Page 31 of The Thief’s Lord (Catkin Trilogy #3)

The Billionaire's Temp Preview

Bo

I ’m a confident entrepreneur who isn’t afraid to take risks. I’ve gone sky-diving, climbed the tallest mountain on the planet, flown my own planes, and parachuted into a jungle. I’ve amassed a fortune—a billion and then some. (Who’s counting?)

To my enemies, I’m known as a ruthless cat, ready to take anyone on.

The teams of lawyers that I can call with a single tap of my phone have reigned in the courts for at least ten years now.

To my friends, I am a cool aloof cat, more concerned with his business affairs than any matters of the heart. It is all true.

But there is another hidden truth: I’m scared of my mother.

When her name popped up on my phone, all of the fur along my tail stiffened. My ears rose, and tension crept into my shoulders. I didn’t let her ring more than once though. I instantly picked up. If I didn’t, I’d be a dead tom.

“Bo? Where are you?”

Oh, Gods. She’s noticed. I glanced around. Today, the bar at Lexington’s was empty. Thankfully, Reggie, the regular bartender, was at the far end minding his own business. Still, I instinctively hunched, clutching my phone to ear, and lowered my voice.

“We ended it early.”

“You ended—you what?” Her outraged voice made my ears wilt a little.

“It didn’t go quite as well as you thought it would,” I said. “I’m sure the next one will go better.”

“Bo—“

“Look, I’m a bit busy, but I can talk later,” I said, noticing a friend stride into the room.

Wesley. I sent him a look. Get over here.

“Wesley just arrived,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “I’ll talk later.”

“Bo!” She huffed and then hung up.

I muted my phone and slipped it into my suit’s inner pocket.

“Wesley!” I said, gripping the tom’s roughened hand.

Today, Wesley was wearing a deep red shirt with clean, tailored black jeans.

He wore a cowboy hat over his deep chestnut wavy hair and matching cowboy boots.

Wesley never dressed outlandishly. He never wore those garish belt buckles or plaid shirts when he visited New Morn City.

Unlike Axel or Gabe, the billionaire rancher preferred to maintain simplicity.

Wesley’s sharp brown eyes narrowed as he looked me up and down.

No doubt he noticed that my suit was a bit more fashionable than usual.

He probably scented my pricey cologne and body wash.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like looking good, but usually, I was too busy with the business to put in that much effort.

The older tom sat, raised two fingers silently, and tapped it on the bar counter. His long fluffy tail curled lazily behind him. Unlike me, Wesley looked like a picture of relaxation.

“What has your tail in a twist?” he asked in his husky Southern drawl.

I shrugged.

“My mother called.”

“Something related to why you’re lookin’ so slick?”

I grunted.

“Axel, Gabe, and Damian should be arriving any minute,” Wesley continued. “I bet Gabe’ll winkle it out of you.”

Ugh. Gabe. Gabe, the second son of one of New Morn’s underground ‘financiers,’ worked the high society scene of the city. He had admittance to all of the best gentlekin clubs in the city, and he wasn’t afraid to network in order to expand awareness of his... services.

Not that Gabe is a prostitute , I reminded myself. Far from it. An intelligent escort like Gabe is desirable for any tom or molly hoping to make a grand entrance. Gabe himself has a winning personality.

It had taken Gabe ages to get into Lexington’s though. In the end, a few cats provided references. Gabe would be able to enjoy Lexington as a sanctuary—nothing more. So far, Gabe had played by the rules, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a pain in the arse once in a while.

“I have work at the office,” I said evasively.

“I’m guessing your mother is trying to set you up with a girlfriend or wife,” Wesley said. “Don’t deny it. We’ve all been there, the gods know. Nothing to be ashamed about, Bo.”

My own slender tail rose a little as I glared at him.

“None of your business, Wes.”

“Sure, sure,” he said.

“I can take care of my own problems,” I continued. I knew that Wes didn’t have to hear this. I really ought to be telling my mom that. “If I want to find someone, I could.”

“It’s just for Jun’s wedding, right?”

“Yeah.” I didn’t want to talk about my older brother or his wedding either.

“So that’s a couple months off. You’ve got time.”

“I know.”

“And as you said, you could just get someone.”

