Page 22 of The Billionaire's Pawfect Match

It seems I don’t have much of a choice, though. He’s on my mind all afternoon, and I’m left constantly wondering what he’s doing now.Did he take Baxter with him to work today?

By the end of my shift, I’ve managed to mostly shake Isaac free. There are a few hours of daylight left, which means I can get some time in at the shelter. Whether or not I’ll go isn’t even a question. The dogs there need me, and it feels good to be needed, to be wanted.

At the shelter, I duck into the bathroom to freshen up then head to the back of the building, where the dogs are kept. The stench of disinfectant and the underlying musk of dog fur, which somepeople would hate, is oddly comforting. This is my place, my home away from home.

“Finn,” I call out, rounding the corner to the kennels, “you ready to do some work today, buddy?”

“Emily.” It’s Ricki, waving me down.

“Hey,” I smile. “How’s it going?”

“Good. Finn got adopted this morning.”

“Oh.” My jaw drops. I’m so happy for Finn, but I’ll miss him something awful. “That’s great.”

Ricki grins, her own eyes bright. “Yeah, he’s going to a great family. They have a big backyard and two kids who fell in love with him at first sight. And he did everything you taught him while in the meet-and-greet. Showed off how he can sit, stay, give his paw.”

“Good for Finn.” I smile through a watery veil, imagining him romping around, his tail a blur of excitement. It’s moments like these that remind me why I do what I do — why the long hours and emotional toll are worth it.

“Hey, there’s a new guy you should take a look at,” Ricki suggests, motioning me to follow. “He could use some of your magic.”

“Lead the way,” I say, wiping away the last trace of bittersweet tears.

We walk in silence to the newest arrival’s kennel, a gangly shepherd mix. His coat is a patchwork of tan and black, and his ears stand at attention as we approach. But it’s his eyes, wideand uncertain, that draw me in. He’s still unnamed, a blank slate waiting for love to write upon him.

“Here he is,” Ricki says, unlatching the kennel door. “Just came in yesterday. Found wandering near the highway.”

“Hey there, buddy.” I crouch down, offering my hand for him to sniff. He hesitates, nostrils flaring as he takes in my scent. Then, cautiously, he steps forward, his nose brushing against my skin.

“Let’s see what we can do with you, huh?” I murmur, already thinking of training exercises, of ways to build his confidence.

Out in the fenced-in yard, we start out with some play. Balls. Tug toys. It breaks the ice for him, and he’s definitely play-motivated.

“What do you know?” I ask.

His head cocks as he tries to understand what I’m saying to him.

“Sit,” I command softly, and the shepherd obeys, his haunches meeting the ground with an unsteady thud.

He looks up at me, seeking approval, and I give it freely with a gentle pat on his head. “Good boy. So, someone already gave you some training. Smart boy.”

Training the dog anchors me, his needs a good distraction from my own. I’ve been alone for so long, dating only here and there, Jenn my only close friend.

Even my childhood was mostly spent alone, my parents coming and going as they wished, occasionally leaving me on my own for a few days at a time. I learned early on how to fend for myself, how to fake it in the world and pretend everything was fine. Ipacked my own lunches — even when there was next to nothing in the kitchen — and washed my own clothes.

I did fine.

Yes, fine. But I never thrived, did I?

Have I ever really thrived, in my whole life? Or have I only been surviving? Surviving and keeping people at arm’s length so that they don’t betray me like my parents did?

And now here comes Isaac, and something is different. I want to open up. I want to bare parts of myself I’ve never shown to anyone, and it’s terrifying. Especially because he probably doesn’t even think about me unless I’m standing right in front of him. I’m probably nothing like the women he’s used to — supermodels and heiresses, I’m sure.

Me? I’m just Emily. A dog trainer and barista. A thirty-year-old who has a roommate and is nowhere close to owning her own home. I’m hardly successful byanyone’sstandards.

I should stop thinking about Isaac, should stop imagining how it would feel to be the one he comes home to — a warm cup of coffee waiting and a shared, comfortable silence filling the room. To be the one he wraps his strong arms around, his lips grazing my forehead in a kiss.

“Stop,” I mutter to myself, rubbing my temples as though that could erase the images in my head. “Isaac is out of your league.”

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