Rules of a Rebel

Chapter 15: Don't be a Doormat

"Yeah. The man's name is Susan Smith?"

"Yes, don't make fun of it. He's very sensitive," For a second, Peter's lips twitches. "You'll be alone for an hour. Is that alright?"

I nod.

"Okay," Peter hands me a folder and his office keys. "Don't be afraid to call if you need anything."

Even though I said I understood, Peter goes through the adoption process again and even hands out a paper filled with instructions on what I need to check. After Peter and Leonardo leave, the group of teenagers sign out with three bags filled with cat food. Soon, I'm the only left in the shop. I choose this time to do my homework.

Around five o'clock, the bells ring.

Automatically, my eyes dart to the door. A somewhat overweight, white man in a gray suit enters the shop with a plain yellow file under his elbow. Even though his back is turned towards me, I can tell he's examining the shop - for what, I don't know.

Then, he turns around.

I suck in a breath. There's a scar that reaches from his left ear to the top of his lip and a cold gleam to his blue eyes that sends a chill down my spine. But I don't like to judge, so I plaster a smile on my face and say, "Hello, there. Are you looking or is there something I can help you with?"

"A little of both, if you know what I mean," His chuckle deep and rough. I don't laugh back. "My name is Smith. I'm here to adopt a pitbull."

I exhale. "Harper?"

"Yeah." Susan Smith's eyes roam my face greedily.

"I'll need to see your identification and proof of adoption, please."

He hands my papers confidentially, as if he's done this all before. I compare his papers with the ones Peter's laid out for me. They all seem to be in order. I'm about to tell him the good news, only to see his gaze isn't directed at my face. Instead, his eyes roam around my body, pausing at certain areas.

I clear my throat to get his attention.

"Are you alone in here?" Smith asks, eyes boring into my face.

"No. My manager is in his office, in a meeting and my coworker is outside taking a break," My voice, thankfully, remains cool and steady when I tell the lie. "Now, if you want to see your dog, follow me."

Harper's a two-year old brown and black pitbull that came to the shelter three months ago. His previous owners gave him back after they had their first baby, saying that two children was too much to handle. Sweet and cuddly, Harper barks loudly when I approach him.

Just when I bend down to unlock his cage, somebody touches my lower back. I stand up straight, ignoring Harper's eager barking. Smith watches me innocently, a perverted smirk on his lips.

"Take a step back, please," I say coolly.

He takes a step back, but doesn't stop that awful grin. After making sure that he's a respectable distance away from me, I unlock Harper's cage. He jumps towards me, licking my fingers. I laugh and run my fingers over his head. Then, I attach a collar to his leach and take him out.

I'm not as comfortable leaving Harper with a man like Smith, but how he treats women is no indication of how treats animals, so I have no right to judge him. Still, I make sure to hurry as I give him his supplies.

For a second, while I'm typing his information in the computer, I could've sworn he took a picture of me, but when I look over, he's playing with the dog.

Shivers run down my spine.

I'll have a chat with Peter later.

"Have fun. When my manager gets out, I'll make sure he calls you," I tell Smith, who's still watching me with an intent expression. I take my gaze elsewhere. "Bye Harper!"