Page 49 of The Billionaire's Pawfect Match

We’re seated in a quiet corner then left to read over the menu. It’s intimate, the table set for two, and there’s a thrill in that exclusivity. This space, this moment, it’s ours alone.

“Hey. Look.” She slides her phone across the table, screen up.

I pick it up, thumbing through the event page she’s pulled up. Two thousand interested or coming — numbers that translate to hope, to change. The dog-wash fundraiser, my brainchild turned reality by the hands of my team, suddenly feels tangible, like I can reach out and touch the success of it.

“Wow, this is… incredible,” I say, handing the phone back. Pride swells within me, buoyed by her excitement. “I never imagined it would get this much attention.”

“Your marketing team really went all out.” Her eyes sparkle.

“Yeah, they did. They’re the best.” I lean back, letting the full impact of the accomplishment settle over me. For so long, my efforts were aimed at personal gain, at increasing the divide between myself and others. But this — helping the shelter, giving back — it’s a different kind of satisfaction, one that fills rather than depletes.

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “For inspiring me to do more, to be more.”

Her hand reaches across the table, fingers brushing mine. “You did this, Isaac. The dogs have you to thank.”

Our waiter arrives, forcing a break in the conversation, but the connection lingers, and I order the first thing I set eyes on, just to get the waiter to leave so Emily and I can be alone again.

As he leaves, our hands resume their silent conversation, each touch filled with echo and ache, and Emily’s fingers linger ever so slightly on mine. I feel the electricity coursing through us, a raw energy that consumes my senses.

“I want to make a difference in the world,” I tell her. “Not because of money or power… but because it’s right. Because it feels right.” I stare into her eyes. Do I sound like I’m babbling?

She smiles, her gaze soft. “You’re already on the right track.”

“I went to see my dad today,” I say, the words bringing up more emotion than I anticipate.

Her expression shifts, a gentle empathy replacing the mirth from moments ago. “How was that for you?” she asks.

“Better than I thought it would be. I talked to him — about Baxter, about us.”

“Sounds like you’ve forgiven him,” she observes, squeezing my hand.

“Maybe I have,” I admit.

We sit in silence for a moment, each lost in our thoughts. Emily’s right — I hadn’t expected forgiveness to find its way through the tangled memories and hurt. But there it is, a quiet acceptance settling in my chest.

“Most times we’re together, Baxter’s tagging along,” she says, changing the subject with a lightness that brings me back. Her smile is back too, teasing at the edges. “It’s kind of weird being here without him.”

“Do you want me to bring him next time?”

“No,” she laughs.

“Good, because I’m enjoying our alone time, and I assume he’s just sleeping in his crate.”

“Sounds nice,” she murmurs. “Will I get to say hello to him tonight?”

“Of course. I would love for you to stop by.”

There’s something about the way she’s looking at me, though, with the hooded eyes and pink cheeks.Is she suggesting…?

I swallow hard. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” I add, hoping I’m not misreading and overstepping a boundary. “I would… love it if you… stayed.”

My pulse quickens. And suddenly, the idea of heading back to my penthouse — with or without Baxter there — seems like the only thing that matters.

Our meal arrives, interrupting us once more. My face is warm, my hands shaking the slightest bit. It’s a strange nervousness that I’m not used to, but I do my best to focus on dinner and the conversation — one that shifts from talk about the weather to her latest client — though the whole while I’m acutely aware of how close her knee is to mine.

“Let’s not wait for dessert,” Emily suggests once our plates are cleared.

There’s no need to read between the lines. What she wants is heavily implied, and I couldn’t agree more. I want —need— to be alone with her. Just the two of us, in our own little bubble.

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