Chapter 7

7

Gabriel's fingers curled at his sides as he strove for outer detachment. Behind him, the sounds of a midweek afternoon at the bar played out: the hum of the TV and its insipid sports game, the murmur of humans discussing the weather or other inanities, the clink of glasses and the occasional laugh.

He felt like it was being directed at him, the laughter, as he stood before an actual firing squad. Fired. He was being fired.

His eyes burned as he glanced from Tia to Emmaline to Leah. The latter didn't give anything away, the hint of a tattoo teasing from the slouchy neckline of a too-large sweater. She hadn't mentioned the sweatshirt he'd returned or the money all week, and now let Tia take the lead—which she did with far too much delight, practically cackling as she handed him his last check.

He hated that he'd sought Leah out, unable to help it. Was this her idea? Had the money, the note, prompted this, made her mad at him?

The sensation that uncoiled in his chest was not something he liked.

"I know it's been rough," he said, smoothing his thumb over his signet ring. Failure, failure, failure , his inner voice taunted. "I'll get better. There's never been anything I couldn't master."

"And if our reputation wasn't going down the toilet because of you, that might work." Tia stared coolly back. "We can't afford to keep you on. You're costing us business."

He absorbed the vocal slap without a blink. Inside, mortification squeezed his insides to jelly. His skin grew warm.

"You know I need this job." His voice was quiet, steady.

"You need a job," Emmaline corrected, her tone apologetic. She fiddled with her engagement band, color in her cheeks. "Leah has the solution."

He should've seen that coming.

He held his complaints back as she explained about her animal shelter, how they could use a body to fill the gaps. Walk the animals, odd jobs, cleaning, light reception duties if he improved his customer service—this said with the familiar smirk he'd barely seen recently. She'd been civil all week on the few shifts they'd worked together.

He'd been pleased, of course. He didn't want her poking at him, teasing, laughing, playing. And yet he'd been edgier from the lack, every night lying in bed going over the memory of her taking the blame for him. Standing up for him. He couldn't remember the last time someone had.

Of course, none of that mattered now.

Statements of fact, refusals, reasons why he'd be better served in the bar he barely tolerated rose to his lips but he bit them back. He'd been in business long enough to be able to read people. And the three implacable faces staring back at him were united.

If the company wasn't on the line, he would've refused their charity. He detested that he needed their help, but he did. So, he buttoned his lips, gave them a brusque nod and made to leave. His exit was interrupted by—who else—Leah, who piped up that she'd see him bright and early at the shelter before giving him the address.

And now, adding the cherry to this shit sundae, his sister seemed to find this latest twist knee-slappingly hilarious.

He'd begged his parents for a brother...

He tuned out Melly's giggles and thanked Mrs. Q as she patted his shoulder, her ruddy cheeks beaming as she left them to perfectly cooked rosemary lamb and crispy potatoes. He inhaled the scent and felt like weeping at the home-cooked meal. The visit had been just what he needed and since Melly had created the portal for him so he could come home, he'd let her snigger for a solid five minutes without interrupting.

With keen attention he cut a slice of lamb and lifted it to his lips, giving his sister a bored stare. "Are you through?"

Merriment made her eyes sparkle. "I'm sorry, I know this must be hell to you, but now animals? I've never even seen you stroke Uncle August's familiar, let alone any other pet."

Since August's familiar was a hawk, Gabriel felt his reticence was understandable.

Across from Melly at the laden table, August surveyed Gabriel over his wineglass. His eyebrows were drawn, mimicking his pursed mouth.

"And you're sure this is the best job you can find?" he questioned. "There isn't an office somewhere more your style?"

"It's...harder restraining my magic than I thought." Gabriel tried not to stuff food into his face, the enemy toaster still eluding him. "I had a few close calls around the bar. Going into a completely human office would be like throwing myself into the deep end when I've had one swimming lesson."

"Understandable," August murmured, sipping his wine. "Still. An animal shelter? Do you like animals?"

"I don't not like them." He just had limited experience.

"Well, I think it's great." Melly speared a piece of lamb and waved it around. "Think about it, Gabriel. Minimal contact with people. This could turn out for the best."

Exasperation filled him. "Why do you have this idea I am not good with people?"

The silence made him grumble. He chose a crispy potato off his plate to feed his frustration.

"It's nice of them, really."

Gabriel paused mid-chew. "Firing me?"

"Offering you another job is nice," she corrected. A small pot of ketchup appeared at her elbow. Gabriel shuddered as she dunked her seasoned lamb into it. She caught him, grinned, but didn't comment. It was an old battle. "They could've just fired you. They must like you."

He remembered Tia's cool stare, Emmaline's uncomfortable gaze. Leah's sparkling challenge. "Doubtful."

"My offer stands, nephew." August steepled his hands, tipping his chin down. Shadows slicked down his face. "This will be much harder work. More labor-intensive."

