Page 7 of Doggy Style

She shakes her head. “No. I see the puppies inside. You won’t change your mind. I know all about you—I’ve seen your Instagram. All you care about is how many followers you have, and you’re not above exploitative tactics to get them. Now hundreds of dogs are going to die as a direct result of your disgusting store.”

I take a step back and study her. Ever since that video was released, no one—except for my father—has stood up to me. Not Hugh. Not even Kira. I’m surrounded by “yes” men and “Oh, yes!” women. It’s refreshing to meet someone who isn’t impressed by me at all.

Someone who despises me.

Someone who’s a challenge.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t call me sweetheart. That’s degrading.”

“How is ‘sweetheart’ degrading? I didn’t call you ‘bitch.’ Would it offend you, too, if I held your door open for you?”

“I don’t need anyone to hold a door open for me, least of all you. I don’t know you, nor do I want to.”

Man, she’s really busting my balls. “Fine. What’s your name, and what’s the name of your dog rescue?”

She bites her lip but grudgingly replies. “My name is Yesenia Cordova but I go by Yessi. I’m the adoption coordinator for Pugs N Roses. We’re a nonprofit dog rescue here in Huntington Beach.”

As she speaks, I can’t resist eye-fucking her. Not only is she gorgeous, but she’s completely unlike any woman I’ve met lately. She has a style all her own—badass Latina. I take in every inch of her. From her long, thick eyelashes framing her whiskey-brown eyes, to her tight jeans and plain black t-shirt covered in dog hair. I feel a twinge of jealousy over the dogs who must’ve been nestled on her chest.

“Nice to meet you, Yesenia. Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

“What I want is for you to stop selling puppies at your store. Once you agree, I’ll leave you alone. If you don’t agree, I’ll be your worst nightmare. I’ll be down here every week with a slew of protesters, making your life a living hell.”

Ha. I stifle a laugh. “I can just have you arrested.”

“The cops aren’t going to arrest peaceful protesters. I’m serious. I’m part of a secret rescue network, and we’re all crazy. Batshit, actually. We will ruin your business. We’ve shut down pet shops before, and I can’t wait to shut down yours, too.”

Dammit. Protesters hadn’t crossed my mind when I agreed to open the store, and we already have agreements and contracts with breeders across the country.

“What’s in it for me?” I can’t help the flirtatious tone that creeps into my voice at the end.

Her face contorts with disdain. “What do you mean? You want a reward for being a decent human being and not contributing to the slaughter of homeless pets?”

“If I stop selling purebred puppies in here, what will you do for me?”

She shakes her head. “You’re even worse than I thought you’d be. Sorry, Preston, I’m not going to suck your cock.”

The way she says “cock” sends a jolt to mine. I love her filthy mouth. She’s delicious.

I have to fuck her.

But as gorgeous as she is, her beauty is marred by sadness. Instead of looking hopeful and bright, her eyes hide an inner pain.

I pull out my phone and search for her profile on Instagram. A Yessi Cordova pops up instantly, and I notice that she follows me. I quickly peruse her feed and am surprised by how impressive it is. Beautiful artwork, intricate tattoos, quotes, pictures with dogs, and, most importantly, thirteen thousand followers. I click on a post and notice it received six hundred and forty-six likes.

I show her the screen, still on her profile. “Nice feed.”

“Well, enjoy it for now. I’ll be blocking your account.”

Ha. She always has a comeback.

Then an idea springs to mind.

Maybe I can alleviate her pain, and she can help me with my business. She seems like she would be perfect to work at my store. She spends all her time with dogs, and she can get the other protesters off my back. Working with a dog rescuer who has a big following will do wonders for my optics.

And I’d love to see her in a skimpy bikini in Hawai’i.