by Inara Scott
“Really?” she replied, trying to think of something professional and yet intelligent to say. Something to distract him from the smell of her jacket and the state of her ponytail. “I guess he’s not used to elevators?”
Not exactly her best work.
“Elevators? I wish. Honestly, he’s not used to leashes. Or other dogs. Or obedience, as far as I can tell.” He sighed, though something in those hazel eyes continued to twinkle. “I’d probably just walk him at three in the morning to avoid crowds, but he’s taking some medication that makes him drink about five gallons of water a day, which means he needs to go outside to take care of business every few hours. I don’t have much choice.” He shrugged in an I’m exquisitely gorgeous but also adorably helpless sort of way.
She could tell he was fully expecting her to throw her panties at him and call it a day. Which wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities, although thanks to her disastrous history with men, she had a much more finely developed sense of self-preservation than most. Instead, she forced her brain back to business and a single word popped out of her mouth. “Steroids?”
He blinked. “Yes, how did you know?”
“Mastiffs are prone to skin allergies. Steroids are a common treatment, and they happen to make you thirsty, which explains why he drinks so much. You might want to try changing his diet. He could have a food sensitivity that’s causing the skin problem.”
Predictably, she was now doing her annoying wannabe-veterinarian babble. Great.
“Really? I’ll have to give that a shot.”
She couldn’t tell if he was serious or not, but she’d fallen asleep the night before watching Build Your Business in Ten Easy Steps on YouTube and was suddenly aware that this was the moment where she needed to make her pitch. Mr. Gorgeous was obviously rich. Maybe his sister—who clearly needed some help with her dog—was as well.
“You know,” she said, trying to sound innocently helpful, “there are harnesses that attach the leash at the chest. You can also get a head collar or muzzle if he’s aggressive. Has your sister done any obedience training with him?”
“Training?” Tess wanted to cringe as his gaze slowly swept her from head to foot, lingering on the stain on her chest, her large glasses, and the hair falling out of her ponytail and around her shoulders in pathetic clumps. “I doubt it,” he said, “Alli isn’t the most responsible person you’d ever meet.”
Despite the fact that he was probably thinking she hardly looked capable of taking care of herself, let alone a giant mastiff, she soldiered on. “What part of the city does she live in? I might know some people who can help her.”
Like me.
“Actually, Wick’s staying with me right now.” He patted the dog’s enormous head with one large hand. “He just arrived a couple of days ago, and to be honest, I’m just in survival mode at this point.”
Tess forced herself to maintain a pleasant, confident smile at the realization she was actually now peddling for work from Adonis himself, not his sister. “What do you mean?”
“He’s, er, a bit of a challenge,” he replied, looking down at the dog with a concerned expression.
Internal alarm bells started to go off in Tess’s brain. She’d walked a lot of dogs, and on a scale from “easy” to “complete pain in the ass,” she had a bad feeling where Wick would end up. “What’s wrong with him? Is he recovering from an injury? I noticed he favored that back right leg.”
She could almost see the wheels turning in his brain. His gaze flicked to the dogs sitting quietly at her feet, and then to the vest she was wearing with the words, Trust Tess! embroidered on the pocket. She could feel the moment everything clicked in his mind, and then the preternaturally beautiful smile returned to his lips.
Warily, she took a step back.
“Trust Tess?” he murmured. His eyes lit up, and he gazed at her with a look of pure joy. “Tess, I knew you looked familiar! You’re a dog walker, right? I’ve seen you in this building before.”
She nodded. “I’m here a few days a week.”
“I’m Mason Coleman.” One of his biceps flexed as he gripped the collar more tightly in one hand, and waved with the other. “This creature is Wick.”
He exuded warmth and charm, waves of it coming off him like radiation from a nuclear power plant in meltdown. Even in the face of her significant skepticism of what was increasingly feeling like a con job, Tess could feel every one of her lady parts replying like a chorus of angels. “Yes,” they sang. “Take me! I’m yours!”
