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I lower to the ground and wrap my arms around Ava to calm her. She stops barking, but the fur on her back remains raised. The other dogs crowd around me. I’ve succeeded in calming them, but now I need a new plan.
CHAPTER 26
GAVIN
“I’m no longer in complete control.”
Saying the words out loud doesn’t make the reality any easier to swallow. And it doesn’t help that my audience is drooling all over my BMW’s leather interior. A glance in the rearview mirror as we turn off the Palisades Parkway confirms he’s still lounging on the rear leather seats.
The Bull Mastiff in the backseat isn’t entirely responsible for my rising panic. Though I have to admit the thought of having him in my care forever is a little daunting. If my plan fails—and there’s a chance it might—he’ll become my sole responsibility for the rest of his life.
My very own one-million-dollar dog.
To be fair, the Upper East Side rescue waved the adoption fee. The seven-figure donation was a bribe to keep the shelter open and process the paperwork after closing time. Of course, they called it a donation. And the woman was already considering my plea after I asked for the dog that had been there the longest, the one every professional in her organization believed would never, ever find a home.
That left me with the five-year-old diabetic drool factory in my back seat.
“Seriously, Diamond,” I continue. “You don’t mind if I call you that, do you? You’re my living, breathing replacement for a Tiffany engagement ring. But don’t worry big guy. She’ll like you more.”
The Mastiff cocks his head and another strand of drool flows from his jowls.
“Unless the rescue was lying about your ability to get along with other dogs,” I say. “If that’s the case, we’ll have to fix up the barn just for you big guy.”
No response from the backseat.
“Or she wasn’t impressed by my morning show appearance,” I add.
That’s the big raincloud of doubt slowly washing away my control. I sent a letter to everyone in my company last night exp
laining my past, and my plan to share it with the world. The feedback was overwhelmingly positive. Although Margaret pointed out that I was still the billionaire in charge. They weren’t likely to say anything negative to my face, or over email.
But my employees, my customers—hell, there isn’t a single person whose reaction I care about beside Kayla. I glance at my cell again and then return my eyes to the road. I’ve called her half a dozen times since I left the TV studio. I sent her a text before I loaded Diamond and all of his food and medications into my car.
No response.
“What if she fell while hiking?” I muse out loud.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. That’s the most likely explanation. I instruct my cell to find Lucie’s number and dial. It’s a damn good thing I saved her cell number in my contacts after Kayla was shot. When it starts to ring, I put the call on speaker.
“Hello?”
“Deputy?”
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“Gavin Black,” I say quickly. “Listen, I’ve been trying to get ahold of Kayla.” I launch into an abbreviated explanation, leaving out the details of my morning show appearance, and my plans to propose, for real this time. “I’m worried she fell on her way down the trail. Any emergency calls come in?”
“Not today. I can send an officer to check,” she says. “But first, I’ll swing by her house. No point sending someone on a hike if she’s home. Plus, cell reception can be spotty in the country. There’s a chance she set her cell down in a dead zone.”
“She wants to hear from me, Lucie.” I can tell from the deputy’s tone that she’s wondering if Kayla’s simply ignoring me.
“I’ll swing by when I can, Mr. Black. You have my word.”
“Thanks, Lucie.”
Forty-five minutes later, I turn into the driveway and park behind a four-door sedan.
“Took you long enough, Lucie,” I mutter. I thought the deputy would have come and gone by now.
