Page 27 of Inked Adonis

“Hey, big guy,” I whisper, scratching behind his ears. “Where’s your?—”

The words die in my throat.

Becauseholy shit.

A woman emerges from between two ancient oaks, and suddenly, I get why she made me wait forty-five minutes. Beauty that absurd takes time to craft.

She floats across the grass in head-to-toe Lululemon. The morning sun catches her hair—white-blonde and straight as rain—making it look like she’s wearing a halo. Every guy jogging past nearly breaks his neck doing a double-take. One even runs straight into a tree.

She doesn’t notice.

Or maybe she’s just used to leaving destruction in her wake.

Her glacial blue eyes finally land on me, and I feel about two inches tall. They’re the kind of eyes that could freeze hell over. I’m guessing they probably have.

“Nola?” she asks, her tone suggesting my name isn’t worth the effort it takes to say it.

“Nova,” I correct, forcing myself to stand straighter. “Nova Pierce. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Alekseeva.”

I stick out my hand. She stares at it like I’m offering her roadkill.

“Katerina,” she drawls, already looking at her phone. “Hope speaks highly of you.”

Rufus headbutts my hip, whining for attention. His owner doesn’t even glance his way. Eight grand for a dog she won’t even look at.

I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood.Remember what Hope said. No judging.

Even if this woman is exactly the kind of client that makes me want to scream into a pillow every night.

“Shall we walk?” Katerina asks, though she’s already clicking away on her crystal-covered iPhone, clearly expecting me to follow.

Rufus and I exchange a look.

This is going to be a long morning.

“He’s making real progress with the basic commands,” I say, jogging to keep up with Katerina’s runway strut. “Especially his leash manners. Though it would help if?—”

“Have you heard of Daytona Dog Spa?”

I pause and blink at the conversational U-turn. “The obedience school?”

“Mm.” She taps something rapid-fire into her phone. “They charge ten thousand annually. Very exclusive. The mayor’s chihuahua goes there.”

Of course it does.

“Rufus doesn’t need?—”

“I’m thinking of enrolling him.” She glances at me for approximately half a second. “For someactualtraining.”

There aren’t words to describe how annoyed that makes me. For one, she says it like all the work I’ve been putting in with him isn’t worth a damn thing. And, granted, it’s not been the smoothest ride, but I’m good at what I do and Rufus is a handful and a half and it’s pretty rude of her to belittle me without so much as meeting my eyes.

Secondly, she says “training” like all condescending upper crusties do: as if the dog is a malfunctioning robot, not a livingthing with a soul and a personality. If she’d bother to just peek at him, even for a second, she’d see how full of love he is.

“He’s really very smart,” I try again. “He just needs consistency and?—”

“I’ll need you six days a week instead of four.” Her tone makes it clear that it isn’t a request. “Same times. Longer walks.”

Rufus starts pulling toward a squirrel, giving me an excuse to pause and gather my thoughts. And my temper.

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