“Tess Papion,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Tess, I can’t tell you how happy I am to meet you.”
“Why?” She stepped back farther.
“You’re a dog walker,” he said softly.
“Yeess,” she replied.
“And you train them, too?” he whispered, almost reverently. “Like those dogs?” He gestured with his free hand toward Beyoncé and Jay-Z. “They sit when you tell them? And stop barking?”
She nodded again. Sid Sales, the star of Build Your Business in Ten Easy Steps, would probably tell her that this was the moment to close the deal. But there were two big red flags to this sale. The first was an enormous mastiff with some sort of undisclosed behavior problems and, apparently, very little in the way of training. Tess didn’t mind a challenge, but it would have to come with compensation.
The second was the man on the other end of his leash. While she enjoyed checking out eye candy as much as the next girl, she had a bad feeling this particular piece was all kinds of dangerous.
“You’re pretty small.” He seemed to be weighing her with his eyes, and she suddenly found herself wondering if eating the entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s the night before had been a good decision. “Have you worked with big dogs?”
She snorted. “You’ll be happy to hear that, in my experience, size doesn’t matter, Mr. Coleman. It’s all about attitude.”
He smiled, and this time, it actually felt genuine. “Mason. And whoever told you that was lying.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” She rolled her eyes and shot a glance at the elevator, wishing there wasn’t a two-hundred-pound beast lying in front of it. This was painfully close to flirting. She didn’t care if he did need a dog walker. She needed to get the hell out of this hallway before she really embarrassed herself.
“Seriously,” he said, the laughter disappearing from his voice as he captured her in his golden gaze. “Tess, please. Tell me you’ll move in with me.”
Chapter Two
“Move in with you?” The woman looked at him like he was several marbles short of a full set. “Are you insane?”
Mason was unable to believe his luck. The disheveled street urchin had dark hair piled on top of her head, half of it spilling out around her ears in a messy ponytail. A tiny, gamine face with a pointed chin and warm brown eyes peeked out behind large, dark-rimmed glasses. She wore loose jeans and an oversize army-green jacket beneath a yellow vest.
She was dirty, rumpled, and if those glasses weren’t throwing shadows, had dark circles under her eyes.
She was perfect.
And if he wasn’t mistaken, just a tad desperate.
Which made her even more perfect.
“Oh no, I’m definitely not insane. And I’m not kidding.”
He’d seen her in the lobby of the building before, usually with a small herd of dogs and that ridiculous yellow vest, yet she was so utterly forgettable, blending in so well with her surroundings that he’d never really noticed her.
Trust Tess? Hell, he’d marry Tess if she’d take care of his dog.
She cocked her head, as if trying to decide if he was serious. The dogs sat next to her like statues, the little white one in her arms wearing a look of utter disdain. “Ah, thanks, I guess? But we’ve known each other for less than one minute. I usually wait at least five before I bring over my toothbrush.”
He launched into persuasion mode. “Just hear me out.” He waved his free hand toward Wick. “T
his monster needs full-time care. And training. To be honest, I’m not sure there’s ever been such a poorly behaved animal. Not to mention the whole bathroom business.” He sighed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Well that sounds enticing,” she said drily.
“A challenge!” She wasn’t jumping at his request, but to her credit, he might have been taking the wrong tack by emphasizing Wick’s faults. “He’s the sweetest thing, really. I just don’t know a thing about dogs. I’m clearly in need of professional help, and I’ve heard great things about you—I was actually just going to call Chris to get your number.”
This was a lie, of course. He had no idea what Chris Rosen, who lived three floors down and occasionally ended up at the same parties he did, thought of her. Nor did he have Chris’s number. But he recognized Chris’s dogs from a previous elevator encounter. The man was weirdly attached to them—they had celebrity names, if he recalled correctly. If Chris trusted this woman, so did he.
