Page 33 of Love in Training
“That’s not what it?—”
“I asked you a question.”
I would not be even a little shocked if lasers came shooting out of Drew Forbes’s eyes in a moment. Which is an unfortunate thought because his resemblance to my longtime crush, Clark Kent, is intense. But that fades away as he steps toward me, speaking in a rumble that sounds nothing like Kyle or Superman.
“That’s also none of your business.” A muscle tics in his jaw. “But I can tell you Kyle would be here with me now, taking care of his own dog, if it wasn’t for you.”
The first time this guy launched that particular assault, I was so unprepared I couldn’t respond. Now, I bristle. “Nice try. I hadn’t even seen Kyle for an entire year before he died.” I narrow my eyes. “When was the last timeyousaw him?”
Drew’s mouth is a thin line drawn in concrete.
I hold out my hand for the leash. “Seems he liked you slightly less than he even liked me. Now, if you’ll please let me havemy dog, I suggest we let the dead rest in peace.”
When he makes no move to hand Rufus over, I snatch the leather out of his hand.
He glowers, but doesn’t stop me.
“You never said why you came in,” he mutters as I head for the door.
“I was looking for a dog trainer,” I say, trying not to lose my balance again as Rufus tugs me.
“From what I can see, you still need one.”
“I doubt we’d be a good fit.” I reach for the door, letting the leash slide down my wrist.
“Stop,” Drew says abruptly. When I turn, he’s coming toward me, stiff and robotic. He grabs the loose leash, and just as I’m about to protest, takes me by the hand.
“What—?”
“You can’t go onto the street like that. If you hold it like this, without too much slack...” He loops the leather over my left thumb, then presses both sides of the leash down into my palm, closing my fingers around it. “You’ll have more control.”
He lets go as fast as he stepped in, and I look up into his face, open-mouthed, as the scent of sandalwood reaches me again.
“I...” I can’t bring myself to say thanks, so I just nod. “Good to know.”
He seems to realize how close we’re standing because he stiffens and steps back, folding his arms so his biceps strain against his sleeves. “You’ll give up eventually. I’m just ensuring you don’t lose him in the meantime.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Monday morning,I am suddenly and unfortunately stricken with a stomach flu so bad I have to call out of work from my bathroom floor. Or, this is the situation I describe in my email to Randall, taking care to include a couple of well-placed typos and the suggestion I might be contagious. This should give me at least forty-eight hours to figure out what to do with Rufus—maybe three days if I push. In the meantime, I research dog sitters. Make an appointment with a vet. And at Lydia’s suggestion, leave messages for a few other trainers. One never returns my call. The second suggests I find a psychic to help Rufus. The third says she can come over at two o’clock.
In between phone calls and dog walks, I sift through the file folder Mimi Vanderpool sent home with me, which is chock full of photographs, emails, and other documentation connecting her husband to the Unmatched app beyond any shadow of a doubt. But listening back through our interview is what lights a fire under me. I’m not someone who’s easily moved, but I get a lump in my throat all over again hearing her describe years of standing by her husband’s side while he lavished affection on other women and encouraged the men around him to follow his lead. The quaver of betrayal in her voice convinces me I have tomake this storyhers. Give her back some of the power he took away. I have plenty of material to do it in a riveting, lengthy feature, but I’m desperate to consult with my editor before I begin. And pissed at my ex’s dog for getting in the way of that.
By afternoon, I decide to just get it out of my system and start writing, drawing a new portrait of a man most people in Denver think they already know: Colin Vanderpool—energy executive, arts benefactor, and founder of a notorious married cheaters app.
Theo would lose his shit if he knew I was pursuing this. He raged about the base-level hate mail and messages I receivedbeforethe Unmatched articles. After I pissed off all those cheating men last year and he saw how much it intensified, I thought he was going to drop in from a helicopter and extract me to a safe house.
Which is why I’m glad I didn’t mention this lead when he asked how things were going. As much time as he spends worrying about my safety, I’m not the one in the top-secret, high-danger, people-shoot-at-you profession. He doesn’t need extra distractions.
Rufus starts what I’ve come to think of as his low-level bathroom whining a little before noon.
“Let me guess. Time to pee on trees?” I ask.
He tilts his head.
“Fantastic,” I say, grabbing my earbuds and his leash. “Now I’m having conversations with you like all the other nutjob dog people.”
