Page 11 of Twin Babies for the Pucking Billionaires

“Three hundred dollars?” I echo, incredulous. “I just want to have the dog scanned to check for a microchip.”

Before she can respond, a tall man appears from the back. He has an athletic build, short-cropped black hair, and brown eyes. He’s wearing a pair of blue scrubs that don’t do much to hide his muscles from view. I can see a tattoo swirling from beneath his sleeve. He looks between me and the receptionist.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asks, his voice calm and steady.

The receptionist explains the situation and he nods, listening intently. He then takes off his gloves, sanitizes his hands, and steps forward to greet me.

“Hello, my name is Dr. Anderson. And you are?”

Wow, he is handsome.

“Millie. Amelia Taylor but I prefer Millie,” I say, feeling a bit more at ease. “I found this puppy in the park and just wanted to get it checked out.”

Dr. Anderson smiles reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Millie. We’ll take care of it. Let’s see if it has a microchip first.”

I hand over the puppy and Dr. Anderson takes it gently, cooing softly to calm it down. He scans the puppy for a microchip and frowns when nothing happens. “It seems that our little guy here doesn’t have a microchip.”

My face immediately falls. He looks at me and winks. “Don’t worry. How about we step in the back and I’ll have a look at him anyway?”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“But doctor…” the receptionist begins.

“It is okay, Victoria. I will have the paperwork squared away. Tell Charles that the kitten is all ready to go, okay?”

“Yes sir.”

And then he turns his attention to me. “Follow me please, Millie.”

I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “Of course, Dr. Anderson.”

“Please. Call me Chase.”

“Thank you so much, Chase,” I say, feeling a wave of relief. “I was worried the dog might be hurt.”

Chase nods. “I understand. You did a good thing bringing it here.”

Chapter Three

Chase

I can’t stop staring at Millie. She’s standing there in a coat, leggings, and sneakers, her brunette hair a bit frazzled. Her hazel eyes are gorgeous and I can’t help but think, fuck, she’s hot.

I clear my throat and ask her to hold the dog while I put on gloves. As she fusses over the little dog, I watch, trying not to let my gaze linger too long.

“Do you think I’ll be able to find her owner?” she asks, worry evident in her voice.

I gently correct her, “It’s a boy dog.”

“Oh,” she says, looking at the puppy with renewed curiosity.

“And to answer your question, I can keep the records on file,” I tell her. “You should put up some fliers after this. Maybe whoever lost him is already looking for him.”

She sighs, sadness creeping into her expression. “It’s so sad thinking the owner could be gone. This little guy looks like he’s been neglected for weeks.”

I decide to keep my thoughts on that to myself. Instead, I hold the puppy out to her. “Put on some gloves.”

“Why?” she asks, confusion crossing her face.

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