22 Chapter 22 – A Puppy Named Kitten and a Prickly Boss
“Did you know,” Old Mrs. Margaret whispered, her eyes gleaming with mischief, “that my grandson is terrified of cats?”
I blinked, trying to picture the intimidating Nathaniel Ricardo cowering before a fluffy kitten. “Cats?”
She nodded solemnly. “Ever since he was small. One scratched him badly when he was three. Never gone near one since.”
A strange flicker of déjà vu passed through me. A little boy with dark hair, crying over a cat scratch… I shook the thought away. Must be my imagination.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
“Knowledge is power, dear.” She patted my hand. “And you’ll need every advantage with that stubborn boy.”
I couldn’t help smiling. Old Mrs. Margaret might be suffering from Alzheimer’s, but she was still sharp in her own way.
“Now,” she continued, “you’ll start at Ricardo Group tomorrow. I’ve already arranged everything.”
“What exactly will I be doing?”
“Taking care of Ricardo Jr., of course!”
“Ricardo… Jr.?”
The next morning, I found myself standing in Nathaniel’s office, staring at a Shiba Inu puppy with copper–colored fur. It yipped and wagged its tail enthusiastically.
“This is Ricardo Jr.?” I asked, struggling not to laugh.
Nathaniel’s face was expressionless. “My grandmother’s idea of a joke. She got him last week.”
The puppy bounded toward me, and I knelt to pet him. “He’s adorable.”
“He’s a menace. Chewed through my Italian leather shoes.”
I glanced up at Nathaniel, noting the tight line of his jaw. He wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than three months of my rent. Everything about him screamed power and control- except for the tiny dog hair clinging to his pant leg.
“So I’m supposed to be… what? His dog walker?”
“According to my grandmother, yes.” Nathaniel checked his watch. “However, I have other plans.”
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22 Chapter 22 – A Puppy Named Kitten and a Prickly Boss
He pressed a button on his desk. Moments later, his assistant Raymond appeared.
“Sir?”
“Take Mrs. Johnson to the HR department. Have her reassigned to Team One in the New Energy R&D Division.”
I straightened up. “New Energy?”
“Problem?” Nathaniel challenged.
“Not at all.” This could work in my favor. Their research facilities were state–of–the–art, with access to databases I could use for my Alzheimer’s research.
The puppy nipped playfully at my ankle. I picked him up, and he licked my face enthusiastically.
“What’s his name? Or is it really Ricardo Jr.?”
“Grandmother calls him Junior. I call him Trouble.”
I scratched behind the dog’s ears, watching Nathaniel’s eyes narrow. A small act of defiance formed in my mind.
“I think I’ll call him Kitten,” I declared.
Nathaniel’s eyebrow twitched. “Excuse me?”
“Kitten. It suits him.”
“You’re naming a dog… Kitten.” His voice was flat.
“Why not? He’s small and cuddly.” I held up the puppy, who yipped happily. “Aren’t you, Kitten?”
For a moment, I thought I saw a flash of humor in Nathaniel’s eyes, quickly replaced by his usual coldness.
“Do whatever you want. Raymond will show you to HR.” He turned back to his computer, dismissing me.
As Raymond led me out, I couldn’t resist one last glance back. Nathaniel was watching me leave, his expression unreadable.
“You must be Juliana Johnson.”
I stood in the R&D Division’s main laboratory, facing a tall, thin man with wire–rimmed glasses and a permanent frown. Miles Finch, the team leader, looked me up and down with obvious disapproval.
“That’s right,” I said, extending my hand.
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22 Chapter 22- A Puppy Named Kitten and a Prickly Boss
He ignored it. “Let me be clear. I don’t care who you’re married to. In this department, you earn your place through merit.”
Around us, about a dozen researchers pretended not to listen while stealing glances our way.
“I understand completely,” I replied evenly.
“Do you?” His voice dripped with skepticism. “What exactly are your qualifications, Mrs.
Ricardo?”
“It’s Ms. Johnson. And I have a bachelor’s degree in biochemistry.”
That wasn’t the whole truth, but my other credentials were under different names. Emma. Bella. Names I couldn’t reveal without exposing my carefully constructed life.
Miles scoffed. “A bachelor’s? Everyone here has at least a master’s, most have PhDs.”
“I’m a quick learner.”
“You’re a decoration piece.” He gestured around the lab. “This team is working on revolutionary technology that could change global energy consumption. We don’t have time to babysit the CEO’s latest… acquisition.”
Heat rose to my face, but I kept my expression neutral. I’d dealt with worse than this pompous jerk.
“Show me to my station, and I’ll stay out of your way.”
Miles pointed to a desk in the corner, separated from the main research area. “Data entry. Try not to mess it up.”
I bit back a retort and settled at the desk. The computer was outdated compared to the sleek workstations everyone else used. A clear message about my status.
For the next few hours, I methodically entered research data while observing the team. They were brilliant but inefficient. I spotted at least three workflow issues I could optimize, but kept quiet. This wasn’t the time.
i
At lunch, I remained at my desk, using the opportunity to explore the company’s intranet. If I could access their medical database, I might find something useful for Old Mrs. Margaret’s
condition.
“What are you doing?”
I jumped. Miles stood behind me, eyes narrowed at my screen.
“I was looking for the database on neurodegenerative diseases,” I admitted.
“Why?” His voice was sharp.
“Mrs. Ricardo–the elder Mrs. Ricardo–has Alzheimer’s. I thought I might help.”
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22 Chapter 22 – A Puppy Named Kitten and a Prickly Boss
Miles let out a bark of laughter. “You? Help with Alzheimer’s research? With your undergraduate degree?”
Several researchers looked our way.
“Our medical data is restricted,” he continued loudly. “It’s not for playing amateur doctor to impress the family.”
I felt my cheeks burn but kept my voice steady. “I was just trying to help.”
“Help by doing your assigned tasks.” He logged me out of the system with his override code. “And stay away from research that’s beyond your comprehension.”
As he walked away, I heard him mutter, “Nepotism at its finest.”
By the end of the day, I was seething with frustration. Miles had gone out of his way to belittle me at every opportunity, assigning menial tasks and making snide comments about my presence.
Just as I was preparing to leave, he approached my desk again, this time carrying a thick file.
“Here.” He dropped it in front of me with a thud. “Since you’re so eager to help with important research, take a look at this project proposal. See if your undergraduate brain can make sense of it.”
The file contained at least two hundred pages of dense technical information. The team gathered around, barely concealing their amusement.
I opened the file and began flipping through the pages rapidly, scanning the content.
Miles snorted. “Don’t hurt yourself trying to understand it. That’s cutting–edge hydrogen fuel cell technology. Top scientists spent months developing those concepts.”
I continued flipping through the pages, my mind cataloging the information with practiced efficiency.
“You’re not even reading it,” Miles scoffed. “Just turning pages to save face.”
I closed the file and looked up at him, my patience finally snapping.
“Who says I can’t understand it?”
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