“I know.”

“No one would really say ‘no’ to you if they’re in their right mind.”

“I know!”

“But does your mother know?”

I winced. Wesley hit the nail on the head, just like usual.

“Don’t tell the others,” I said. “I don’t need Axel and Gabe to conspire against me.”

“Damian would stop Gabe.” Wesley pointed out. He added after a pause. “I think.”

“All joking aside, I really do need to get to the office,” I said, glancing over at the ornate grandfather clock by the door. “I wasted my entire lunchtime on this damn date. Say hello to the others for me.”

“We’ll miss you!” Wesley drawled, waving a hand and offering me a small smile.

“Thanks, bud,” I clapped him on the back.

With that, I sped out of there. Axel, a rambunctious, aggressive Russian Blue, had made a name for himself in the rock metal scene.

Between him and the gossipy Gabe, my love life would be picked apart and dissected in no time.

Damian, a quieter, more artistic soul, would give me the privacy I needed, but, moved out of concern for me, he might even attempt to offer me advice.

I hated having to ask for advice. It reminded me of the days I had spent alone at home, trying to work through my homework.

Whenever I went to my mother or father for help, I always heard the same things over and over: Jun never had to ask for help.

Jun always got this first try. Why can’t you be like Jun?

I stopped asking for advice. I preferred the struggle of figuring it out on my own to hearing one more word about the ever-perfect Jun.

That was then. Since then, I learned that I was just as smart, just as quick-thinking, just as flexible as Jun.

I could overcome anything I put my mind to.

Sure, maybe I would always be slower than Jun, but I was my own tom.

And a tom got things done, he took care of things.

A tom could get his own mate if he had to.

Musing over the conundrum of my current relationship status, I had to recognize that work had done a number on my life when it came to the romance department.

I was a good-looking catkin. Of Siamese origin, I was fairly unique in these parts.

My jet blue-black hair, tan skin, and golden eyes had been the subject of a lot of praise—if you went by the tabloids.

I stood out in a crowd, and I didn’t mind that.

Despite the cachet of my name and my money, good partners were sparse on the ground.

Many potential mates who approached me saw me as a glorified credit card.

There were some who saw me as a way to enjoy the good life.

Even worse, some saw me as a stepping stone toward a greater goal—Jun.

It made me sick. Whoever mom got for me would never work out.

No. I had to find someone on my own. Someone who would behave well, take care of themselves, and respect the demand of my work. That was the bare minimum. If I was looking for something longer-term. Which I was not.

I sighed and gripped the steering wheel of my red sports car as I peeled out of the club’s parking lot.

A black convertible passed by. Gabe and Damian were waving at me.

Axel, wearing his usual black shades, gave me the middle finger in leather half-gloves.

I waved back blandly and kept going. A smile remained on my face. Even seeing my friends cheered me up.

Yep. I was due for a vacation. One of these days. Maybe then I could actually think more seriously about my soulmate who was somewhere out there.

I wondered where I would meet them. I was still musing over the idea when I walked into the office.

After a difficult morning at two different city meetings followed by an even more horrific lunch, I was ready to get down to the real work—running Tang Enterprises.

I had several files I needed to look through, a few emails to answer, and a call to make. Then there was that—

All thoughts ground to a stop when I strode through the mahogany doors of my penthouse office.

Standing by the desk, bending over to place a large black cup of green tea on a marble coaster, was the cutest tom on the planet.

My brain descended into a white fuzz as I took the stranger in.

As I entered the room, he straightened and turned to me.

What in the holy Calico , I thought incoherently. Calicos were common breeds. This one had blonde, wavy hair that brushed his shoulders in a small neat ponytail tucked at the back of his long neck. Oh, gods. Tan. Blue eyes. And a heart-shaped face as cute as a button.

Genuine shock seemed to course through him. The young tom’s tufty ears twitched nervously, and his thin, neatly groomed tail rose a little and flicked anxiously from side to side. There was no pretense in his expression or behavior. No guile. It made you want to—

Oh gods, Bo. Pull yourself together , I told myself severely. Get a callboy in tonight and work out whatever is going on with you.

“Hello,” I said, keeping my voice even and free of surprise. “You are...?”