Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
I glance down at my pressed pale-pink shirt—tailored, of course—sage-green tie, and dark slacks. “It’s not a suit,” I say.
She waves an airy hand. “Details. Now don’t worry, Mister Serious Boss. We’ll be good.”
But this is my business and my name, so I hang around by the front counter when Chloe heads into the training nook with the shiny new clients. One of them stops in the doorway, her jaw agape—the one in the sundress. “The color scheme is perfection!”
“It’s so perfect I’m dying,” the one in jeans echoes.
“I’m glad you like it,” Chloe says, then ushers them in.
I’m both a little smug and a little proud. I helped, yes. But she picked the colors. She was right. As she gets to work, I stand at the counter, working on my reports, while trying not to steal glances or listen in. The door to her nook’s ajar though, and my ears are sharp.
“I’m a big believer in positive training,” Chloe says.
“Like the name,” the brunette actress in the sundress says—Saffron, I think. Sundress Saffron.
“Exactly. Dogs do better when they get rewards. If you want to brush their teeth but they’re refusing, you need to set up a reward system. If you want them to stop barking, you can reward them for being quiet. They do much better with treats than negativity.”
“Like men,” the other one chirps—Ava Hartley, I believe. She’s the one wearing the jeans, and her hair’s in a ponytail.
Chloe laughs. “Well, your words, but you might be right.”
“I mean, if I want my boyfriend to get me a cup of coffee, all I have to do is show a bra strap. It’s instant caffeine,” Ponytail says.
Chloe laughs again. “Sounds like you’ll get the hang of this in no time.”
They laugh, then focus on the dogs. But a few minutes later, Sundress Saffron adds, “Oooh, I need to show you my new place. I already rented one in town.”
“Did you hear there was a last-minute casting fallout?” Ponytail puts in. “The woman who was supposed to play the librarian got picked up for a feature.”
It’s all industry gossip until one of the big Mastiffs barks. “This is a perfect chance to work on the bark training like we talked about on our call,” Chloe explains.
While Chloe walks them through a command and reward, I keep my eyes trained on the screen in front of me. The numbers are telling me that this location is doing better in its first week than others. Could be because there used to be a daycare here before and the team is strong. I tune out the session for the most part—it’s best not to really eavesdrop—but then Ponytail’s soprano voice carries bright and loud with, “Oh my god. I have to tell you. My boyfriend—he’s one of the location scouts—told me they can’t do all the interior shots in LA anymore. The studio they were going to use for the pet supply store burned in the fires and hasn’t been rebuilt yet.”
That piques my interest.
A lot.
I make a mental note to ask Chloe about it later. When the session ends, she walks them and the big dogs to the SUV, then returns, beelining to me, eyes wide as saucers. Slapping her hands on the counter, she looks as if she’s about to burst. “The producers are in town in two days. We need to come up with a plan to pitch the daycare as a location.”
I couldn’t love her scheming more. “And you as the trainer.”
Chloe’s brow knits for a second, like she’s confused, but then she waves a hand, dismissing that confusion, and moves on. “Let’s talk later. Brainstorm and all.”
“I’m in,” I say, then we set a time to scheme seven hours from now.
Which should be great news. Except now I’m not sure what’s more dangerous—sharing space with the woman I can’t stop thinking about…or teaming up with her.
14
MY REBEL SIDE
SAWYER
The second we shut down for the night, I’m out of there—locking the door at Dog Tails and heading down the block past Pick Me Up on my way to Prohibition Spirit. Chloe told me she had a few off-site dog training sessions, so she’d meet me there.
It’s a short walk, just long enough to listen to “Wonderwall” as I go, and most of “Ain’t No Sunshine.” With some reluctance, I turn off the Bill Withers tune I’ve been humming along to when I arrive at the bar.
The deep, rich-red door is like an invitation to slip back in time. I push it open, my eyes adjusting quickly to the dim lighting of the whiskey bar. The whole speakeasy vibe is working here from the jazzy old standards playing overhead to the elegant whiskey bottles standing proudly on mirrored shelves. I zero in on the redhead at the bar. She’s talking to the woman behind it—a tall bartender with a regal chin, curly hair, rich-bronze skin, and a silver stud in the side of her nose. They’re chatting like old friends. Chloe’s head is tossed back in laughter, her auburn hair falling in big waves down her back. She’s wearing a light-green top that slopes off one shoulder and a short, flirty skirt.