Besides, isn’t his marriage proof that you can’t really have everything? He certainly didn’t have it with my mother—not if they divorced so late in life. Sure, he’s having a good time now, but heshould. That’s what retirement is for.
“So are you going to show it to me, or are you hiding it from me?” he says, elbowing my ribs. “Or are you just worried all the lovely ladies you work with will wonder if your dad’s single? But I’m taken.”
“You’d never date one of my employees either,” I say, pointing out the obvious.
“You’re right there too,” he says, and that’s one more reminderof why I need to keep things exactly where they are with Chloe—it’s never a wise idea to let your guard down at work.
We turn around, and I take him to Dog Tails, hoping he won’t pick up on any tension I’m feeling around Chloe. Or vibes, either, like Esmeralda did.
When we head inside, I double down on my resting grump face. I barely break a smile as I introduce my dad to the team. I don’t even react when they call me “Mister Serious Boss.”
And I definitely don’t crack a smile when Chloe comes up to my dad at the front counter and gushes about what a great business I run. “He’s fantastic at this, Mr. Dumont,” she says.
My dad beams. “Aww, that’s sweet of you to say.”
“It’s just the truth,” she says.
And fuck, I’m an asshole.
I should smile. But I don’t.If you give an inch, you’ll be in her bed again.
* * *
A week later, the script arrives via email. I’m in my office, but I pop out to head to the training nook just as Chloe’s finishing with a client. When she’s done, I give her a chin nod. “Script’s here. Want me to help you break it down?”
Her lips twitch, and is that an almost eye roll? More like she’s fighting it off. She says, “I’ve got it. Don’t worry. I know how to be ‘part of a team.’” She sketches air quotes.
I sigh, frustration rising in me—over me. “Chloe, I’m just trying to be?—”
“Helpful. Right? But it’s all good. I’ll let you know when I need efficiency advice,” she says, flashing me a bright smile, the kind that looks legit. Since she is this person—all sunshine and sugar.
As if to prove my point, a few days later, she strolls in with vanilla lattes, setting one down for me on the counter. “These are from Pick Me Up. So don’t try to pull thatI don’t like donutsroutine on me. Especially when I need efficiency advice,” she says, then shows me a question on the script about a handful of extra dogs. “I need to get them from here to here. Do we have an hour’s worth of training time with all the daycare regulars?”
“Let me figure that out,” I say, then roll up my sleeves and check the schedule and the local dog talent releases. “We do.”
“Which dogs?”
I peer back at the scheduling software. “Looks like Dandelion and Gunnar for sure. There’s also Baxter.”
“Oh! The sheriff’s dog. I trained him.”
“You did it well. We’ll also have Shortcake, since Veronica’s in town. Florence has been bringing Bagel here. Your dad and Luca are dropping off Porcupine. And a few others.”
“Ooh, I can’t wait to see Porky,” she coos. But when she slides in next to me at the counter to get a closer look at the timing on the screen, I freeze.
Do not inhale her scent. Do not sniff her hair. Do not groan at her being that close to you.
I stay very,verystill. When she stretches an arm and points tothe screen, a stupid rumble works its way up my chest. I smother it with a fake cough.
“We can do it right here?” she asks.
Filthy images flash by. Me on her couch. Her on my lap. My hands in her hair. Her nails scratching my back.
“Yes,” I grit out, then glance at my phone. “I’m waiting for a call. From…a bar. About Yappy Hour.”
I turn and walk away without another word.
Yappy Hour, man. Is that the best you can do?
