Dating the Billionaire: A Standalone Romantic Comedy

by Poppy Dunne

  It’s love at first slobbery sight. I laugh as he knocks me down and starts laying on the wet, sloppy kisses. His tail is waggling like nobody’s business, and from the view I’m getting from down here…yep, that is a fella who seriously needs his stones scooped. But who am I to get mad at such a beautiful baby?

  “Oh, I love you too,” I laugh, especially when Archie starts bounding up and down around us, looking to get in on the action. I hear the guy hang up his call, and he takes the big mastiff off me by his collar. The dog whimpers, looking up with “please love me” eyes. Who could ever resist that face?

  “Bruno. Come on, I was on a call,” the man says, though he gives the dog a loving scratch between the ears. Bruno’s massive Gene Simmons tongue lolls out as he gets scritchies. Still chuckling, I get to my feet, dusting at my sweatpants. Archie takes a flying leap into my arms, licking at my chin to make sure he’s still my number one special guy.

  “We almost had to make it a shotgun wedding between these two,” I say, grinning as Bluetooth Man turns to me, finally clearly visible in the pink morning light. When I get the full picture, I nearly do my own Gene Simmons impression. Because this man is a sweaty god.

  He’s at least six one, gotta be, with rock hard biceps and a gray college shirt that is hugging gorgeously sculpted pectorals. His chin is angular, dusted perfectly with stubble, his eyes the kind of steel gray that can only be described as snapping. With looks like this, it makes sense he has some important-sounding job on the other end of a Bluetooth. Hell, he could be the emperor of a small foreign country, one where they’re still on the gold standard and people are all supple and hot even past fifty.

  Man, what a place. I’d like to retire there.

  Then, Bluetooth Man makes Bruno heel, looks me up and down, and says, “You should keep that dog on a leash, you know.”

  Oh, hypocrisy, thy name is This Guy. Cradling my little Archie against my chest, I try to keep myself from sniping as I reply, “You’ve got the bigger ballplayer. And since he’s got all his balls intact, maybe he should be on a leash.”

  “I only meant that smaller dogs can get snatched up easier,” the man says, crouching a little to look into Archie’s face. His forehead creases. “Much, much smaller. Wow. What breed is he?”

  Oh, I get it. A small dog snob. The kind that thinks any animal under fifty pounds makes no sense. I take Archie and press him into Hypocritical God’s face, and Archie gives a friendly lick. The dude starts a little, surprised by cuteness.

  “He’s all tongue and eyes,” I drawl.

  “So I gathered.” The man pats his leg, and Bruno heels at once. He looks like the sort of guy who wrestles bears into submission and then beds maidens fair by bubbling streams, beneath a crush of wildflowers. That is not a fantasy I am having at all. These are just facts. “Sorry to interrupt your walk. It’s just good to get out in the morning.” The guy looks off into the dawn light, which is doing amazing things to his cheekbones, my god. “This canyon is the perfect place—”

  “To feel at one with nature, and be peaceful,” I say, agreeing.

  “—to get some actual work done. New York’s three hours ahead.” Right, of course he’s obsessed with hours at the office. Probably worships at the altar of CrossFit, too. The man finally turns his rugged, admittedly panty-melting gaze back at me. “You keep to a tight schedule, too?”

  Oh, I could try to invent a hundred great and impressive sounding jobs to interest this hot dude I’m never going to see again. But for some inexplicable reason, the truth slips out. “I’m a substitute teacher.”

  “Ah.” He’s got that look that people in a certain tax bracket get when they find out I’m living like an overgrown college student. “That probably doesn’t require…strict hours.”

  That gets my natural redheaded dander up. Putting my chin in the air, I say, “Prepping the next generation for a hard world is a pretty noble calling, if you ask me.”

  Ha! Sweaty God nods in agreement.

  “Sorry. What do you teach?”

  “Theater.” Idiot! Not impressive sounding at all! “Science,” I add weakly.

  “Theater science. Sounds…relaxing.” He passes his glance over me once, probably taking in all the components of a struggling late twentysomething. Well, two can play at that game, buddy. And when I pass my glance over him, I…get lost a little bit on the way. But still, I refuse to give in.

  “It’s a balm for the soul,” I say in the most aggressive way possible. Then I take a step backward with Archie, and feel a rock slip out from under my heel. Oh, shit! I’m going backward, about to take a dive off the canyon trail, and I can just imagine how much this is going to hurt. I’d wave my arms to save myself, but I’d have to drop Archie. Never. You jump, I jump, Jack. Or Archie. Dog.

  But I don’t have to take that dirt bath, because the man steps in and grabs me around the waist, pressing me to his body for one brief moment. My heart beats against him, or it would if we weren’t squashing a tiny, licking dog between us. Still, his arm is a rock hard support around me, and he lifts and deposits me easily back onto the trail. My head spins a little. He steps back, looking strategically tousled and nonchalant. Like he dashes to the mountain rescue of fair ladies on his off days.

  Man, what would his on days be like?

  Don’t get horny on the trail, Chelle.

  Maybe I should ask him to walk with me a bit? Get to talking, laughing, swapping dog stories. I mean, it’s the least I can do for my rescuer…

  And just like that, the hand goes up to the Bluetooth, and Hot Dude forgets I exist. “Ken? Listen, tell Don we need to sell… No, don’t give me that shit, sell, dammit!”

  Hmmf. Well, anyone who’s that wrapped up in his work is perhaps not the right candidate for my maidenly affections. Whistling for Archie, I take off up the trail, having to coax Bruno back when he bounds along for some slobbery love. I finally manage to shoo him home to his hot, workaholic owner.

  “Hey,” the guy calls as I head higher up the trail. “No goodbye?”

  Oh, for god’s sake. I whip around, and this time I don’t even trip over my own feet. Good for me. “Tell Dow and Jones hi for me,” I drawl, flashing him a peace sign. Something about that makes him give a short laugh. And then he rolls his eyes.

  Okay, the laugh was cute, the eye rolling was frustrating in only slightly a sexy way. Tossing my fabulous curls, I run ahead, Archie yipping at my heels. Honestly, some guys are so entitled, so full of themselves, so convinced of their own Master of the Universe shtick.

  Probably a good thing I’ll never see him again.

  Check out Extra Credit!

  Also by Poppy Dunne

  Room Service

  Extra Credit

  Acknowledgments

  I hereby acknowledge that I've been around the block a few times. I've played by conventional rules. Thanks Misha from high school for picking up the tab at the pizzeria in the Bronx. I've broken lots of rules. Alfonso in Barcelona, it was a pleasure to meet you and then never see you again. Me acuerdo muy bien de usted y de su motocicleta. Rule following and rule breaking led me to the alter with my husband...eventually...and I'm grateful for his support. I'm a lucky wife.

  I'm most grateful to the indie publishing community of bloggers, authors and readers who have created an environment where the golden rule rules, and positivity and support abound to allow so many dreams to come true.

  Thank you Kylie and Jo at Give Me Books for your professionalism, organizational skills, and generally lovely demeanors. It's a pleasure to work with you.

  Thank you Gemma Sherlock for your graphics that are sexy and fresh, just like you. ;)

  Thank YOU reader for picking up this book and reading. I hope it made you laugh and smile. I hope you never stop laughing and smiling.

 

 

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