Page 8 of The Billionaire's Pawfect Match

“See you,” I echo, ending the call.

I stare at the wall, still thinking about her voice. She’s probably used to calming more than just unruly dogs with that tone.

Curiosity piques, and without much thought, I find myself typing her name into the search bar. LinkedIn profiles load, a digital procession of faces, until hers appears. It’s like a punch of reality, or maybe beauty — she’s gorgeous. About thirty, if I had to guess, with black hair that falls in waves over petite shoulders and skin like porcelain. Her eyes, even in the pixelated image, hold galaxies of brown, deep and enigmatic.

A professional connection — that’s all this is, I remind myself sternly. Today’s meeting isn’t about chatting up a pretty girl. It’s about Baxter, about regaining some semblance of order in the chaos he brings — chaos I’m not equipped to handle alone.

I’m supposed to lead, to know what I’m doing, but every chewed cable and misplaced dog poop is a reminder of how far from this company’s legacy I’ve strayed.

I don’t have time to pursue women anyway, no matter how intriguing they seem. There’s too much at stake, too many eyes on me, waiting for me to slip.

And yet, there’s a part of me that wonders what it would be like to meet someone who isn’t part of this gilded world, someone who doesn’t see me just as the heir to an American throne.

That’s always been the problem when I do date. Women see dollar signs, social connections, photos with me that they can use to boost their visibility online.

Getting a hold of myself, I close the browser tab before I’m tempted to look at anything else. I jot down the meeting details on a sticky note, pressing it onto the edge of my monitor —Four p.m., dog park on Fifth.

With a deep breath, I turn back to the documents that need to be read, the endless decisions that need to be made, the silent weight of expectation. There’s work to be done, and at the end of the day that’s all that matters.

CHAPTER 5

EMILY

Well, I got it. My miracle. A blessing falling out of the sky. That is, if I don’t screw up this first meeting.

And what a first meeting it is. This is Isaac Lennox on the other end of this drive — billionaire heir to Lennox Realty and notoriously attractive by any standard. My hands suddenly feel slippery on the steering wheel, and I swallow the fluttering nerves that seem to fill the car like uninvited butterflies.

I realized who he was the second he told me his name on the phone. The knowledge left a strange impression within me, part excitement for my fledgling business and part trepidation because, well, he’s hot and stupidly rich. And not just any kind of hot, but the kind that makes any person with a pulse stop and turn their head.

The park looms into view, a happy place where I often bring the shelter dogs to do some work. I park and spot him immediately: Isaac Lennox standing in a pool of sunlight that seems to adore him just as much as the cameras do. His hair glints with hints of gold, and his posture is relaxed, yet there’s an undeniable authority in the way he occupies space.

Next to him, Baxter, a golden retriever, tugs on his leash. My pulse stutters, skips a beat, then resumes at double pace. I can’t afford to stumble today, not when each new connection means the difference between helping the dogs I love and having to stand by helpless.

I step out of the car, smoothing down my shirt as if to iron out my own insecurities. Drawing a deep breath, I try to anchor myself in the present moment, banishing thoughts of past failures and future worries.Business.This is business, Emily. And you’ve got this.

“Isaac?” I call out tentatively as I approach.

He turns, and for a moment, it’s as if everything else fades into soft focus. The park, the sounds of distant laughter, even Baxter — all inconsequential. Up close, Isaac’s eyes are a startling shade of blue, like the ocean on a clear day, and they fix on me with an intensity that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. The corners of his mouth lift in a brief, polite smile that doesn’t quite reach those striking eyes.

“Emily,” he acknowledges, his voice more resonant in person.

“Nice to meet you,” I manage, though it sounds more like a question than a statement.

And just like that, the spell is broken. Baxter whines, tugging at the leash, and Isaac’s attention shifts back to him, his lips turning into a frown.

“Thanks for coming,” Isaac says. “Baxter… uh, he’s a lot. A lot to handle.”

“He looks friendly, though.”

Baxter seems to know I’m talking about him, because he starts barking and pulls even harder. The sudden burst of energy catches both me and Isaac off guard. The leash slips from Isaac’s grasp, and the golden retriever bolts across the grass with a joyful abandon that only a dog at a park on a sunny day can possess.

“Baxter!” Isaac shouts in fury. The dog just keeps running.

Isaac drops his arms, red blooming across his face. “I’m sorry.”

Instead of answering, I take off after the dog, my feet pounding against the earth, heartbeat syncing with each stride. It’s not the first time I’ve chased after a runaway pup, but it never fails to spike my adrenaline.

“Come on, Baxter! Good boy!” My voice is bright, encouraging, designed to capture his attention without scolding.

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