“Oh, you mean my muscle-toned arms?” I tease.
“Nope. Your primadonna attitude,” she fires back.
I throw my head back in a chortle. “Ms. Bloom, you are a fascinating woman.”
Lifting the bottle of wine, I gesture to pour more in her glass—she nods in acceptance, and after I fill hers, I do the same for mine.
She brings the glass to her mouth and says, “You never told me how you discovered Pups Fifth Avenue.”
I laugh internally at the thought. “I stalked your Facebook profile, noticed the pet boutique was a place you recently checked in to. You know, you should really turn your profile settings to private.”
Her eyes widen into balls of wonder. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended. I can’t believe Chase Hunter’s a social media stalker. And wait. I searched for your Facebook profile and nothing came up.”
“Who’s the stalker now?” I ask, one eyebrow lifted. “I do have a profile, but took measures to make it completely unsearchable. Only the people in my circle know it exists and only a few end up on my friend’s list. I’ve sent you a friend request, Ms. Bloom.” I wink, raise my glass, and sip.
She says nothing in response, but the pink hue dusting her cheeks tells me more than words alone. “I’ll be sure to accept your friend request once I get upstairs to my phone, you know, before you boot me out of your circle of friends.”
“Ivy Bloom, I won’t be booting you out of anywhere.”
We finish our glasses of wine, then spend the next half-hour cleaning up our dinner dishes.
Ivy retrieves a worn out BB from her living-room-sofa slumber. “Thank you for the wonderful dinner Chase. I should probably turn in since we’ve got an early flight.”
“Yes, I plan to turn in myself. We leave at 3:30 a.m. and have to be on the tarmac at 4:30 sharp.”
“The tarmac?”
“Yes, I have a private jet, a private hangar at Burbank airport.”
She follows me upstairs and the two of us part ways, retreating to our rooms. After a hot shower, I slip on shorts and a T-shirt, then climb into my king-sized four-poster.
‘Twas the night before I go home for Christmas, I’m alone in my bed…while visions of Ivy Bloom dance vividly in my head.
