Page 11 of The Billionaire's Pawfect Match

Clicking through the links, I read a little bit about his father’s death, but there isn’t much out yet. Just that it was a heart attack, very sudden. Then again, what else is there to say about something like that?

Here one moment… gone the next.

I chew on my lip, hating the reminder that life is so fragile and doesn’t really belong to any of us. Rather, we’re borrowing it, and the universe can take it back anytime it pleases.

Poor Isaac. He’s carrying this grief, alone in its sharp newness, and never once today did he let it slip through the façade he presented to the world — or to me.

I wonder how someone bears such a loss so silently, so stoically. Why hadn’t he mentioned it? Does the pain carve out hollows too vast for words?

But the question dissipates as quickly as it forms; it’s none of my business. People get to grieve in their own ways, on their own time. I am here to train a dog, not excavate the hidden sorrows of a man who is practically a stranger.

And yet, as I scroll past condolences and statements, it becomes clear that Isaac’s world is one I can’t fully understand, distant and fuzzy. The realization casts a shadow over the attraction I’ve been harboring.

Especially when I discover another piece of him tucked away in an interview, a throwaway comment about pets being a nuisance, a liability for those with ambitions. My heart sinks. Isaac is not a dog person. Worse, the disdain in his voice when he speaks of them seems to suggest he actually despises them. How did I not see this before?

And if he doesn’t like animals, why would he take Baxter? Why not give him to a human who is happy to have him?

The truth chills the small flame of allure that flickered to life upon our meeting — how could it not? To love dogs is to understand a part of my own soul. Anyone who doesn’t evenlikethem… well, I don’t understand those sorts of people one bit.

With a sigh, I close the laptop and put it away. There’s a job to do, training sessions to plan — and personal feelings have no place in the equation.

It’s probably for the best anyway, that I found this out about him now. It nips any of my burgeoning fantasies in the bud, knocks me back down to reality. Isaac and I are from different worlds;we have different mindsets, different values. We could never be an item or anything close to it.

I’m doing this for the dogs. The creatures who will never turn on me, never let me down. Unlike humans, they’re dependable. Trustworthy. Men, you never know when they’ll bite, when they’ll turn tail and run only for you to never see them again.

Sure, devoting my life to animals and not getting close to any humans other than my roommate is lonely sometimes, but it’s safe. Predictable.

In this scary world, that amounts to something.

CHAPTER 7

ISAAC

Another morning. Another war zone.

I don’t even know what to be angry about first. There’s the gnawed windowsill, splinters of wood strewn across the polished floor like the aftermath of a tiny, localized storm. Then there’s my once-favorite pair of leather shoes, now marked with a stain that reeks of betrayal.

“Damn it, Baxter,” I mutter.

He has his toys! Why can’t he chew ontheminstead of everything that matters to me?

“Why?” I ask the dog.

In response, he knocks over a stool in the kitchen, freaks out at the sound, backs up, hits his rump against a side table, consequently turning that over as well. I roll my eyes.

“You would calm down for Emily, wouldn’t you?” I say. “Well, good news. She’s on her way here now.”

Emily.She handled Baxter with such ease yesterday, her voice and touch gentle yet firm. And those eyes, bright withintelligence and warmth… I shake my head, trying to scatter the image.

But then there’s a knock at the door, three raps that sound like hope, and my pulse quickens. That must be her — I already told the doorman to expect her and let her up.

Smoothing my hair, I open the door and there she stands. Even though she’s only one person, her presence fills the space, pushing out the shadows that linger in every corner. She smiles, and suddenly, the air is sweeter, the light is brighter.

“Good morning,” she says in that voice that washes away every worry that I thought I owned.

“Morning, Emily,” I reply, stepping aside to let her in.

I catch myself lingering a moment too long on the way her jeans conform to her curves, the way her shiny hair hangs down her back. For someone who’s always prided himself on self-control, I’m embarrassingly aware of how hard it is to maintain it around her.

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