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Jonas, in the front row, actually put up his hand. “Will he always be this aggressive?” He was so pale he looked like he was set to vomit.
He better not be serious about taking Conan. Jonas didn’t have the balls for a trained dog like this.
“Conan will only attack on command.” I kept my voice firm. “He's been trained to protect and serve, not to cause unnecessary harm.”
The weight of their stares drilled into me. Judging me.AndConan, the dog I'd poured my heart and soul into training. I’d trained twelve Belgian Shepherds so far, Conan however was special. Yet just like the other dogs, he deserved a good home where his skills would be put to good use. I just hoped these people could see that too.
After no further questions, I patted Conan’s shoulder.
“Conan.” He stood to attention beside me. “Ready, boy?”
His ears perked up. His eyes focused on me with unwavering loyalty. I took a deep breath, convincing myself that this was just another training exercise, rather than potentially Conan’s last session with me.
“Observe the precision in which Conan follows my commands.” My gaze swept to Tiffany McCann in the crowd. The famous movie star had caught my attention when I’d first introduced myself because her eyes were a similar color to Layla’s. But that was where the similarity ended. Layla was a natural beauty who didn’t need makeup or false laughter. Tiffany was the opposite.
I wanted to punch myself. Layla had made it damn clear that she wanted nothing to do with me and I hated that my stupid brain wouldn’t forget her.
Slapping images of Layla from my mind, I showed the group Conan’s remarkable obedience with a couple more demonstrations, concluding with him at my side.
“Good boy.” As I patted his head, Tiffany clapped her hands and her cat-like eyes gleamed with excitement.
She was considering acquiring a dog for protection, but there was something about her that made me uneasy. Maybe it was the way her false smile never quite reached her eyes, or how her laughter seemed forced like she was trying too hard to be charming. If it wasn’t for Tiffany’s bodyguard who towered behind her with his arms crossed over his chest and his fierce eyes locked on Conan, I wouldn’t even consider her as a prospective buyer for Conan. At least the bodyguard looked like he could handle a highly trained canine.
I gave Conan a pat on his rump. “Conan. Home.”
Conan darted away, vanished through the door to his kennel, and pulled a rope to shut his own door.
The crowd clapped.
“Thank you for your time,” I said.
They stood and most of them left without a word, confirming that I’d proven that Conan was not the type of dog they were after.
The scars on my back stung as I twisted out of the padded clothing, and my chest tightened as my stupid thoughts drifted to Layla again. Without her, I doubted I would have survived the pain from my burns. She’d been my lifeline . . . my sanity. She’d given me something to look forward to every day when all I’d wanted to do was punch out.
But she’d left without a word. That was what hurt. I’d thought we had something. I still couldn’t believe how wrong I had been.
“Bravo! What a remarkable display of obedience.” Tiffany’s voice dripped with insincerity. I clenched my jaw, trying to hide my fury that she was still here . . . still interested in a dog that was way too good for her.
“Thank you, Ms. McCann.” Forcing a smile, I had to remind myself that training dogs to sell was my job. I couldn’t keep them all. “Conan is one of the best I have ever trained. His trust and loyalty is unquestionable.”
I undid the Velcro straps on my protective gear and welcomed the cool breeze on my arms as I dropped the padded clothing to the grass.
“Indeed.” Tiffany’s gaze flicked up and down my body before settling on my face. “I'm sure that's not the only thing he's learned from you, Mr. Black.”
What does that mean?
Is she flirting with me?
I fucking hoped not.
Shoving down the unease creeping through my veins, I forced my legs to walk toward her and Bruce. They were, after all, the only potential buyers left after the demonstration.
Tiffany sauntered toward me, swinging her hips like she was half dancing. Bruce trailed behind her with a look of disgust that told me he was not impressed with his employer.
“Can we discuss the details of acquiring Conan?” She leaned in close, and her perfume assaulted my brain.
“Ms. McCann, Conan is not just a pet,” I warned, my voice tight. “He's a highly trained protector.”
