Page 53 of The Billionaire's Pawfect Match

“Apologies,” I say, clearing my throat. “Long night.”

“Understandable,” one replies with a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

We continue, the dance of negotiation persisting, yet I feel two steps behind the rhythm. With each passing minute, the burden of expectation grows heavier, pressing down until I fear I might crumble beneath it.

“Any questions?” I ask finally, my voice a plea for this to be over, for them to see beyond my faltering and recognize the potential of what I’m offering.

They exchange glances, murmurs pass between them, and I’m left to the mercy of their judgment. I’ve laid out my hand, played my cards; now it’s up to them to call or fold.

“Thank you.” The head of the team stands and shakes my hand. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you,” I echo, my heart sinking like a stone in deep water.

I rise, legs unsteady, a veneer of calm plastered on my face, while inside I’m a tempest of doubt and recrimination. I shake their hands, the touch brief and impersonal, and watch them leave the room that now feels cavernous and empty.

As the door closes behind them, I lean against the conference table, the cool wood a sharp contrast to embarrassment burningmy cheeks. How did I let myself get so distracted? Emily, Baxter — they’ve become my world, but at what cost?

I need to regroup, to find my footing again. Sighing heavily, I head back to my office, checking my phone on the way there to see if Carol ever responded to my text.

But she didn’t… which is odd for her.

Unlocking the phone, I discover that, while I typed the text, I neglected to send it. The mistake is enough to make me want to slap my forehead.

I pick up the pace, knowing that Baxter likely needs a potty break. Carol’s desk is empty, meaning she’s probably still out running the office errands.

“I’m coming, Bax…” The rest of his name dies before it takes shape, and I stop walking.

My office door is open.

“Baxter?” The name falls from my lips, a whisper of hope against the dread blooming in my chest.

I push the door open, finding what I feared. My office is empty. The dog isn’t in here.

My heart slams against the inside of my chest. Not only did I neglect to send Carol the text; I also forgot to close my office door when I left. What the hell is wrong with me?

The cushion on his bed is indented, a ghost of his presence. His toys are scattered, a chaotic testimony to the energy that once filled this space. But Baxter is not here.

“Isaac.” The voice startles me, and I spin around to find Yasmin, one of my employees, standing in the doorway, her face pale and eyes wide with concern. “It’s Baxter. He?—”

Dread coils tight within me. “What? What happened?”

“He got out,” she says. “The front door… The doorman tried but… Baxter slipped away.”

“Slipped away?” I repeat, the reality of the situation crashing down on me. “He’s loose in the city?”

Yasmin nods, her expression mirroring the panic that’s starting to claw its way up my throat. “We’ve got people out looking for him now, but…”

But the city is vast, and Baxter is small in comparison. A wave of frustration washes over me. This was my responsibility. My father entrusted me with caring for Baxter as a test — a test I have clearly failed.

“Thanks, Yasmin,” I manage to say, though my voice sounds distant even to my own ears. “I’ll join the search.”

She steps aside as I stride past her, each step fueled by a growing sense of urgency. I can’t lose Baxter. Not because of what my father would think of me, but because at this point losing Baxter would mean losing a piece of myself.

Out on the street, the city looms large around me. The cacophony of blaring horns and chattering pedestrians is dissonant, and for the first time I imagine how scary it must all be for a lost dog. I scan the crowds, searching for a flash of Baxter’s golden fur among the sea of faces and legs.

“Where are you, boy?” I murmur, though Baxter cannot hear me. I feel adrift in this metropolis, so full of life and yet so devoid of the one life that matters most to me right now.

“Sir!” One of our security guards jogs toward me, breathless. “Any luck?”

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