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Chapter 4 Good Night

[Ella]

"$10. I bet the girl in that photo was one of Mr. Clapton's dates." Mia says, standing in front of the floor mirror in the living room wearing her big earrings.

"1 buck, I bet that girl dumped Ethan, and then Mr. Clapton had to get Ethan back for some important reason," I say, pulling the salmon I bought today out of the fridge.

Mia returns from work and learns that I have become Mr. Clapton's pet sitter. She suggests I should buy a lottery because I have Mr. Clapton's personal email and phone number, which are the top two secrets the female shifters are wondering about most in North America.

However, I have to say that the emails I can send him are limited to Ethan's photos and short videos. As for his personal number, I guess it's to make it easier for him to summon me to bring Ethan to him whenever he wants.

"I saw your job title on your offer is CEO Assistant. Why?" Mia asks, rechecking her flawless makeup in the mirror.

"You know my father is the old school type. If he finds out I'm a pet sitter for Mr. Clapton, he'll shout, 'Ella, I've never heard of this job. Are you in a scam? "I emulate my father's tone and make Mia laugh.

"And then you know what the next thing he’ll say? 'Come home, Ella, you're going to inherit our Ronan Family Pack.'" I sigh, removing the salmon filet from the box.

"Sweet, forget all those chores. To celebrate you getting the best job in the world, how about going out with me tonight? Ansel recommended a new pub to me. He said there's a masquerade party tonight and a wolf disco later for shifters only. Sounds cool, doesn't it?" Mia offers, looking interested in that pub.

"Ansel?" I arch an eyebrow. Well, I should never doubt Mia's social skills.

"I'd like to go. But my new boss wants to see Ethan's photos and video by 10 pm. You know Ethan hates cameras. Sorry," I shrug and say sorry to my bestie.

"Meow~" Ethan, sitting next to the chopping board, barks at Mia as if to complain about Mia's earlier suggestion that I leave him out.

"Me~ow," his paw touches his unfilled bowl, then purrs at me, gesturing for me to continue preparing his dinner.

As far as he is concerned, he is the apartment owner, and Mia is just his backup maid. Who is his first maid and chef? It is me, of course.

"Fine! You little king, don't expect me to buy you catnip next time!" Mia rolls her eyes and spreads her hands.

After Mia leaves, I chop the salmon into bite-sized pieces and put them in his bowl to mix with his fancy cat can.

Taking a picture of the dinner, I bring Ethan’s bowl to where he eats - under the living room window.

"Okay, your majesty, enjoy your dinner." I put down his dinner and take my phone out of my pocket to take more photos. Ethan only allows me to take pictures of him when he's eating.

I quietly record ten seconds and then feel too bored with just the sound of Ethan licking his dinner. So, I re-record a new one with my report.

[Good evening, Mr. Clapton, your little cat is enjoying the premium can with beef and chicken, plus fresh salmon nuggets. He's enjoying his dinner.]

I kneel down on the carpet and find the best angle to re-record the video. Easy job.

At 9:30 pm, I email both the video and the photos to Mr. Clapton. I don't receive any reply until I get out of the bathroom after taking a shower. But I get a phone call instead of an e-mail.

"Why didn't you answer my email?" It is Mr. Clapton. His voice sounds lower and sexier on the phone than it does during the day.

I freeze for a few seconds, continue to rub my wet hair, and explain, "Sorry, Mr. Clapton, I was in the shower. What's up?"

"What is the can brand? Do they use organic chicken and beef? Is the salmon wild or organic?" He asks.

Okay, this isn't an easy job. I retract my earlier thoughts.

"One moment, please." Considering he is the boss and I am his employee, I am obligated to answer his questions. I go to the kitchen and find the empty can from the trash can.

"The can is from Royalland Pet. It contains 49% beef, 20% chicken, crude protein, vitamins... Uh, I haven't found it labeled wild or organic ingredients. The salmon was for my dinner, and I bought it at Sherry's Grocery. That's just regular salmon." I say, searching for the salmon package out of the trash like a fool.

