Page 52 of The Billionaire's Pawfect Match

Too soon, breakfast is over. Isaac is gathering his things, Baxter hovering by the door in anticipation. Slipping on my shoes, I open the door so the three of us can head out.

“I wish I could spend the day with you,” Isaac says in the elevator, his fingers threading through mine.

“Me too,” I respond, squeezing his hand gently. “But we have our duties.”

He nods, eyes soft and full of understanding. The elevator dips and groans underneath us as it carries us to the ground floor. Outside, the city is already awake, the rhythm of life pulsing through its veins.

“Can I come by after the meeting?” Isaac asks as we walk through the lobby, Baxter’s leash jingling in his hand.

“You’re always welcome,” I assure him with a small smile.

A grin lights up his face, and a wave of warmth washes over me, erasing the bite of the morning chill.

At my car, he kisses me deeply, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. It’s one of those kisses that make you forget there’s a world beyond the two of you. When he pulls away, he brushes a loose strand of hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear.

“Be safe, all right?” he says.

“I will. You too.” The words feel inadequate. I want to say so much more.

Giving me another wave, he opens his passenger-side door so Baxter can jump in, then goes around to the driver’s side. I wave back at them and get into my own car. Baxter’s tail is wagging out of the window as they pull away, the morning sun glinting off Isaac’s car. I watch until they disappear around the corner before starting my own engine and heading off.

I’m still in a daze, still wrapping my head around everything that’s happened since the first day I walked into that park and met Baxter and Isaac. I would never have guessed that our path would take us to where we are now, that destiny would weave our stories together in more ways than one.

And that I, a girl who grew up learning to trust no one, would be so willing to let it happen.

No, not willing. Eager.

CHAPTER 25

ISAAC

The air in my office feels too thick. My heartbeat throbs in my ears, a pained drumming that underscores the tension coiling in my stomach. Baxter paces restlessly, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor with each frantic lap he makes around the room.

“Easy, boy,” I say. But my voice lacks conviction. I’m anything but easy.

Baxter doesn’t understand the stakes of today, how this meeting could change everything for this quarter. If only Carol were here, she’d take him out, let him burn off that energy that’s got him acting like a furry tornado.

I glance at my phone, drafting a text with thumbs that feel too big.Carol, Baxter’s in my office. Could you please walk him when you get back?

I stand, my movements stiff and robotic as I leave Baxter behind and head to the boardroom. The door looms before me, and I’m shocked to discover that I’m more nervous than I thought I would be. This is my company; soon I will sign the documentsthat make me the official — not just acting — CEO, and yet here I am, feeling like a schoolkid.

It’s not like these clients can make or break the company, but they can certainly make things uncomfortable if they decide to pull. I shake my head to clear the thoughts of doom and gloom, trying to focus on the opportunity instead of the danger. I’ve led countless meetings like this in the past, but never with stakes as high as this. I suppose that when you’re playing for keeps, every move feels crucial, even when it isn’t.

As I step into the boardroom, I feel their eyes on me. Watching me. Judging me.

They’re already seated — suits and ties, leather briefcases, an air of importance that chokes me. Their eyes turn toward me, expectant, assessing. Do they see the cracks in my armor, the doubt that gnaws at my insides?

“Good morning,” I say, but it comes out hoarse, as if I’ve forgotten how to speak.

There’s a chorus of greetings in return, a chorus of politeness that masks the scrutiny happening beneath the surface.

I sit, papers shuffled in front of me, figures and projections that should make sense but now swim before my eyes. It’s all there, the result of sleepless nights and relentless work, but somehow, it feels like sand slipping through my fingers.

“Let’s begin,” I say, but my voice sounds foreign to my own ears.

I start talking, laying out the plans, the numbers, the benefits of choosing us for this massive deal. Yet, every word feels laborious, like speaking underwater. They nod, they jot downnotes, but I can’t read their expressions. Are they impressed or simply polite?

I stumble over a figure, correct myself with a flush creeping up my neck. They don’t comment, but I see it — the brief flicker of doubt in their eyes.

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