Insult turned his head. "Uncle, are you suggesting I can't do this?"

"Of course not. I'm only saying, if you don't feel like you can, nobody will blame you if you walk away."

Everyone was determined to think he was useless. But he was Gabriel Goodnight and he'd conquered every challenge that had ever been set before him.

"By the end of these three months," he said, lifting his chin, "not only will I have proven to the board I can deal with humans, but I will have surpassed all expectations." As Melly cheered, he added with bite, "And I'll have learned how to use that damn toaster."

His boastful words seemed far away the following day. Like, Australia.

The mixed scent of disinfectant and something he instinctively took for wet dog swirled up Gabriel's nostrils as he mistakenly inhaled just inside the entrance of Sonny's Shelter. He silently took in the boxy, cheap furniture in what passed for their reception and withheld a grimace. Even worse than he'd pictured.

In amongst the faded furniture and ancient magazines there were touches that made him think someone had tried: thriving plants, framed photos of animals and people—presumably rescues and their rescuers—and many more photos of dogs and cats looking...well, it was ridiculous, but he could swear they looked sad.

He smoothed away a frown as he stepped into the space. His Prada loafers squeaked on the floor.

"Hello?" he said after a moment, strolling to the empty reception desk. A bell sat on top, a sign beside it saying, Ring for Assistance.

He eyed the bell with some distaste, gingerly pushing it with one finger. A cheery sound rang out. Nobody hurried from the corridors that branched off from both sides.

This was not the way to run a successful business, not that he cared. No wonder adoptions were down, as Leah had said, if nobody was there to greet a customer, take them on the journey and make the sale. If he was running things—

He wasn't, he reminded himself. That wasn't why he was here.

A few more seconds passed. Unbelievable. Grumbling, he chose the right-hand corridor at random and headed down it. The rooms he passed had their doors propped open, revealing exam-type equipment and large scales at dog height. The paint was peeling in sections and some of the skirting was chipped.

A dog's deep barks and the peal of feminine laughter pulled his attention onward.

"Hello?" he repeated. "I'm here for..."

He stopped, barely aware that his words had, too.

Leah stood in a large, open room, surrounded by dog toys of every description. She was kneeling, ruffling the fur of a black dog, cooing to him in a low, lilting voice. Her curls were tied back and she wore no makeup. She should look worn, unspectacular. But her blue eyes were bright and her laughter spilled into the room like sunshine.

"Such a good boy," she praised the dog, pressing a kiss to his blocky head. "Such a clever old boy."

Gabriel's eyes tracked down over the navy sweatshirt and jeans she wore, lingering at the rip that showed her knee. Soft. She looked soft.

Which was ridiculous. And had no bearing on the situation.

Annoyed, Gabriel cleared his throat.

He earned the attention of both Leah and the dog.

"Gabe," she said, her surprise obvious. "You came. You're here."

"Gabriel," he corrected, the nickname earning a flash of what he chose to call exasperation. "Did you think I wouldn't show up?"

Her eyes went wide. "Oh, dear."

Before he could even ask, the black dog let out a yip. Muscles bunched as he spun and charged at Gabriel.

Thoughts flared fast and hard. Human. Undercover. No magic.

So, it was with a dawning sense of resignation that he watched thirty to thirty-five kilograms of dog launch at him. Paws hit his chest, a large skull headbutted him hard and gravity kicked in, toppling him like a bowling skittle.

" Oomph. " His breath rushed out as he hit, followed by a secondary grunt as the dog delivered a loving lick down the middle of his face. Saliva stuck to his skin and reeked as Gabriel pushed the dog's head back.

"Get down," he demanded, the growl clearly the language the beast spoke; he happily did as ordered. He sat at attention next to Gabriel, panting, pushing against his leg with an adoring look in his soft, brown eyes.

Prone, Gabriel stared sourly back at him. His ass ached, his face felt sticky and his waistcoat had two dirty paw prints marring the silk.

When he looked up, Leah stood over them, hands tucked in her jeans' pockets. She was fighting a grin.

"Clearly, he's learned manners from you," he said as politely as he could, brushing off his waistcoat. He conjured a handkerchief into his pocket, fighting the zip of pain, considering it a necessary evil. He wiped the cloth down his face with a grimace.

"He's much better behaved." A laugh trembled out as she gave in. "You said the magic word. U-P. We think it was a trick his previous owner taught him before she died. That's how Chuck here came to live with us. Nobody else would take him after his owner passed away from cancer. Too old at eight for a lot of people. He's a little needy."

She slapped her thigh and Chuck padded over, leaning heavily against her.

"You should warn people." Gabriel pushed to stand, tucking the handkerchief back in his pocket.

"Where's the fun in that?"

He didn't answer, brushing off his suit trousers. He felt Leah's eyes on him like a physical touch and ignored how his muscles tightened.

"You're wearing a suit."

