When Sawyer’s gaze lands on me, his brow knits—maybe at the “mister” part, maybe the paint, maybe the cleavage. “Morning,” he grumbles.
“Aww, did someone not have his coffee yet?” I tease.
He lifts a mug. “Got it from Pick Me Up.”
“Black. No sugar or cream?” I ask innocently.
He shoots me a suspicious look. “Yes.”
I shrug innocently. “I’m either a stalker or very good at reading you.”
He growls. That’s it. Just growls. The grump is strong in him. But I’ve got this.
I hoist up the paint cans and begin step one. Remind him what’s in it for him. “Anyway, remember how I mentioned yesterday I’d need to decorate to get the space ready for the producers?”
“Right,” he says, skeptical.
“I’m painting it today. And it’ll look amazing.”
He frowns. “I’m not sure the lease allows you to make improvements. Like painting.”
Of coursehe’s a hard-ass.
Step two—compliment him. “Darn. What a great point, and I’m sure you’re right,” I say, then dial up the charm. “But…it’ll help us both so much, and I bought all the supplies. You don’t have to pay for a thing. Would you be willing to make a teensy exception this time?” I ask sweetly, then play my trump card with step three. I set down the paint cans, head to the door, and yank it open. “Captain would really appreciate it. He’s your favorite breed—rescue. Captain, come say hi!”
I pat my thigh and call his name, and Captain bounds through the door. “Give Sawyer a kiss,” I say, smacking my lips and pointing to the man behind the counter.
Captain hops up on his back legs and sets his paws on the counter, tail wagging as he waits for a smooch.
And wouldn’t you know it? The hard-ass leans in and gives Captain a light kiss on the snout.
There it is. Step three—use a dog.
“Aren’t you a good boy,” Sawyer murmurs as the faint imprint of a smile coasts across his lips.
I call Captain back down, then tilt my head and let my shirt slope down juuust a little more. Step four—use a distraction.
That gets you to step five faster—seal the deal. “So, you’ll let me paint? I researched celeb dog trainers in LA, and I’m sure this will help us win the business.”
Sawyer takes a beat, seems to consider this, then gives me a grudging, “Sure.”
“Wait a second. Aren’t you going to help her?” Zuri asks, striding around the corner and giving him a pointed look.
Sawyer furrows his brow. “I thought you said you wanted to help.”
She flubs her lips. “Not with painting. I’m too old for that. And besides, Levi and I were just saying you’d probably want to do it.”
He looks baffled. “You thought I’d want to paint? I have to finish my morning calls to the other locations.”
Zuri’s smile is pure calculation. “I can do that for you. I’ll let you know if anything comes up that requires an executive. And of course I can handle the dogs, and Levi’s got the grooming covered.”
Over by the bathtubs, the tattooed guy with an undercut turns away from the Husky he’s shampooing and pumps a fist. “Yay, the boss is going to paint!”
I snort-laugh as Sawyer glances down at his outfit—tailored slacks, a checked button-down, and a tie. “I guess you’re dressed as Mister Serious Boss today,” I say, then whisper, “but it’s okay if you’re not handy.”
And just like that, he’s undoing his tie, and striding around the counter to help.
Score one for the stalker. Bonus points for the employees knocking the boss down a peg.
