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)
After our morning walk, I open the door to the backseat of my car, and Captain hops in, flopping down on his dog bed. I scratch behind his ears and kiss his head. “Let’s do this, buddy.”
He pants. That’s a yes.
With a prayer to the goddesses of temperamental cars, I turn the key in Roxie’s ignition and sing the chorus of “All That Jazz” from Chicago to coax her on. It works. I swing by Josiah’s Hardware and hop out with my boy. I grab a few cans of nontoxic paint, as well as supplies, and stop to pet Josiah’s cat Sheldon, who Captain ignores since he’s unfazed by felines. I check out and head straight to work.
Amazingly, Roxie survives the journey. I pat her hood. “Keep it up, girl, and I’ll get you fixed real soon. Promise.”
I swear she gives a grateful sigh.
I head to the door of Dog Tails with my paint cans, a canvas bag full of brushes, a roller and a tray, my dog, and a huge smile. But before I open it, I turn to Captain. “Stay,” I say, holding up a stop-sign hand, a paint can dangling on my wrist.
He parks his butt, tail still wagging. “Good boy,” I say, then tug open the door.
Behind the counter, dogs tussle and collars jingle. The sound of water patters in the back room. One of the groomers must be here. I bet that’s Levi, since he’s a morning guy. Zuri told me yesterday that Sawyer had re-hired pretty much everyone who had previously worked here, like Hazel, a college student who’s pre-vet at the local university. She oversees the dog daycare. There’s another groomer too—Nisha, who also used to work for the prior business.
I don’t hate that—his efforts to keep business flowing to the local economy.
For now, I focus on Sawyer, who’s behind the counter, chatting on the phone. Sounds like he’s talking to one of the managers since he’s saying something about the update to the reservation system. He stops to run a hand down his tie. It’s a striking shade of blue, nearly sapphire, and it looks good with his rich, brown eyes. Not that I’d tell Mister Serious Boss, in his dark slacks and checked shirt, that he looks suit-hot. Especially with a play area full of dogs wrestling behind him, since dogs make every man look hotter.
He ends the call right as I breeze in with the paint cans. “Good morning, Mr. Dumont,” I call out.
There. That’s business-friendly. Truce-like.
When Sawyer’s gaze lands on me, his brow knits—maybe at the “mister” part, maybe the paint, maybe the cleavage. “Morning,” he grumbles.
“Aww, did someone not have his coffee yet?” I tease.
He lifts a mug. “Got it from Pick Me Up.”
“Black. No sugar or cream?” I ask innocently.
He shoots me a suspicious look. “Yes.”
I shrug innocently. “I’m either a stalker or very good at reading you.”
He growls. That’s it. Just growls. The grump is strong in him. But I’ve got this.
I hoist up the paint cans and begin step one. Remind him what’s in it for him. “Anyway, remember how I mentioned yesterday I’d need to decorate to get the space ready for the producers?”
“Right,” he says, skeptical.
“I’m painting it today. And it’ll look amazing.”
He frowns. “I’m not sure the lease allows you to make improvements. Like painting.”
Of course he’s a hard-ass.
Step two—compliment him. “Darn. What a great point, and I’m sure you’re right,” I say, then dial up the charm. “But…it’ll help us both so much, and I bought all the supplies. You don’t have to pay for a thing. Would you be willing to make a teensy exception this time?” I ask sweetly, then play my trump card with step three. I set down the paint cans, head to the door, and yank it open. “Captain would really appreciate it. He’s your favorite breed—rescue. Captain, come say hi!”
I pat my thigh and call his name, and Captain bounds through the door. “Give Sawyer a kiss,” I say, smacking my lips and pointing to the man behind the counter.
Captain hops up on his back legs and sets his paws on the counter, tail wagging as he waits for a smooch.
And wouldn’t you know it? The hard-ass leans in and gives Captain a light kiss on the snout.
There it is. Step three—use a dog.
“Aren’t you a good boy,” Sawyer murmurs as the faint imprint of a smile coasts across his lips.
I call Captain back down, then tilt my head and let my shirt slope down juuust a little more. Step four—use a distraction.
That gets you to step five faster—seal the deal. “So, you’ll let me paint? I researched celeb dog trainers in LA, and I’m sure this will help us win the business.”
Sawyer takes a beat, seems to consider this, then gives me a grudging, “Sure.”