Why the hell am I letting her lick my face?
“Stop that.” I hold the dog up and look her dead in the eye. She just grins—again—totally fearless, and I have to admit I’m a little impressed. This tiny pup has more fortitude than half my staff.
She’s also better groomed. There’s not a hair out of place, and she smells faintly of lavender and mint. The fuchsia collar around her neck is in pristine condition, though the rhinestone bones on it are a little flashy for my taste.
I watch as Scarlett pulls a cardboard box from under her desk and begins unpacking supplies. Food. Toys. An offensively bright pink pillow the same shade as the dog’s collar. “Oreo is a French bulldog, in case you were wondering.”
I wasn’t.
“She likes to eat twice a day, so you’ll want to set a timer to make sure you don’t forget—”
My spine stiffens, and I damn near drop the dog. “No way. Miles approved this harebrained scheme. The dog can live with him.”
Scarlett sighs and plants a hand on her hip. “His social calendar is too busy to care for a puppy. Oreo would be lonely. And he said you’ve always wanted a dog.”
“I was twelve when I said that!”
Christ. How has my life come to this? My inbox is overflowing and I’ve got a long day of meetings scheduled, and now I’m supposed to be worried about Oreo’s feelings?
“Fine. Then she can stay in the office.” Because no way in hell is she coming home with me.
“You’re kidding, right?” Scarlett rolls her eyes. “She can’t live in the office. Who would take her out at night?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Fine. Then take her home with you.” I hold the dog out to her, and it’s like a bad game of hot potato. Only in this game the loser is saddled with a four-legged friend.
“I— I can’t do that.” She crosses her arms over her chest, making no move to take the puppy, and shakes her head.
“Why not? This was your idea.”
“Because…” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her lower lip pinched between her teeth. “My apartment doesn’t allow pets.”
Finally, something I can work with. I place the dog on the floor and grab the phone from her desk, punching nine for an outside line. “What’s the number for your property manager? I’m sure we can work something out.”
“No!” She dives for the phone and snatches it from my hand before slamming it back into the cradle. “My roommate is allergic. Like, really allergic. She gets hives. And her nose runs and her eyes get all puffy. Sorry, but Oreo is all yours.”
The dog yips, and it sounds disturbingly like approval.
Scarlett must agree, because she grins and returns to her desk, plopping down in her seat like it’s a done deal.
“I don’t have time for a pet.” There might be a note of panic in my voice, but who could blame me? “And I don’t have the first idea how to take care of a dog.”
“I had a feeling you might say that, so I got you a book.” She holds up a copy ofPuppies for Dummies. Nice. “You’ll be an expert in no time,” she says, sounding far too pleased with herself. “While you’re at it, put a few pics of you and Oreo on your social media. It’ll be good press. And don’t forget to use the hashtag Frenchies of Instagram.”
Frenchies of Instagram? Is she serious?
As a heart attack, judging by the self-satisfied look on her face. Is this really happening? And why am I taking orders when I should be the one giving them?
Because you’ve finally met your match, Hart.
No. No way in hell am I going to let Scarlett Evans get the best of me. She wants a picture? I’ll give her a picture. And I’ll use the hashtag—just to prove her wrong.
Chapter Nineteen
Scarlett
“You were up early today,” Sofia says, pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge. She pushes the door shut with a bare foot and turns to face me. Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy topknot, and she’s swapped her work clothes for yoga pants and an Austin Pride tank. She looks comfy as hell, and I’m suddenly desperate to change. “Please tell me you didn’t go in early to churn out more notes for that sexy sadist.”
