Page 51 of The Billionaire's Pawfect Match

“Are you sure?” he asks, his expression apologetic as he reaches for the phone.

“Absolutely,” I reassure him, sliding out of bed. Baxter wiggles in excitement, sensing the impending walk. “We’ll be fine.”

The only clothing I have here is the dress I wore last night, which won’t do for taking the dog out. Isaac seems to read my mind, though. He’s already answered the phone, but he nods at his wardrobe, silently telling me to put some of his clothes on.

So, I slip into a pair of his sweatpants, the fabric loose and comforting around my hips. His hoodie swallows me whole, but it’s cozy nonetheless, and I like that I’m wearing something that belongs to the man I have the massive hots for.

I at least wore flats last night, so I don’t have to look ridiculous walking around in high heels and sweat pants. Slipping the shoes on and clipping Baxter’s leash to his collar, I head outside.

We step out of the penthouse, and a gentle breeze kisses my face. It’s a beautiful day, and maybe I’m imagining it, but I feel like Baxter is extra happy this morning because he woke up to me being in his home.

It feels right, being here — like pieces clicking into place. Memories flash before me: Isaac’s smile in the moonlight, the tenderness of his touch, the promise in his eyes. I’m falling deeper with each passing moment, and it scares me. Love was never part of the plan. But plans change.

Back in the penthouse, the energy has shifted. Isaac is in the kitchen brewing coffee and making scrambled eggs, but though he flashes me a smile, there’s something tense about him.

“A big client wants a meeting today. Last minute. I’m sorry. I have to go in early. My father used to deal with them, but now…” He sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” I press my palms to his chest. “I understand. Don’t worry about me.”

A grateful smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He sets down the spatula and pulls me close, his kiss sweet and reassuring. “Thanks, Em. It means everything that you understand.”

Understanding is easy. The weight he carries is immense, his father’s legacy, a company worth billions — it’s not just a job; it’s his life. And now, somehow, it’s becoming part of mine.

“Last night was amazing,” he says, brushing a stray hair from my cheek. “And seeing you in my clothes…” A chuckle escapes him, warm and genuine. “I like it. You should leave some of your things here, make it easier for yourself.”

Leaving things behind, marking territory — it’s a step. A big one. But when I look into his eyes, all I see is the invitation to come closer, to become a part of his world. So, I nod, because what else can I do when every fiber of my being already feels entwined with his?

“I like that idea.” I give him another kiss.

“I’m making some eggs and toast. You okay with that?”

“Perfect. I’ll feed Baxter.” It aches to step away from his warmth, but I force myself to do so anyway.

I scoop the kibble into Baxter’s bowl while he sits watching, salivating. Isaac slides eggs onto plates, pours coffee. It’s our first morning together, and already we have a routine that I could get used to.

“Here you go, boy,” I murmur as Baxter eagerly noses his breakfast, his tail wagging a frenetic rhythm against the sleek kitchen cabinets. I smile, my heart echoing that simple joy.

Isaac catches my eye from across the island, his own lips curling up in response. There’s a lightness between us, fragile as a soap bubble, shimmering with possibility. For a moment, everything else fades — the looming meeting, the responsibility for hisempire, the uncertainty of our future. It’s just us, and the quiet comfort of domesticity.

“Thanks for understanding about the meeting,” he says, taking a seat at the island.

“Of course,” I tell him. “You have your responsibilities.”

He nods, acknowledging the unspoken balance we’re navigating. Two lives, each with their own orbits, gradually drawing closer. Leaving things at his place, sharing mornings like this — it feels like a silent signal, a beacon guiding us toward something more official, more real.

We eat mostly in silence, the occasional brush of fingers or shared glance an ample substitute for words. I don’t miss the way he glances at the clock, and it’s clear that he’s nervous about the upcoming meeting.

“Would you mind watching Baxter today?” Isaac asks eventually. “I would take him with, but this meeting will be a long one and he’d go stir-crazy in my office by himself, and Carol will be out running errands.”

“I wish I could,” I say, feeling a pang of regret. “But I’ve got the shelter today. They need all hands on deck.”

“Right, of course.” Disappointment flickers in his gaze before he masks it with a brisk nod. “No problem. I’ll leave him in the office with a bone, and he’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?” Guilt threads through me, mingling with the reluctance of leaving his side.

“Absolutely.” He sets down his mug, his hand reaching out to cover mine. “He’ll be fine.”

And so will we,the touch seems to promise. Even as the world demands our attention, pulling us in different directions, there’s a tether forming between us.

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