"Indeed. Your eyesight is impeccable."

"You're wearing a suit at an animal shelter."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I like suits."

"Then you shouldn't wear them to this job." Leah cocked her head back, and he realized with a jolt how much shorter she was. Her personality more than made up for it.

She sighed. "Don't you own any jeans, Gabe?"

Sardonic, he crossed his arms. "I'm fine as I am."

"Tell me if you still think that by the end of your shift."

"Is this what I'll be doing?" Gabriel glanced around what he assumed to be some kind of playroom. A few cats watched him lazily from their carpeted tower in the corner, whilst a three-legged white-and-ginger dog eyeballed him from a cushion twice its size, a raggedy teddy drooping out its mouth. It looked half a second from charging him as it rumbled a few warning woofs.

"Don't mind Bear." Leah's words pulled his attention back. She kept a hand on Chuck's head as she tipped up her chin to Gabriel. "He's all bark, no bite. Like you."

"I'm not all bark," he responded without thinking.

Those long lashes of hers blinked over ocean blue. He'd surprised her.

Good. Because he sure as hell had surprised himself.

Not all bark? What had he meant by that? Was it a threat? It certainly couldn't have been a playful remark. He didn't do playful remarks.

Spooked, he reverted to what he did best. Attack. "It's a bad business that lets its reception desk sit empty."

Her blond eyebrows pinched. "What?"

"When I came in, nobody greeted me. A potential customer would've walked straight back out. Is that how you expect to get these animals rescued or do you want to keep them here so you can play with them yourself?"

He watched with a kind of dizzying relief as anger flooded her eyes and the norm between them clicked back into place.

"Unfortunately, we don't have the staff," she clipped out, folding her arms and mirroring him. "Sonny's the only full-time employee. There are a few of us working part-time, and everyone else is a volunteer, fitting a shift in when they can."

"Which is why you need me."

"Which is why I offered you this job," she countered on a head toss that sent a tease of coconut his way. He breathed it in as she continued snottily, "Of course, we welcome all advice from men who have to pass a test to succeed in business."

He opened his mouth, closed it with a snap of teeth.

Point to Turner. But the war was just beginning.

Gabriel made it through the day on sheer spite. After Leah had taken him on a whistle-stop tour through the facility, including meeting Sonny, his boss, she'd shoved a mop and bucket in his hands and directed him to the row of empty pens. She'd clearly expected him to balk, so he'd grimly thrown his tie over his shoulder and set to work. It may have taken him the better part of two hours to clean three pens, and he may have had to use a spell to suck up the excess water when he'd been too...enthusiastic, and yes, he may have slipped and fallen on his aching ass again in the small ocean he'd created, thereby ruining his Prada loafers. But he counted it a job well done and worth it to see how annoyed Leah was to see he'd finished without protest.

Plus, now he knew how to mop, and he liked knowing things. He'd have to schedule a chat with Goodnight's janitorial staff, see if there were any improvements needed. Something to note down.

He also thought he might have a chat with Sonny about the reception area. Not that Leah would have to know he was helping; he doubted she'd believe it anyway since she clearly thought him useless.

Once he was finished with the mopping, she'd asked him to clear the fenced yard of poop, gather the older beds that would need a wash, and finally, fetch a cat that had refused to climb down from an open vent where the cover had come loose. What Leah had called the Tom Cruise of cats—whatever that meant—had managed to wriggle its way into the vent, which was apparently dangerous and made her voice go up a pitch. He hadn't liked that.

As a result, he'd found himself standing on top of a chair, feeling like an idiot, ordering the cat to come down in his best no-nonsense tone. When that had yielded nothing but a plaintive meow, he'd had to use the cat tower like a ladder, gritting his teeth as he reached inside the vent and grasped the hissing cat. He was now the lucky owner of several stinging scratches across his hand. If he could've used his magic...but he couldn't.

Leah had taken one look and hissed like the cat, commanding him to follow her to the chaotic office, where she'd withdrawn a green first aid box and mercilessly scrubbed the scratches with alcohol wipes. He'd barely withheld a scream.

He'd seen other humans off and on: a man shorter than him with a shock of ginger hair and beard to match had introduced himself as Frankie; another man, with pale blond hair and gray eyes, and built like one sneeze would blow him into the next room, had nodded and said, "Mitch." And he'd seen a young girl around Melly's age, wearing ripped jeans and a top exposing her stomach, talking busily with Leah as they'd sat at the reception desk. When he'd entered the room, her chatter had dried up, but that was nothing new for him. Still, he wondered who she was. A relation of Leah's, perhaps?

Though she looked nothing like the short blue-eyed blonde, except maybe for the clothes and the fact they both wore polish on their nails. Leah changed hers every couple of days, as though she couldn't settle on just one color. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

And if she expected him to fail, he would prove her wrong.

He fell asleep that night, a satisfied curve curling his lips as he pictured her face.