I almost shout “CUTIE?! That dog’s the devil!!” but I restrain myself. If this man adopts Biscuit, then I won’t have to deal with her anymore.

With a sigh, I take off toward the front of the building. Knowing what a little terror Biscuit is, she’s probably make a beeline for the door so that she can escape our clutches and wreak havoc…

“What was that?” Casey asks, appearing at the door to her office. It’s incredible how her phone call finished just in time to see me let a dog escape.

Yes, I know that I—an educated twenty-one-year-old man—shouldn’t be afraid of a tiny Yorkshire terrier. But here we are, with this tiny, yappy dog literally crapping all over my life.

Medusa. Of course; this is why I couldn’t kill her earlier.