Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Her smile brightens. “Mine too.”
I stick out a hand to shake.
She studies it for a few seconds, then takes it.
And…wow. Touching her again throws me off for a few seconds as memories of our hands all over each other flash before my eyes. Her hands against the wall. Mine all over her beautiful body. I lift my nose, catching the faintest hint of her cinnamon scent. It’s so fitting for her, and it’s trouble for me.
My gaze drifts to her chest, to the top two undone buttons on her shirt. It’s not racy, but even the sliver of skin exposed is cranking the temperature up in me. Making me remember that night. The things I wanted to do to her if I saw her again.
But we’re working together now, and I know better than to complicate business matters. A good leader doesn’t drag his personal life into work—that’s Management 101. “Thanks again. Really appreciate you being so…” What’s the word I’m looking for? Chill? That hardly covers the relief I feel. But there’s a word that does. “Professional.”
She seems to mull that over, studying me for a beat. “We can work together. But let’s not pretend we’re friends.”
That’s fair. “Heard.”
Her expression softens a hair—just a flicker—before she clears her throat. “The mayor told me about a TV show being shot in town with some dogs in the cast.”
My brows lift. “That so?”
She nods. “And that’s why I need to move quickly to get my space ready. I’d really like to be involved with the show. With the dog training.”
Looks like we’ve got common ground. “And I’d like to be involved with the daycare. And the grooming. If the show needs any.”
“It’s a truce then,” she says.
Once upon a time I wanted a second date with her. I’ll have to settle for this. “It is.”
She blows out a breath, like she’s relaxed now. But when she screws up the corner of her mouth, it’s clear there’s something on her mind. She glances down at her hand, studying her fingers, then lifts the left hand, lowering all but the middle finger an inch or two, saying, “I guess I won’t blame you for my broken nail.”
She’s not quite flipping me the bird, and it feels like she’s saying I dodged a bullet. I’m grateful, so I add, “Thank you. Want a Band-Aid?”
“I’ll live.”
“Glad to hear.”
I return to the counter, where Zuri’s already arranged the lavender in the vases. I take a piece of coconut bread from the box and bite into the…well, the truce.
And it’s too delicious. Like Chloe.
12
THE ACCIDENTAL INNUENDO
CHLOE
An ironic print of dogs lounging on beach chairs with their legs crossed. A quirky painting of a mutt sporting a Gatsby-style suit. A peaceful image of a Golden Retriever raising his snout toward the sun.
The walls in my home are covered in dog art acquired from thrift shops over the years.
If I were training local mutts, they’d be perfect. I’d liberate these from my walls and bring them into Chloe’s Paw-sitive Dog Training to decorate. But I need to look the part for celebrity mutts. And that calls for a different vibe.
I spent most of last night with my top intelligence officer in the dog training business—also known as Google—scouring photos of training spaces in Los Angeles, Santa Monica, Hollywood, Bel Air. The overwhelming evidence points to two must-have weapons when it comes to dog trainer decor: pink and white.
Since Veronica’s besties are coming in next week for their lessons, that means I need to decorate the space today.
I could ask Sawyer’s permission. He is the owner, and technically, the lease says improvements need to be approved by the landlord. He seems like a bit of a stickler, the kind of guy who’d want to review every clause, dot every i and cross every t—probably a Capricorn with his rules and discipline and triathloning. Not sure I have the time for that kind of scrutiny. But he was also a supreme dickface yesterday, and if I know anything about men who say they’re sorry, it’s that you’ve got a good twenty-four hours to use their guilt to your advantage.
And speaking of advantages…Did I catch him distracted by my chest yesterday?
I hate to do this (I totally don’t), but sometimes you need to play to your strengths. I pull on a white lacy bra (studies show basic white lace distracts men the most), a white T-shirt with the neckline cut to highlight the slope of my shoulder, and a pair of purple leggings. If he happens to be discombobulated by the shape of my ass—well, that’s on him.
All’s fair in love and in sharing a workspace with your one-night stand turned landlord-ish co-worker you’re never sleeping with again.
There’s one more element to this plan: Captain.
He’s the most lovable Shepherd mix in existence. If anyone can soften a grump, it’s my guy.