Page 14 of The Billionaire's Pawfect Match

She shakes her head, strands of chestnut hair falling into her face. “Some people shouldn’t have pets,” she says.

“That’s the weird thing. I feel like he doesn’t want to have Baxter and yet… he does.”

“Or he does want the dog, but at this point he’s more frustrated with him than anything else.”

“Maybe…” I trail off, still sure that’s part of the story but not the whole one. “He treats Baxter like a piece of furniture. An accessory to his perfect, polished life. Baxter is smart… He wants to learn. I think he wants to get along with Isaac — but what can I really do if the human doesn’t care?”

“Emily, you’re doing your best,” Jenn says, reaching over to give my hand a reassuring squeeze.

I nod, but doubt clings to me like the early morning mist outside. It’s only been a few days since our last training session, andthe thought of facing Isaac again stirs an uncomfortable flutter in my chest. I hate it, this involuntary response to a man who couldn’t be more detached from the things I hold dear.

Pushing myself up from the couch, I take a deep breath and glance at the clock. Time to go. I can already feel Baxter, can sense his energy and eagerness to live in peace with those around him.

Like every other animal, I want to give him the best the world has to offer. That’s not realistic, though. He’s not my dog — as much as I would love a dog, any dog, the problem being how small my apartment is and all the time I spend out of it working.

I wish I could promise Baxter a loving home, but instead I’ll need to make do with what I can do for him, and that’s train him so that he can exist more peacefully in a human’s world. It will do no good if Isaac isn’t also on board, though. Right now, it seems like he’s one foot in, one foot out, and that just won’t do.

The drive to the park is short but heavy with reflection. When I see Isaac waiting by the wrought-iron gates, something in me tightens. There he stands, immaculate in his designer clothing, exuding wealth and success. And yet, all I can see is how out of place he looks beside the eager, bounding form of Baxter. How unnatural he seems.

“Ready for another round?” Isaac calls out as I approach, and he looks as tense as I feel. Does he also have a problem withme?

Probably. When I told him the other day that he couldn’t hide away in his office, he’d looked like I’d insulted his very sense of self. Heck, maybe that’s exactly what I did.

“Absolutely,” I reply, hating the way my heart rate continues to pick up.

I force my attention to Baxter, to the reason I’m here. This isn’t about Isaac — not about whathedoes or says, or the way he makes my legs feel like they’re made of jelly. It’s about helping a dog find his place in a world where he’s merely an afterthought to his owner. My only concern for Isaac should involve how committed he is to Baxter’s training. Beyond that, there’s no reason for me to think of him twice.

We start with the basics: sit and wait. It’s a dance of patience, guiding Baxter with gentle commands, rewarding his obedience with treats and praise. Isaac follows suit, a bit awkwardly, but it’s progress. The sight of man and dog working together is a patchwork of possibility, stitching together fragments of what could be.

Slowly, steadily, my hopes rise. Isaac is focused. In tune with his dog. Could it be that he’s done some reflecting since our last training session and he’s finally decided to fully commit?

“Sit, Baxter. Wait for it…” My words are soft but firm, and I make sure to always use the hand gesture for “sit.” Baxter’s keen eyes lock onto mine, and I can see the understanding begin to crystallize.

Then, suddenly, Isaac’s phone shatters the moment. He pulls it from his pocket and steps away.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he says over his shoulder, his attention doing a one-eighty just like that.

Frustration prickles at the edges of my composure. The connection we were building splinters, leaving me to gather the pieces alone. Baxter watches Isaac walk away, his furry brow creased in confusion. That invisible thread pulling them together stretches thin, and I know without looking that Baxter’sinterest in our session is waning. His human isn’t here, and without that there’s nothing.

“Come on, Baxter,” I coax, but my voice lacks conviction.

Even as I speak, I watch Baxter’s gaze follow Isaac, loyalty tied to the man who doesn’t understand the gift of unconditional love sitting patiently at his feet. The dog is taking his human’s lead, slinking away from the lesson and towards distraction. He’s already watching some kids across the park, his ears pricking up and his tail wagging.

Two minutes pass, then five. I keep working with Baxter, even though it feels futile.

Finally, after ten minutes, Isaac strides back, phone now silent and tucked away. I’ve been thinking about what to say to him, planning how to politely express — yet again — how important it is he participates fully in the training sessions. But before I know it, I’m snapping.

“We can’t have disruptions like that. I already told you; Baxter?—”

“Look, Emily, it was important,” he retorts, the lines of his face growing sharp with annoyance.

“Surely you understand that training requires consistency, Isaac. Baxter needs your full attention if this is going to work.”

He bristles, the corporate titan probably unaccustomed to being chastised — at least by people like me. “And what about my business? Should I just ignore a potential multimillion-dollar deal for adog?”

“Is the deal more important than Baxter?” I challenge, my resolve hardening despite the quiver in my gut.

His narrowed eyes meet mine, and I see something there. A crack in his hard façade.

---