Felix’s eyes flitted around until he spotted the guy. He shook his head. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. He’s gay.”
Her mouth popped open. “No way. I usually have pretty decent gaydar.”
“Oh. He hides it well.”
“Then how can you tell?” she asked, appraising the man in question.
Felix smirked. “Because he gave me his number.”
Her head snapped toward him. “Are you…?” She eyed him, searching for the clues he seemed to see in others, reading between his lines.
But Felix shook his head. “Considering what the sight of you in that dress does to me, I’d say I’m pretty straight.”
Addison’s mouth fell open again, but before she could respond to the comment, another man came up to the bar. She watched Felix mix a Bloody Mary for him, regarding him for a moment instead of the customer.
Felix held himself like he was the biggest, baddest dog in the neighborhood and he knew it. And big he certainly was. Broad-shouldered and muscular, he stood a good foot and a half above her—which wasn’t tough since she was barely over five feet tall. But he wasn’t the hard, ripped kind of muscular that meant his favorite topic of conversation would be how many grams of protein he’d eaten that day or how many reps he’d done at the gym. It was a comfortable kind of muscular. The kind that was made for working rather than looks and was perfect for snuggling. Not that Addison was imagining what it would be like to snuggle with him. Okay, who was she kidding? She totally was.
While Felix cleaned up his station, she nodded toward the customer leaving with his Bloody Mary. “How about him?”
“No.”
Addison blew out a breath, her blonde bangs fanning out. “Okay.”
She then went on to point out several more men circulating the ballroom. Felix wasn’t wrong; the bar seemed the prime place for people-watching. If they weren’t wandering up to it to order, they were congregating around it. But each time she found a potential Prince Charming, Felix shot them down for one reason or another: too rich, too flirty, too awkward, too good-looking.
“Too good-looking?” she asked. “Is there such a thing?”
“Do you want the man on your arm drawing attention away from your good looks?” he asked with a grin.
She flashed one right back. “No one could draw attention away from me.”
“Touché.”
“And besides that, what’s wrong with being too rich?”
He shrugged. “I suppose if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“I’m not out for someone rich. Not exactly. But it certainly doesn’t hurt to never have to worry about money.”
He relented with a tilt of his head. “I’ll second that.”
It was something she knew about all too well.
“There has to be someone you approve of,” she said. “Do you always see the worst in everyone?”
“Occupational hazard,” he said. “But your faith in people makes you an easy target for men. You need to be more discerning.”
“At least I’m open to the possibility of love.”
“Or an unrealistic ideal of some Mr. Perfect fantasy. It’s delusional,” he said, but not unkindly.
“I like to think of it as optimism,” she said, her chin rising. “Well, are there any that you do like? You’ve rejected practically everyone at the party.”
“Well”—his eyes dropped to the counter and he shrugged—“not everyone.”
She just stared at him, suddenly realizing he meant himself.
The bartender was right up her alley, both physically and when it came to his sharp wit and certain brash charm. The kind of guy she’d snatch up like a cashmere sweater from a Boxing Day bargain bin. But that was just the problem.
Addison was famous for making bad choices when it came to men, which was why she was still single. But not anymore. She was done with men like him. Everything was going to fall into place, her career, her love life, her happily-ever-after. And that wasn’t going to involve Mr. Bartender. She’d dated enough bartenders / struggling musicians / I-swear-I’ll-call-you-later one-night-stand disappointments.
Felix was exactly the type of guy she’d normally go for. Which meant he’d be just another mistake like all the rest of them. She’d been there, done that. She’d been used enough times by the wrong kind of guy, and he was probably just another one of them. It was time for her to make a better choice, a smarter one.
It wasn’t Felix’s occupation that bothered her. Looking for a man at a swanky event like this wasn’t about nailing down a guy with money. It was about the manners, the courtesy, the civility—or maybe that was just too many rom-coms about wealthy love interests speaking.
Addison knew money wasn’t everything, but it could sure make life rough if you didn’t have it. In fact, she’d grown up watching a marriage fall apart because of it. The struggling, the bills, the bickering over money. It had finally all ended with a nasty divorce that left her father raising her alone when she was only seven years old.
Even to this day, her father still struggled to keep his corner store in business—something Addison fully planned to help him remedy once her business took off. It would certainly help him and his new wife, Dora, out. It was the least she could do after everything he’d sacrificed for her. He’d even put her through dog grooming school, and it was time she paid him back. And then some.
Ignoring Felix’s hint, she turned her attention back to the rest of the room. That’s when she spotted Thor. Okay, well, he probably wasn’t the Norse god, but he sure looked like him—very Chris Hemsworth except with shorter hair. To add to his noble, dignified stature, he stood next to his English mastiff. The perfect picture of godliness. The kind of guy who should pose for canvas paintings.
Thor was tall and broad, his A-frame filling out his designer suit like it was an extension of his body. It was as though the chandelier’s light had been created just to shine down on his close-cropped golden hair, to highlight his strong features. It was heaven’s light sending her a sign.
“What about him?” Addison’s voice was hushed, matching the reverence of that fated moment.
