Animal Whisperer: Take Back My Life and Love Chapter 136: The Skunk Offensive

Brendan’s face turned a sickly shade of green, as if he had a bone lodged in his throat. "You! Leaving high society has clearly made you vulgar!"

Nancy arched an eyebrow, her smile widening. "Vulgar? I wouldn't know. But I will say this: speaking the truth feels a lot more liberating than living with the Summers."

An assistant beside Brendan leaned in and whispered, "Sir, Director Roberts just called. He mentioned he sent another relocation coordinator to handle the negotiations with this owner."

Brendan froze, looking at Nancy in disbelief. "You? You're the one here to talk them into moving?"

He burst into a fit of mocking laughter as if he had just heard the joke of the century. "I’m a professional in this industry and even I can't budge them. What could a sickly fake like you possibly do? Don't make a mess of things. A demolition site is no place for a woman!"

He looked her up and down, adding in a suggestive tone, "Tell you what—since you're still young, why don't I introduce you to a few wealthy bachelors? It’s a much more practical way to make a living."

"Really? You're so kind, offering to set me up. Do you have any photos?" Nancy’s eyes suddenly lit up, and she put on a look of intense interest.

Brendan blinked, surprised by her reaction. He scanned her face, his mind racing. He suddenly thought of a certain hard-partying trust-fund kid he had met at a dinner party recently. With Nancy's looks, she would be exactly that guy’s type.

"I do!" Brendan grew animated, his voice turning warm and friendly. "Let me show you. He’s a very handsome, wealthy guy." He paused, adding, "But let’s be clear—if it works out, you owe me half the finder's fee."

Nancy’s tone softened significantly, making her seem perfectly cooperative. "No problem! Let me see the photos first."

Brendan looked down at his phone, scrolling through his gallery to find the guy’s profile. He turned the screen toward her.

Nancy squinted, leaning in closer. "A bit closer, please. I can't see... what kind of car does he drive?"

Acting so high and mighty a second ago, but in the end, she's just another gold-digger, Brendan sneered inwardly. Feeling smug, he stepped closer and held the phone right in front of her face.

However, the moment he was within range, Nancy suddenly lifted the weasel from her shoulder. "Snowball, spray him!"

Snowball spun around mid-air, tail up, rear aimed straight at Brendan. With a soft poof, a thick jet of anal gland secretion shot out with surgical precision, hitting Brendan square in the face!

Brendan had been mid-sentence, mouth open to brag about the rich kid’s status, and he took the biochemical attack directly. The oily, pungent liquid didn't just coat his face; it went straight into his mouth.

"Gah—blegh!"

Brendan froze, his eyes bulging. The next second, he lunged to the side, dry-heaving violently as if trying to turn his stomach inside out. A weasel’s secretion is a verified chemical weapon; the suffocating, musky stench mixed with Brendan’s cold sweat to create an unbearable, eye-watering funk.

Nancy fought back her laughter, crying out in mock surprise, "Oh dear! Your cigarette smoke must have been too strong—it must have terrified Snowball! He was just acting in self-defense!"

Brendan’s lackeys scrambled toward him. "Boss! Boss, are you okay?"

But as soon as they got close, the wall of stench hit them, sending them stumbling back. They pinched their noses, terrified to get any closer. Brendan was now tearing up, his eyes stinging so badly he couldn't open them. His throat was filled with that nauseating taste, and he couldn't even manage a full sentence.

"Get—hurk—me to—blegh—the hospital..."

The lackeys began a frantic game of "after you" while gasping for air.

"You drive! You take the boss!" "No way! You do it! I get motion sickness!" "I just got my car detailed yesterday!" "I’ll pay for the detailing! Double!"

While they argued over who had to endure the smell, Brendan finally succumbed to the physical and mental trauma. His eyes rolled back, and he passed out from the sheer intensity of the stench.

Nancy couldn't help but chuckle as she patted the weasel’s tiny head. "Good boy, Snowball! You did amazing!"

The little weasel lifted his head high, his black-tipped tail wagging happily. He felt wonderful! He had finally been able to help Nancy. He hadn't realized he was capable of protecting the Director. He puffed out his furry little chest, trying to mimic a human by putting his front paws on his hips.

Suddenly remembering something, his dark, beady eyes looked up at Nancy with a hint of anxiety. "Director... did I... did I make it too smelly for you?"

Nancy was touched by his mix of pride and worry. She gently rubbed the fur behind his ears. "Every animal has its own unique scent, sweetie. I’ve been a vet for a long time; I’m used to it. Besides..."