"You're rummaging through the trash?" He asks. I can hear him softly chuckle.

"Yes, because my boss called me at 10 pm and asked me if his cat ate wild or organic food." I roll my eyes and toss the empty can back in the trash.

"What cans and cat food did you use to feed him? I will gradually change it. I have to say, though, that your cans and cat food may not be the best for him. When I met Ethan, he was very thin, and Andrew said he was a little malnourished." I have the phone between my shoulder and ear and clean my hands.

"Who's Andrew?" he asks.

"My boss. Oh, I mean the owner of the pet store where I do my part-time job. He is very thoughtful. He kindly gave me Ethan's food bowl when he knew I kept Ethan. He also taught me a lot about raising a cat and how to keep the cat comfortable with my wolf form. It worked very well. When I tried to shift in front of Ethan, he didn't run away. You won’t believe it. He even jumped on my back." I'm in a talkative mood as I share the funny things between Ethan and me.

"I don't like that cat food bowl. It looks dirty. You should get a new one." Mr. Clapton says, sounding moody somehow.

"I wash it every day after his meals, okay?" I defend myself and lose interest in sharing any interesting things with him.

"I say I don't like that cat food bowl. My cat, my rules." He repeats again.

All right! He's your boss! Ella, stay calm. "Okay, Mr. Clapton. I'll buy a new one tomorrow and see if he likes it. Is there anything else?" I sigh.

"Cat food and supplements are up to you. You're the cat's sitter, not me. Also, do I not pay you well enough? Why do you keep working at the pet store?"

I can imagine Mr. Clapton must be wrinkling his eyebrows and raising his chin proudly right now. Maybe he's standing in front of a French window with a glass of wine, looking over the bustling city center.

"Nope, Mr. Clapton, you have paid me well above the average for a pet sitter. I've already quit my part-time job at the coffee shop. But I can't leave the pet store right away. Andrew broke his leg today, and he needed me to help with the store." I reply as Ethan walks into my bedroom with a graceful catwalk.

"Don't do anything extra. Your job now is to take care of my cat." Mr. Clapton sounds very displeased. He must have grimaced and wondered why I chose to help a friend after getting a high-paying job. I even begin to doubt if this man has any friends.

"Mr. Clapton, I promise you I'll take good care of Ethan, but my friend needs me now. He and his wife and their two children helped me a lot while working on my dissertation. I am on a 12:00 to 5:00 pm schedule. It doesn't affect me caring for Ethan," I try to explain.

Ethan jumps on my bed, he arches his back and yawns, and I rub his head.

"Fine! I'll give you a month." Mr. Clapton's voice sounds much better. It doesn't look like he's an irrational person.

Ethan slips out of my hand and heads for my pillow.

"Go away, Ethan." I stop him, then immediately realize that the man on the phone with me is also named Ethan. "Sorry, Mr. Clapton, I wasn't talking to you. It's Ethan. He is occupying my pillow. "

I wave at Ethan and shoo him off to rest on the nearby pillow. I don't know why but he especially enjoys taking my pillow before I go to bed.

"Miss Ronan, I'll leave you one day to find a new name for that cat!" Mr. Clapton takes a deep breath, then issues a new order.

I resist the urge to laugh and tell him, "I'll try tomorrow and take a video, then send it to you."

"Very well. Good night, Miss Ronan," he says after he chuckles.

His voice becomes as silky as velvet. As if a few butterflies suddenly appear and flutter in my stomach, taking my lips and curving them upward.

"Good night, Mr. Clapton," I reply with a smile and see Ethan yawning again.

"Good night, Ethan," I whisper before hanging up the phone

Unsurprisingly, I fail to change Ethan's name. However, I never receive any calls from Mr. Clapton after that night.

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