Page 1 of Daddy's Naughty Dog Trainer

CHAPTER 1

I'm already five minutes late when I pull up to the address, a sleek modern house at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac in Oakbrook Estates, the fancy part of our small town where people with actual careers and retirement plans live. Not exactly my usual stomping grounds.

I check my reflection in the rearview mirror, fluffing up my bright pink hair. It's faded a bit since it was last colored, more cotton candy than neon now, but it is still a pretty pink color. In my line of work, I don’t have to stick to a strict dress code or societal norms. I am free to express my creativity and individuality anyway I choose.

I train dogs, not people. And I'm damn good at it.

My phone buzzes with a message from Christine in our Naughty Girls Book Club group chat.

Christine: Jess, have you met the new client yet? Is he as uptight as he sounded on the phone?

I grin before typing back.

Me: About to find out. Will report back with full daddy potential assessment.

I grab my training bag from the passenger seat and step out into the fresh spring air. I am excited to meet Lucky, the Golden Retriever, causing my new client havoc. There are many calm, sweet breeds of dogs that require minimal training. Dogs that look and act like potatoes. A golden retriever is not one of those. If ever there was a puppy breed that exudes ADHD energy, it would be them. I would know. I’m diagnosed and medicated. My brain is spicy and bounces from one thought to the next frequently.

I ring the doorbell and within seconds comes enthusiastic barking, followed by a man's deep voice, firm but strained: "Lucky, sit. Damn it! I said SIT!"

Good luck with that, buddy.

The door swings open, and?—

Oh.

OH.

Well, shit.

The man standing in the doorway is nothing like what I expected. When Sean Ferguson called me, his clipped, professional tone made me picture a middle-aged banker type with a receding hairline and a sweater vest.

But this? This is... something else entirely.

He's tall, like, unfairly tall, with broad shoulders that fill out his crisp button-down shirt in ways that should be illegal. His salt-and-pepper hair is thick and just slightly mussed, like he's been running his hands through it in frustration. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw with just the right amount of five o'clock shadow, and eyes so intensely blue they make my breath catch.

And he's older than me, maybe mid-fifties, but in that distinguished George Clooney way, that makes my stomach do a little flip.

"Lucky! Lucky, no!" He yells as Lucky comes rushing at me.

I drop to a crouch, expertly catching the bundle of energy before he can knock me over or escape past me into the road. "Well, hello there, handsome! Aren't you just the sweetest thing?" I coo, scratching behind Lucky's ears as he tries to lick every inch of my face.

"I am so sorry," Sean says to me, a look of exasperation on his face. "He's been impossible today. More impossible than usual, which I didn't think was physically possible."

I laugh, standing up with Lucky still wiggling in my arms. "No worries. This is exactly why you called me, right? I'm Jessica Wright, by the way. Most people call me Jess."

His eyes travel from my pink hair down to my ripped jeans and back up again, one eyebrow slightly raised. "You're... not what I expected."

I grin. I get this a lot. "Let me guess. You were expecting someone in khakis with a whistle around their neck?"

His lips twitch, almost a smile, but not quite. "Something like that."

"Sorry to disappoint. The pink hair throws people off, but I promise it doesn't affect my ability to train dogs." I shift Lucky to one arm, offering my free hand. "And don't worry, the color doesn't rub off."

He takes my hand, his grip firm and warm. "Sean Ferguson. And clearly, I'm the one who needs help, here."

Our eyes lock for a moment longer than strictly necessary, and something electric passes between us. I withdraw my hand first, suddenly very aware of how attractive he is and how inappropriate the thought is, given he's a client… and possibly old enough to be my father. If he had me young, that is.

"So," I say, clearing my throat and setting Lucky down. "Tell me about this little troublemaker."

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