There were at least a dozen cats crowded around Rhiannon’s ankles now, and our giggles slowly trailed off as we stared in disbelief. She arranged two large pans on the ground before stepping back and watching as the cats climbed all over themselves to get at what must have been food inside.
“P, can we safely assume that Jackson Piedmont, esteemed millionaire architect and son of Senator Randall Piedmont, is not having an affair with this woman? I mean…damn.”
Parker shrugged. “I don’t know…everyone has their kinks. Maybe stonewash and cat fur get Jackson’s motor running.”
“I guess you’re right,” I shuddered. “We can’t rule her out completely until we know for sure. But this is like some Willard type shit, just replace rats with felines.”
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