“Chris is too kind.” He waited for her to say more, but she simply studied at him with those big, shadowed eyes. “And I appreciate your interest. But unfortunately, I don’t move in. Or do overnights. I’m happy to talk about coming over during the day, though, if that would be helpful?”
“Sure, I can see how an overnight would be inconvenient, not to mention you probably have safety concerns.”
She adjusted the tiny creature in her arms and a piece of hair fell over her forehead, shielding half her face. She pushed it back with a small, feminine hand. Her nails were short and neat. No shiny lacquer. No jewelry or watch.
He tried again, determined to make some headway. “Here’s the thing.” He focused on exuding trustworthiness, which was surprisingly challenging while gripping the collar of a two-hundred-pound dog who was determined to keep his head on the ground. “I work all day, so I can’t be around when he needs to get out. And sometimes I have evening events, too. That’s why I was thinking having you stay overnight would be perfect. Surely we can figure something out? Some way to make you comfortable with the arrangement?”
Her mouth thinned in irritation. He froze, startled by her lips. They were pink, lush, and finely shaped, full on the bottom with a perfect bow on top that promised something completely at odds with her otherwise disheveled, haphazard appearance. Something he’d said bothered her, and he forced himself to look away from those lips to meet her eyes.
“What’s that?” he said, turning back on the charm as he realized she’d said something while he was staring at her lips.
She sighed. “I said I work all day, too. And at night. I’m sorry, I really do appreciate the offer, but I can’t just drop everything and come babysit your dog twenty-four hours a day.”
He surveyed her again, noticing this time the fraying at the cuffs of her jacket and the faded leather of her boots. “Where else do you work? Can you take time off? Just until he’s settled? I’ll compensate you very well.”
He put a little extra emphasis on the last sentence. Not enough that it sounded indecent, just enough to suggest that he understood this might be a hardship.
She pushed the stubborn lock of hair back behind her ear. He read people for a living, but it didn’t take an emotional telepath to see she was considering it. “I work part-time for a vet,” she said, “I don’t have vacation days. And I definitely can’t stay the night. I have other commitments. That’s nonnegotiable.”
In his experience, nothing was nonnegotiable.
“What do you do at night?”
“None of your business,” she said evenly. “Look, I appreciate the fix you’re in, and your offer is an interesting one, but it’s not going to work out. Maybe you should try one of the online services. I know there are people who do overnight jobs.”
He glanced at her hands. No ring.
And something about her seemed…well…single.
“Tess, please, you can see I’m desperate, but I also really care about Wick. I can’t imagine trusting him to a stranger.”
She cleared her throat. “You do realize that I’m a stranger, right?”
“No way. You are the answer to my prayers. Everyone in this building trusts you. What do you normally charge Chris? An hourly rate? I’ll double it. Triple it. And I’ve got all sorts of references you can call. I swear I’m not creepy.”
The tiny white ball of fluff in her arms whined softly. She absently stroked the dog’s head, seeming strangely unaffected by the display Mason was putting on. “I’m pretty sure the creepy ones don’t announce it.”
“You can Google my company. Livend Capital. I’m an upstanding businessman.”
“A businessman?” She gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Well then, I’m definitely safe.”
He laughed, enjoying her refusal to back down far more than he should. “I grew up in Yuba City, near Sacramento. You can call my high school principal. And my grandmother. I’m pretty sure they’ll both vouch for me. I’d put you in touch with my mom, but she’s out of the country right now.”
“And perhaps not the most unbiased of sources.”
Wick groaned and lurched around, struggling to get to his feet in a sudden rush, as if he’d just remembered that this had all started because he needed to pee. Mason’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He’d promised Connor and Nate that they could get together this afternoon to make up their usual Friday meeting that he’d missed because of Alli’s panicked call. Not to mention that they needed to talk strategy, since he’d also missed the meeting he was supposed to have had with the fuel cell kids who were probably right now being courted by one of their rivals.