Felix followed her gaze and snorted. “Well, if you like that obviously rich and handsome act.”
“You can’t act handsome or rich,” she said.
“I mean, what is he trying to prove with that chiseled jaw and those perfectly straight teeth?”
“So what you’re saying is you can’t find anything wrong with him.” Addison stood there, breathing in the moment, committing it to memory so she could reflect on it for years to come. Could recall everything about it when she retold the story of how they met on their wedding day.
She sighed, maybe a little too loud.
Felix clicked his tongue at her. “Obvious much?”
“Threatened much?” she spat back.
“Threatened? Me?” He waved the accusation away. “I’m just looking out for you.”
“I’m not entirely certain it’s my best interest you have in mind.” She glanced pointedly down at his crotch.
Addison turned to Princess. The doxie seemed to give her a nod, like this is it. She set Princess down on the hardwood floor and turned away, not bothering to glance back at Felix.
“Wish me luck,” she said over her shoulder.
“I thought it was destiny,” he called out after her, “not luck.”
But Addison’s focus was now on the owner of the English mastiff.
She felt as though she was walking in slow motion across the room, that this really was it. Her whole life, her search for the perfect man, had been building up to this one moment in time. She made her way across the room, and the crowd moved like they were parting for her, for them. Making way for destiny.
The red bra’d waitress passed by, the movement raising a breeze that blew Addison’s golden hair like a wind machine. As though he sensed her, Thor looked her way. His eyes were drawn to hers like it was scripted. Or better yet, predestined.
The jazz band in the corner seemed to drown out the clink of glasses, the occasional bark, the murmur of voices. It all faded away. It was just the two of them, hurtling through time and space, overcoming all odds to meet in this exact time, this exact place. Like it was meant to be.
She began to move faster and faster. At the same time, he lurched toward her. It was as if some unseen force was pulling them together. Then she realized it was in fact their dogs tugging on their leashes, closing the distance between them.
Addison’s high heels skidded and clicked on the polished flooring as Princess urged her closer and closer to the English mastiff and his owner, out of curiosity to meet her new competition. Or maybe because she too understood how important it was for them to meet.
The heels made it difficult to hold Princess back, and since her soul mate’s dog probably weighed two hundred pounds, Addison imagined he had a harder time. But it didn’t look like he was putting up much of a fight. Not with that dazed grin on his face as they drew closer to each other—probably the same one she had on her face.
Addison’s focus had been so fixed on him that she’d forgotten there were still other people in the ballroom. So it came as a complete surprise to her, and the waiter, when Addison bumped into a passing server handing out champagne glasses.
The silver tray went flying. Glasses smashed around their feet. The server tried to catch Addison as she stumbled forward, but Princess had stopped to lap up the champagne, and they both got caught in her leash.
Addison pitched forward. Unable to move her legs, she automatically threw out her hands.
The hardwood floor flew up to meet her. But she never reached it. Instead, she landed in cashmere-clad arms, staring up into eyes as blue as the heavens in which he fell from: Thor.
3
Doggoneit
Addison gazed up at the man of her dreams, conscious of his strong arms around her waist. “My hero,” she said.
Thor’s face lit up. Felix had been right; he really did have perfect teeth. “My pleasure, miss. Are you all right?”
She did a quick mental check. There was light-headedness, the heart palpitations, and stars blinking across her vision. In other words, she was as twitterpated as Bambi. Addison reminded herself to breathe.
“I’m much better now, thank you.”
Thor helped her to stand, steadying her as she untangled her legs from Princess’s leash. His firm hands burned hot against her exposed arms, and the sensation ran through her like lava. When she looked up, his gaze was locked on her eyes, not her low neckline. But of course they would be; her soul mate was a gentleman.
He held out his hand. “My name is Phillip Montgomery the third.”
“Addison Turner.” She put her hand in his and felt the sparks fly, just like in the movies.
Instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips and kissed the back of her hand lightly. Not many men could pull off the gesture. She would have rolled her eyes if it had been anyone else—especially a guy like Felix. But this wasn’t just anyone. It was Phillip Montgomery III.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Addison.”
“Likewise.” Oh, this is going well, she thought. She even sounded posh. Posh enough to date a guy that had a number after his name.
Addison could have continued to stare into those beautiful blue eyes all night long if someone nearby hadn’t cleared his throat. Reluctantly, she pulled her attention away from Phillip to see the small group he’d been standing with staring expectantly, as though waiting for introductions. Princess bumped into her ankle, reminding her that she was there too.
Phillip gestured to the round man on his left. “Addison, this is Walter Boyd. He’s one of the judges for this year’s Western Dog Show.”
“Actually, I’ve been a judge every year for the past fifteen years.” His chest puffed up, causing his buttonholes to pucker from the extra strain. “I’m the longest-running judge on the panel.”
“Judge Boyd has a very keen sense of perfection,” Phillip told her. “It’s almost like a sixth sense. It’s uncanny, really.”
“Hopefully that keen eye spots my little Lilly this year,” said a short, balding man with a cane. “Not that I’m worried, of course. She hasn’t let me down yet.”
