I Won't Compete With His Ex

I was curled up on the couch, texting, when I heard someone punching in the code at the front door.

I thought Graham was home. I grabbed the throw pillow beside me, ready to toss it at him.

But the person who walked in was Anna Vaughn.

The moment she stepped inside, she headed straight for the cat bed like she'd done it a hundred times. She scooped up Bagel and buried her face in her fur.

"There's my baby! Mommy missed you so much!"

Bagel let out a soft meow and calmly let Anna fuss over her.

I glanced at the scratches on the back of my hand. They still hadn't fully healed.

Bagel didn't like me.

Ever since I'd moved in, she freaked out whenever I got too close. If I tried holding her the way Anna was, I'd probably end up with my face scratched up.

Anna only noticed me after she'd finished cuddling the cat. She froze for a second, then gave me an embarrassed smile.

"Sorry. I do in-home pet sitting for a living, so I honestly treat every cat like my own. I don't mean anything by it."

Her hair was pulled into a bun, and she wore a cute overall dress. She looked young and full of energy.

I had no idea whether she really treated every cat like her own. But I did know one thing: she really was Bagel's mom.

Without a word, I set down the pillow, picked up my phone, and headed for my room.

Anna called after me. "Oh, I was thinking of taking Bagel out for a while today. She's been cooped up inside for too long. I'll bring her back later."

"You don't have to tell me." I gave her a faint smile. "Just clear it with her owner."

She already had the code to our front door. Compared to that, taking the cat out was hardly a big deal.

Graham Mercer came home that afternoon to find me sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating takeout.

He took one look at me and laughed.

"You grew up with every luxury. Look at you now. What happened to the pampered rich girl?"

Rich girl.

That hadn't been me in four years.

I looked up at him. "I'm just the girl they sent back when they found out I wasn't really theirs. Can you stop bringing it up?"

Two months earlier, I'd bought an e-bike to save money on subway fare.

I was still getting used to it when I crashed.

My knees and arms were scraped up, and I'd called Graham while fighting back tears.

He'd said he was busy changing out Bagel's litter and couldn't come.

Apparently, he hadn't remembered then that I'd once been a pampered rich girl.

A week ago, I hadn't noticed Bagel curled up in the corner of the couch and accidentally sat on her tail. She'd scratched and bitten me.

Despite being allergic to cats, Graham had immediately scooped Bagel into his arms without so much as checking my bleeding hand.

He'd taken her straight to the vet before even checking on me, worried that I'd exposed her to germs.

Apparently, he'd forgotten that part then, too.

Other than the blood drawn for that DNA test, I'd never shed a drop in my life.

Graham sat down beside me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and buried his face against my neck.

"Okay, okay. I won't bring it up again," he murmured against my neck, sounding indulgent. "But around me, you can be as pampered as you want."

His hair brushed my cheek, tickling me. I tilted my head away.

"Did you give Anna our door code?"

His arms loosened around me.

"Yeah."

He got up and started toward the bedroom.

I stared after him. "You didn't think you should ask me first? We live together, Graham. Don't I deserve to know when someone else can walk into our home whenever she wants?"

He kept walking.

"Forget all the expensive stuff in here. What if I'm not fully dressed? Don't I get any privacy?"

That made him stop.

Graham slipped off his jacket and draped it over one arm before turning to look at me.

"You're both women. What's the big deal?

"You're the one who said you're not some pampered rich girl anymore. So why are you still being so high-maintenance?

"Anna's a decent person. She's not going to steal anything, and she has zero interest in invading your privacy."

Something sharp twisted in my chest.

I dug my nails into my palm.

"So that $1,437 tip last night was her reward for being such a decent person?"

I'd lost my job the night before and come home to vent to him.

Graham had been tapping away on his phone without even looking up.

"Don't let it get to you. It's their loss. You're good at what you do. Anyone would be lucky to hire you."

As he said it, he'd casually tipped Anna $1,437 on the pet-sitting app.

And it just happened to be Valentine's Day.

Graham frowned, about to respond.

Before he could, someone started entering the code at the front door again.

At the same time, my phone buzzed on the table.

A message from my ex popped up, his profile picture lighting the screen.