Adriana hasn't moved. She still stands near the elevator like she's calculating escape routes.
Reaper jumps to his feet, walks past me, and stops right in front of her. Then he sits. Looks up at her with those big brown eyes. Wags his tail hopefully. Adriana looks more horrified than I’ve ever seen her.
“He wants you to pet him,” I say.
“I'd rather not.” She clears her throat. “I don’t do the whole pet thing. Never really been into being licked or jumped on.”
I waggle my eyebrows. “Sounds like we might need to work on those things.”
She shoots me a warning look. “Trust me, there was no innuendo in those sentences.”
Recoiling, I say, “That’s very presumptuous of you. I just meant that we need to get you acquainted with your new family member.”
“Sure, sure,” she huffs.
Reaper inches closer. His tail is going so hard his whole body shakes.
“He's not going to give up,” I say. “Just saying. He’s a persistent one. He’ll do the work to make sure you fall in love with him.”
"There is no amount of work he can do to make that happen. He's going to be disappointed.” She continues to stare at him without making a move to touch him.
But Reaper has no concept of rejection. He pushes his scarred head against her knee, whining softly.
She sighs, reaches down, and gives him exactly one pat on the head. “There. Happy?”
Reaper immediately collapses at her feet and rolls onto his back, showing his belly.
“No.” She steps back. “Absolutely not.”
“Looks like he's in love,” I say with a smile.
“Well, it's not mutual.” She eyes him warily, like he’s a ticking bomb about to explode. “Does he do this to everyone?”
“No. Just you, apparently.” I lean against the kitchen island. “He's usually shy with strangers.”
Her jaw falls open. “This is shy?”
Reaper wriggles on his back, tail still going.
“I’ve never seen him do this before. There must be something about you.”
She shakes her head and steps around him. “Maybe your dog is defective.”
“I think he prefers ‘enthusiastic.’” I nod my head behind me. “Come on, let me show you around.”
The tour doesn’t take long. We walk through the kitchen first.
“This is a professional-level kitchen,” she says, sounding somewhat impressed. “Wolf stove and oven, Viking fridge.” She glances at me. “Is it just for show?”
I give a half-shrug. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”
We leave the kitchen and head down the hallway. As we walk past a closed door, I say, “This is my office, which is off-limits.”
“Why?” she asks.
“I keep all of my work files here. All under lock and key to preserve client confidentiality.”
She nods. “Understood.”
