo’s teasing.

She had rearranged her schedule twice this week to accommodate extra visits.

And yes, she’d found herself thinking about Jessica at odd moments—wondering how she was managing, imagining her attempting to wrangle Mr. Darcy, remembering the way she’d laughed during the magpie incident.

By the time she pulled up to the house, Ali had convinced herself that her interest was entirely appropriate. Vivian had been special. It was natural to take extra care with her cats and the niece she’d chosen.

The front door opened seconds after the first ring of the bell, revealing a Jessica who looked distinctly less composed than during their previous meetings.

Her hair was pulled back, but curly tendrils had escaped around her face.

She wore dark jeans and a simple gray sweater, the most casual Ali had seen her yet.

The softer look not only suited her, but it made Ali’s pulse do a double beat.

“Sorry I’m late,” Ali began. “There was an accident on?—”

“It’s fine,” Jessica said, stepping aside to let her in. “I have a situation that requires your expertise.”

Ali followed her into the house, noticing the subtle changes since her last visit. Jessica’s presence was evident now—financial journals stacked neatly on a side table, a soft yellow throw placed over the arm of the sofa, a high-tech air purifier humming in the corner.

“What’s the situation?” Ali asked, setting down her bag.

Jessica led her to the kitchen, where Scout was perched on top of the refrigerator, looking unhappy.

“She’s been up there since last night,” Jessica explained. “I’ve tried offering food, toys...” She threw her hands in the air. “She won’t come down.”

Ali studied the small tortoiseshell cat, noting her flattened ears and tense posture. There was something endearing about Jessica’s obvious frustration mixed with genuine concern.

“Something’s spooked her. Has anything changed in the environment since yesterday?”

Jessica shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Any unusual noises? Visitors? Changes to her routine?”

“Well, I did rearrange the kitchen cabinets last night,” Jessica admitted. “The previous organization was inefficient.”

Ali bit back a smile. Of course Jessica would reorganize a kitchen.

“That might be it. Scout’s particularly sensitive to changes in her environment.

Vivian used to say she was the household seismograph.

” Ali moved closer to the refrigerator, keeping her movements slow.

“Hey, Scout,” she said softly. “What’s got you all worked up, sweet girl? ”

The cat’s ears twitched but remained flattened.

“She let me pet her yesterday,” Jessica said, a note of hurt in her voice that tugged at Ali’s chest. “She even purred.”

Ali glanced at Jessica, surprised by this revelation. “That’s impressive progress. Scout usually takes weeks to warm up to new people.”

“Well, she’s clearly changed her mind about me.” Jessica’s voice was light, but Ali caught the genuine disappointment beneath.

“I doubt that. More likely she’s just processing the cabinet rearrangement. Cats don’t like when things move without their permission.”

“The cabinets aren’t hers,” Jessica pointed out, crossing her arms defensively. The gesture drew Ali’s attention to the elegant line of her neck, the way her sweater shifted with the movement. Everything about Jessica Taylor was just stunning.

“Everything is theirs, Jessica. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small pouch of treats, placing a couple within Scout’s reach. “Let’s give her some space for now. She’ll come down when she’s ready. In the meantime, we should continue our integration work with the others.”

They moved to the living room, where Ali had Jessica sit on the floor for their “passive integration” exercise. Jessica looked about as comfortable on the hardwood as she would on a bed of nails, her back ramrod straight against the sofa.

“You can relax, you know,” Ali said, settling cross-legged beside her . She was close enough to catch Jessica’s subtle perfume—something sophisticated that made Ali want to lean closer. “The point of this exercise is to appear non-threatening.”

“I am relaxed,” Jessica insisted, though every line of her body suggested otherwise.

“Right. And I’m a millionaire in disguise.” Ali gently nudged Jessica’s shoulder, the brief contact sending a small thrill through her. “Seriously, slump a little. The cats can sense your tension.”

With visible effort, Jessica lowered her shoulders and allowed her spine to curve slightly.

“Better. Now, let’s try the slow blink exercise I taught you last time.”

For the next twenty minutes, they sat quietly as cats gradually entered the room. Ernest immediately approached Jessica, rubbing against her knee before settling beside her. Galadriel maintained a dignified distance but watched with interest. Zelda and Mr. Darcy engaged in a playful tussle nearby.

Ali observed Jessica surreptitiously, noting how her rigid posture gradually softened, how she unconsciously leaned toward the cats as they approached. There was something vulnerable about watching her slowly, painfully slowly, let down her guard.

“You’re a natural, you know,” Ali said quietly.

Jessica looked up, surprise in her dark eyes. “Hardly.”

“No, really. You’ve got good instincts with them. You’re patient, observant.”

A hint of color touched Jessica’s cheeks, and Ali found herself staring at the way the blush spread down her neck... right down to her?—

“I don’t know about cats, but I’m good at reading a room. Essential when you’re often the only woman, and a woman of color, in meetings with old-guard bankers who’re just waiting for you to slip up,” said Jessica, looking at Ali just as she managed to pull her eyes back up to the woman’s face.

Ali winced with hopefully just enough sincerity to convey she’d been one hundred percent focused on what Jessica had been saying and not the curve of her chest. “That sounds rough.”

“It’s financial services. Not exactly known for its progressive culture.” Jessica stroked Ernest’s head absently, her voice taking on a careful neutrality. “Though Hamilton Trust is better than most.”

“That’s where you work, right? I saw it when I googled you.” Ali paused, a flush exploding across her cheeks. “I mean, I was curious about who I’d be working with. Professional curiosity.”

Jessica’s mouth curved slightly, and Ali’s stomach did a little flip.

“Yes, Hamilton Trust. I handle investment portfolios for clients with particular interests.”

“Such as?”