Page 6 of Daddy's Naughty Dog Trainer

I groan, dropping my head to the table. "He's a client. He's twenty years older than me. He probably thinks I'm an unprofessional mess with my pink hair and?—"

"Pink hair that I did a damn good job coloring, if I do say so myself. And, I’m sure he totally checked it out," Christine interjects. "You said he specifically mentioned it."

"He didn’t exactly compliment it!"

"In romance novel world, it means everything," Maya says solemnly. "The stuffy hero always notices the quirky heroine's unusual hair. It's, like, a rule."

I lift my head just enough to glare at her. "This isn't a romance novel."

"But it could be," Jackie sing-songs, finishing her drink. "So, what's your plan of attack?"

"My plan is to train his dog and collect my fee." I sit up straight, trying to sound professional despite the margarita buzz starting to take effect. "That's it."

"Boring," Christine declares. "At least find out if he's got the whole Daddy Dom vibe going on under that uptight exterior."

I nearly choke on my drink. "I am not asking my client if he's a Daddy Dom!"

"You don't have to ask," Maya says with a wicked grin. "Just... test him a little. See how he reacts when you push his buttons."

"That's completely inappropriate and unprofessional," I protest, but I can't deny the idea sends a little thrill through me. The truth is, Sean Ferguson has Daddy written all over him—the commanding presence, the controlled exterior, those moments when his voice goes deep and authoritative.

"Your face says inappropriate, but your eyes say 'tell me more,'" Jackie teases.

"I hate all of you," I mutter, but there's no heat in it.

"Just be late to your next session," Christine suggests. "See how he reacts when his precious schedule is disrupted."

“Again, unprofessional,” I retort.

"Or text while he's talking," Maya adds. "That would drive a control freak nuts."

"Or just wear something cute," Jackie says reasonably. "Nothing wrong with looking good while being professional. Maybe something a bit shorter than you would normally wear."

I shake my head, but I can't help smiling. "You're all terrible influences."

"That's why you love us," Christine says, raising her glass. "To terrible influences and hot daddy dog owners!"

"He's not a daddy—" I start to protest, but they're already clinking glasses, and I give up, joining in the toast instead.

By the end of the night, I've promised them absolutely nothing, but in my head? I'm already planning what to wear to our next session.

I'm purposely seven minutes late to our next appointment. Not late enough to be unprofessional, but just enough to see if it rattles him. I've also swapped my usual training outfit for the tight TikTok leggings that do amazing things for my ass and a fitted tank top under a zip-up hoodie. Last night, I drank wine with Christine as she colored my hair an ombre hot pink. It’s a brighter pink than before, and I left it down in waves.

When Sean opens the door, his eyes do a quick sweep from my hair to my shoes before returning to my face, his expression unreadable.

"You're late," he says, stepping aside to let me in.

"Traffic," I lie smoothly, even though there's never traffic in our small town. "Sorry about that."

His only response is a noncommittal "Hmm," but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes.

Score one for the girls. He definitely noticed.

Lucky, at least, is thrilled to see me, bounding over with such enthusiasm that I have to brace myself to avoid being bowled over.

"Someone's excited for training," I laugh, scratching behind his ears.

"He hasn't stopped watching the door," Sean admits, and there's a warmth in his voice when he talks about Lucky that wasn't there last week. Progress.

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