Phillip laughed good-naturedly. “She’ll have a tough time stealing the attention away from my Baxter, here.” He patted his English mastiff’s wide head. “Addison, this is Alistair Yates.” He gestured to the balding man. “He’s been competing in conformation shows for, what is it now? Forty years?”
“Careful now.” He shook the curve of his cane at Phillip teasingly. “You’re aging me.”
“Alistair has hired a handler this year to prepare his beagle for conformation,” Phillip said.
“The old hip isn’t quite what it used to be. But my Lilly is in good hands this year.” He gestured to the tall, thin woman standing next to him. “This here is—”
“Penny Peacock.” Addison’s mouth popped open as she gaped at the woman’s familiar face, one she’d seen in magazines, on dog food tins, etched into treats, and on pooper-scoopers. She closed her mouth when she realized how rude she was being. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I’ve read all about you in Doggy Digest. You’re the best handler there is,” she gushed, feeling the rush of meeting a Dogdom star.
Princess barked, like she too recognized Ms. Peacock from the aisle in the pet store that was practically dedicated to her products. And to think, Addison was actually meeting her in person. If only she could get Penny to notice her designs that night. One word from her on social media and Addison would have no trouble filling the seats at her fashion show.
“Penny is the best of the best,” Phillip said.
Penny’s hooked nose rose an inch, but she looked pleased. “Oh, well, I wouldn’t go that far.”
Alistair leaned on his wooden cane eagerly. “She has never lost a competition. That’s why my Lilly’s a sure win.”
“I’m only as good as the dogs I handle,” Penny replied.
Addison thought that if she was a better actress, it almost would have sounded humble. But she supposed she deserved to be a little smug with a resume boasting a qualification like I’m the best. Besides, when your face is on dog food, you don’t have to apologize for anything.
“Well, we’ll see about that,” Walter said. “That’s a job for the judges to decide.”
Now that the introductions were through, Phillip turned to Addison eagerly, or rather to Princess. “You have a beautiful dachshund.”
Princess’s floppy ears perked up, relieved the conversation had finally moved onto a more interesting topic: her.
“Oh, thank you,” Addison said, picking Princess up so she could be involved in the discussion.
“Yes, she’s quite the specimen.” Penny’s eyes seemed to narrow, like she was homing in on the competition. “Are you planning on entering her this year?”
“Unfortunately, she wouldn’t get very far,” Addison whispered, as though Princess might hear.
Judge Boyd laughed, or maybe he was just clearing his throat. It turned into a phlegmy cough and tapered off into a struggled wheeze. “She would have been a fine specimen. Of course, I could see the bitch was flawed from a mile away.”
Addison cringed at the word. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to the b-word used so flippantly in the show dog circuit—especially not when it came to her Princess.
“She’s not flawed,” she said, a little sharper than she’d meant to. “She’s perfect.”
“I’m sorry to hear you won’t be entering,” Penny said, shoulders relaxing. “But she’s awfully lovely. Who is your stylist?”
“I style her myself,” Addison said. “I own my own business in town. It’s called Pampered Puppies.”
“Oh. So you’re the dog stylist everyone is talking about tonight,” Alistair said. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ve done for my Lilly.”
Addison went through a mental lis
t of all the dogs that were dropped off in her care that evening. Melody must have checked Alistair’s dog in. “Lilly. Lilly. Is she the tricolored beagle?”
“Yes, that’s the one.” His expression was that of a proud father’s.
“Best of Breed and Best in Show three years running, you know,” Penny said. “I thought since it was still two weeks away from the show I would allow her to receive a little TLC. It is a special occasion after all.” She eyed Addison sharply. “As long as you don’t cut anything, dye anything, or use any products that are not one hundred percent natural-based.”
Addison recalled the long list of demands and things to avoid during treatment. She had the sneaking suspicion it had been Penny who dropped the beagle off. Her heartbeat jumped in tempo to know she had styled one of the dogs that Penny Peacock handles. God, she hoped she liked her work.
“My assistant is just putting the finishing touches on her pawdicure. Don’t worry. She’s in very good hands.”
“You’re not giving the nails a trim this close to the competition, I hope. You can never be too careful.”
“No, definitely not,” she assured the handler. “But if you like the results of today, I’d be happy to be her stylist for the show.” She automatically drew out a card from her clutch like it was second nature.
Penny held up a hand. “No one touches my dogs but me. Tonight was a special occasion.”
“Of course,” Addison said, a little miffed. To be fair, Penny hadn’t even seen her work, so how could she judge? Famous or not, there was smug and there was pompous. “I suppose a marathon runner wouldn’t trade in his old, worn-out running shoes for new ones before the big race.”
Addison regretted the comment immediately. She was trying to get on Penny’s good side—if she had one.
Phillip snorted but covered it with a cough.
Penny didn’t seem to notice she’d been compared to a pair of stinky, old running shoes, or if she did, she was too serious about show dogs to comment. “I not only train them, but I also groom them, exercise them, and make their own dog food from scratch.”
Beauty and the Wiener Page 3
