Chapter One

      “Mmmeorrrrrooooowwwrrrrreeee.”

      The cat’s mournful they-left-me-here-to-die wail grated on Emma Markwell’s frazzled nerves. She wiped her sticky palms on her serviceable knee-length gray skirt. Her gaze dropped to the cat carrier on the floor of the small airport catering to corporate and private planes in Hillsboro, Oregon. “I know you don’t want to be here. Me, either. But we’ll be on our way to Haley’s Bay soon.”

      Blossom hissed. The sound echoed across the waiting area.

      Emma’s shoulders were hunched, as if she could hide from the people looking at her. But with the slasher movie sounds spewing from the she devil in the cat carrier, no one would ignore them now.

      Perspiration dampened the back of Emma’s neck. The brown plait of French braid felt heavy and sticky. If she wasn’t careful, anxiety might create a perspiration crisis before she set foot on the private jet. Not good. She wanted to meet her new boss, Atticus Jackson “AJ” Cole, looking professional—a perfect temporary personal assistant—not show up on his plane smelly and wet.

      So what if she hadn’t flown in five years, two months and seventeen days? The flight to AJ’s hometown in Washington, where the Columbia River met the Pacific Ocean, would be short. Time to pull herself together. Blossom, too. Emma peered into the crate.

      The eight-year-old orange tabby’s backside greeted her. The cat’s tail trembled.

      Poor kitty. Last night, Blossom’s first at Emma’s studio apartment in southeast Portland, hadn’t gone well. The foster cat had shredded two rolls of toilet paper. Now the cat stared at the crate wall as if she were in a time-out. Adjusting to a new environment was difficult when you were alone in the world. Emma had been old enough to understand what being a foster kid meant and learned to adapt, unlike this frightened feline.

      She reached toward the carrier’s door. Sixteen years without any family to rely on and six years being a nanny made her an expert caretaker, no matter what the age or species of her charge. “Hey, no worries. I won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.”

      The cat responded with a banshee yowl. Three men in business suits glared. A woman pressed her lips together and narrowed her gaze.

      Emma rubbed her fingertips along the strand of fake pearls hanging over the neckline of her pink short-sleeved sweater set. She leaned closer to the crate’s door. “You might not agree, but traveling with me is your best option. Otherwise, you’d be stuck in a metal cage