“Four hundred dollars a day,” he said quickly, deliberately not thinking about how much this could end up costing him. Damn Alli and her bladder-control-challenged dog. “You can come at six in the morning and leave at ten at night.”
He had to admit the overnight thing was a little much to ask. At least for now.
Wick whined and stretched, then pawed Mason’s leg and pointedly rubbed his head on Mason’s ankle. Mason was starting to think the dog deliberately flung his drool all over Mason’s pants to punish him when he didn’t move quickly enough.
Tess looked pointedly at the dog, then back at Mason. “Four hundred dollars,” she said, “but I’ll come at eight, leave at eight. With breaks to take care of my other clients. Weekends are an additional hundred dollars a day, but I’ll stay till ten if you need me.”
“Wick can’t be left alone for more than an hour or two.” He eyed the street urchin more carefully. He hadn’t expected her to drive a hard bargain. Or any bargain, for that matter.
“That’s fine. I can work around that. So I arrive at eight in the morning, leave at eight at night. I’d be here unless I’m walking my other clients, but I won’t leave him for more than two hours at a time. Good?”
He nodded slowly. Had she just out-negotiated him?
“Good,” she said again, with a sharp dip of her chin in assent. “But I can’t commit just yet. I need to make some calls to my other jobs and then I’ll let you know for sure. And I need a couple of hours to run home before I stay for the rest of the day.”
“I need you back in an hour,” he said, punching the elevator button behind him. “Or I’ll have to start calling around for other people. I’ve got meetings today.”
“I need two and a half hours,” she replied firmly. “You said yourself that you’re desperate. Not to mention I have stellar references, and I don’t just walk, I also train. Which you clearly need. Now, two hours isn’t going to kill you, but your menace of a dog might kill mine. I’ll have to take her home. And I need a parking space nearby. I’m not taking the bus home at night. Do you have an extra space in the garage by any chance?”
He contemplated her silently for a moment. “You’re very demanding.”
“So I’ve been told.” Her pointed chin jutted in a delightfully stubborn way.
The elevator chimed behind him. He had already poked around a little online
and there were a million services that provided dog walking. But he needed someone who was good. Someone he could trust. Someone who could start right away.
“Fine.” He examined her more closely, wondering if there was a body under all those clothes. She was average height, and he guessed she was in her mid-twenties, though something about her eyes seemed older. Legs? Breasts? He stopped around mid-chest to assess more thoroughly. It was hard to tell precisely what lay under the stained T-shirt and oversize jacket. But those lips. He looked at them again. There was something about those lips. “The code for the garage is seven-zero-zero-six. Park in space number thirty-three, and then come up to the fifteenth floor, number three.”
She pulled out a cell phone and managed to balance the dog in the crook of her arm while she typed in the digits. “Give me your phone number,” she said, a hint of a flush rising in her cheeks as he continued to examine her.
He paused. “I don’t give my number lightly,” he said. “Too many naked selfies come my way for that.”
She startled, her head jerking up. “What?” When he gave a mocking grin she gritted her teeth and gave him a deliberately fake smile. “No worries about that. But I do need a way to contact you. I may not be back.”
He smiled, looking her over one more time, taking in the color in her cheeks and the faintest hitch of her elevated breathing with a small feeling of relief.
She had noticed him looking.
“I’m not worried. You’ll be back.”
…
Arrogant. Not to mention full of himself. Not to mention cocky and conceited. And rich. And hot. Jesus, she’d thought her body might spontaneously combust when he’d studied her from head to toe. Her nipples might also be permanently at attention, thanks to that searching examination.
Tess stopped on the sidewalk outside the Stella and stared at her phone, scrolling through the Google results. He wasn’t making it up. Mason Coleman was one of the three founders of Livend Capital, which, according to Google, was a venture capital fund with its home office in downtown San Francisco. This was a little unusual, as venture firms tended to be located in Palo Alto or Menlo Park, but unusual seemed to describe Livend and its founders perfectly.
