Page 5 of Filthy Rich Bosses

He gestures at Lulu, who's sitting calmly at my feet. "Train her like that. It's impressive."

His gaze is intense, almost uncomfortably so. I shift my weight, suddenly aware of how close he's standing. The scent of his expensive cologne wafts over me.

"Oh, um, it's just patience and consistency," I mumble, trying to step back subtly. But he matches my movement, closing the distance again.

"It's more than that," he insists, his voice low and urgent. "I've never seen anything like it. Do you—do you do that for a living? Train dogs?"

I glance around, hoping to catch someone's eye, but the park has emptied out. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the grass.

"Look, I appreciate the compliment, but we really need to be going," I say, gesturing for Lulu to heel.

That only seems to fuel his borderline unhinged behavior. He reaches out, not quite touching me but close enough that I can feel the heat from his hand. "Wait, please. I'm Grayson Harrington. I have a proposition for you."

My stomach does a little flip. He's undeniably attractive, with that salt-and-pepper hair and chiseled jawline. And that suit definitely screams money. But there's something in his eyes, a hint of desperation maybe, that sets off alarm bells in my head.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Harrington, but I'm not interested in any propositions," I say firmly, backing away. Lulu whines softly, picking up on my unease.

He follows, his expression intense. "You don't understand. This is important. I need your help."

I shake my head, my heart racing. "I really have to go. Come on, Lulu."

As we hurry away, I can feel his eyes boring into my back. Part of me is curious about what he wants, but a larger part is just relieved to be putting distance between us. Whatever his deal is, I'm pretty sure I don't want to get involved.

I quicken my pace, hoping to leave this awkward encounter behind, but Grayson's footsteps echo behind me. He catches up, his breath coming in short bursts.

"Please, wait," he says, his voice tinged with urgency. "I need you to train my dog, Zeus. He's...he's struggling."

I stop abruptly, turning to face him. "Mr. Harrington, I'm not a professional trainer. What you saw with Lulu was just—"

"Exactly what Zeus needs," he interrupts, his eyes pleading. "He's been depressed since Sarah, his previous owner, passed away. He won't eat, won't play. I've tried everything."

My heart softens a bit at the mention of a grieving dog, but I shake my head. "I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

Grayson runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face. "You don't understand. Zeus is all I have left of Sarah. He needs someone like you, someone who clearly has a gift with animals."

I bite my lip, torn between my desire to help and my instinct to keep my distance. "Look, I’m sorry you’re going through this, but—"

"Name your price," he says, his tone almost desperate. "Whatever you want, I'll pay it."

The offer is tempting, I can't deny it. But something about this feels off. "Mr. Harrington, money isn't the issue."

“He’ll die if you don’t train him. They’ll—they’ll force me to put him down.”

I hesitate and he sees it.

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a sleek business card. "Please, just take my card. Think about it. Zeus needs you."

I hesitate, then reluctantly accept the card. "I'll think about it." I have no intention of accepting the offer, but figured saying this might get him to leave me alone.

As I walk away, Lulu trotting beside me, I can't shake the feeling that his offer is something much bigger than a simple dog training gig.

I trudge up the stairs to my apartment, Lulu panting beside me. My mind's still reeling from the encounter with Grayson when I spot my landlord, Mr. Peterson, lurking by my door. My stomach drops.

"Miss Morrow," he says, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "We need to talk."

I force a smile. "Mr. Peterson, what a surprise. Is everything okay?"

He clears his throat. "I'm afraid I have some bad news. You'll need to find somewhere else to live. You’ve got one week to get out."

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