Page 15 of The Billionaire's Pawfect Match

“Of course not,” he says at last, though his tone doesn’t quite convince me.

“Then please, for Baxter’s sake, prioritize these few minutes we have.”

The air between us is thick with tension, and I don’t know if he’ll agree or if he’ll take Baxter’s leash and walk away. Heck, I don’t even know if I’ll stay.

The urge to walk away from all this — to abandon the struggle, even though it means abandoning the money — presses against my ribs. But then Baxter nudges my palm with his nose, and the touch anchors me. I stay for him.

“Fine,” Isaac concedes after a moment that stretches too long. “Let’s get on with it.”

We resume the training, our movements mechanical — the sit, the wait, the quiet praise. Isaac participates, but there’s a new distance in his mannerisms, a careful neutrality. We speak sparingly, functional words that bridge the gap without really connecting. I miss the man who surprised me earlier, who seemed like he might care after all.

Maybe that man was only a mask, one that Isaac couldn’t keep on for more than thirty minutes.

By the end of the session, Baxter is sitting on command, and it’s a small victory in a rough morning. I hand Isaac the treat to give Baxter, our fingers brushing in a fleeting, accidental touch that feels like an apology neither of us has the courage to voice out loud.

“Good job today,” Isaac says, and there’s an attempt at warmth there, a feeble bridge over the divide that has opened between us.

“Thank you,” I reply, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.

I’m left with a hollow feeling, and it’s because I know Isaac giving good face for half an hour probably doesn’t mean anything. I’ll leave, and then what? Will he even practice training with Baxter like I’ve requested him to? Will he give the dog all the exercise he needs? All the attention?

I already know the answer, and it makes my heart sink.

“See you next time,” I tell Isaac.

As I walk away, there’s a heaviness in my chest that makes me want to fold in on myself. I can feel Isaac and Baxter watching me walk off, both for separate reasons, and it takes all my strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

CHAPTER 9

ISAAC

Igather the cotton fluff scattered across the polished hardwood floor, remnants of a pillow Baxter decided couldn’t survive another day. This time, I’m not furious. I’m defeated.

It’s quiet today, the kind of quiet that makes you think too much, the kind that’s been wrapping around me since Emily dressed me down at the park yesterday.

I toss the last handful into the trash bin and glance at the clock. She’ll be here any minute for today’s scheduled session. The thought sends a twinge of something like dread through my chest.

As I go around the apartment straightening up, I replay the confrontation in my head. I was so sure of myself, my way of doing things. But now, the echo of Emily’s stern voice clings to the recesses of my mind, her words cutting through my stubbornness. Sitting on the edge of the newly reupholstered couch — thanks again, Baxter! — I rub at the growing stubble on my chin, a newfound humility settling in. I hate to admit it, butshe was right; my focus during these training sessions has been lacking.

Baxter whines from his spot by the window, probably sensing my unrest. At least someone does. I’ve felt so alone lately, and I’m not even sure why. It’s not like my dad and I ever spent any quality time together. It was all business between the two of us.

And I’ve never been one to hang out with the guys. All of my friends have slowly drifted away over the years, which I figured was fine. I get more than enough human interaction from work.

I kneel beside the dog, ruffling his golden fur, trying to find solace in the simplicity of his world.

“Sorry, buddy,” I murmur, my voice barely a whisper. “I screwed up. We’ve both got some learning to do.”

Emily doesn’t know about what’s at stake for me, but she doesn’t need to. She’s right. You can’t half commit to a task and expect to reap the full rewards. I should know better than that.

I stand as there’s a knock on the door. My heart hammers away, and Baxter perks up, tail wagging with an enthusiasm I wish I could match.

Swallowing hard, I open the door. “Hello.”

“Hi.” Emily steps through, her posture rigid, her smile a thin veneer of professionalism. I catch a whiff of something fruity on her — apple, pear? — and it stirs something bittersweet within me. “I thought we would start with some leash training today. Take Baxter on a walk around the block.”

I clear my throat, reaching for Baxter’s leash. “Sounds good.”

She nods, and I clip the leash onto Baxter’s collar, careful to avoid his eager nipping. He’s ready for the world outside these walls, his excitement palpable. I make a show of patting my pockets, then deliberately place my phone on the kitchen counter. Her eyes follow the action, and the corners of her mouth lift ever so slightly in approval.

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