Love Out Loud
Author: Marissa Clarke
Date: 2022-06-06 21:14:36+00:00
Keywords: Contemporary Romance; General; Contemporary; Romance; Fiction; Chick Lit; Animals; Romantic Comedy
Description: A deliciously fun, flirty rom-com where love doesn’t happen by opening a door...it happens when you get stuck in one. Veterinarian Fiona Nichols does not do well in stressful social situations. A little babble here, saying the absolutely wrong thing there. But that doesn’t stop Fiona from checking out the delectably hot guy in her building...from afar. Fate apparently has a nasty sense of humor, though. Somehow Fiona gets herself and Hot Guy stuck in the building’s revolving door—all thanks to a certain squeaky dog toy...that unfortunately looks decidedly, uh, penile. Must be time to meet the
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC

Table of Contents
Content Warning
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Acknowledgments
About the Author

Find love in unexpected places…

Talk Flirty to Me
It Takes a Villa
The Un-Arranged Marriage
Her Aussie Holiday

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 by Marissa Clarke. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

644 Shrewsbury Commons Ave
STE 181
Shrewsbury, PA 17361
rights@entangledpublishing.com

Lovestruck is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Edited by Lydia Sharp

Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

Cover photography by NDAB Creativity and Eric Isselee/Shutterstock

ISBN 978-1-64937-352-6

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition June 2022

At Entangled, we want our readers to be well-informed. If you would like to know if this book contains any elements that might be of concern for you, please check the book’s webpage for details.

https://entangledpublishing.com/books/love-out-loud

For Christine Karper-Smith

Chapter One

It all happened because of an award. Well, actually, it was because of a major freak-out over an award—more specifically, the mandatory acceptance speech for said award, which of course had to happen in front of a room full of strangers—and that, for Fiona Nichol, was the very definition of “hell.”

The event was two months out, and she’d received the call from the president of the award committee at work yesterday. Her coworkers had gone wild when they found out, but the mere thought of giving a speech scrambled her thoughts and threw Fiona off track.

With a frustrated growl, she fumbled to lock her apartment while clutching two paper grocery bags against her like they were unruly toddlers. Lumpy, heavy toddlers.

Ordinarily, she’d be prepping her exam room for her first patient by now, but instead, she was running late for the first time since she’d begun working as the in-house veterinarian for SoHo’s premier animal care boutique, Animal Attraction. In fact, it was the first time she’d been late for a patient appointment ever. All because she’d been so upset and distracted about that blasted speech. She’d arrived at work without the supplies she’d promised and had to come back home to get them.

Gritting her teeth, she adjusted the bags higher on her ribs, then navigated the precarious descent from her second-floor apartment by sheer luck. Peeking through the narrow crack between the heavy bags, she hoped to heaven she didn’t end up in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

When she made it to the ground level after bobbling only once, she let out a sigh of relief that was cut short by the ding of the elevator to her left—the elevator that, in retrospect, she should have chosen instead of the stairs. Huffing out a breath, she adjusted the bags so they didn’t mash her boobs.

When the doors slid open, her already-pounding heart tripped. It was the person she always secretly hoped to bump into—the hot guy she’d been eyeing since she’d moved into this building a year ago with her two cairn terriers, Daisy and Otto, but hadn’t ever spoken with. They both left for work around the same time…and if she were honest with herself, she would admit to loitering in the lobby on occasion just to get a glimpse of him when he passed through. To her frustration, he had never shown more interest than a dismissive look at her and her little dogs before he strode straight out the door without even pausing.

But not today. Today, when he stepped off the elevator, he didn’t look at her and make a beeline for the doors. Instead, he took her in and glanced around the lobby as if looking for Daisy and Otto. He’d never seen her without them before.

This was her chance. She could finally talk to him. She took a deep breath, then let it out in a disheartened sigh. Okay, so staring at him was one thing; talking to him was another.

Heart rate elevated to that of a small rodent, she tried to appear casual as she made her way toward the revolving door, wishing she were more like her best friends, Jane and Caitlin—wishing she could smile at Hot Guy and strike up small talk, discover who he was and why he always seemed so put-together with his dark hair perfectly in place, his fresh-shaven chin raised in an air of confidence, and clothes all matching and expensive-looking. Even when he wasn’t dressed in a suit like he was today, he invariably had an air of direction and purpose.

In other words, he was her complete opposite.

So, instead of snatching this perfect opportunity dropped in front of her nose and finally meeting her secret crush, she retreated, bags wobbling precariously.

The revolving door made a whooshing sound as a delivery man entered the building, and since her arms were full, she took the opportunity to enter while the door was still rotating. As she nudged with her elbow to keep the door in motion, Otto’s favorite squeaky toy, Sir Squash, tumbled off the top of one of the bags and bounced, wedging itself between the door and floor, bringing the whole contraption to a screeching—or rather, squeaking—halt.

Blast.

And then she heard it. A light tap-tap-tap on the glass behind her. Someone had followed her into the revolving door. Not just someone. Without looking, she knew exactly who it was. Him.

After a deep breath, she snuck a quick glance over her shoulder to find him in the next section of the door behind her. Mr. Perfectly Put Together was right there, stuck in the revolving door with Dr. Fiona Falling Apart. Closing her eyes, she cursed her bad luck.

Tap-tap-tap.

Her heart jumped at the sound, and she froze. Unable to face him yet, she did her customary calming routine. Breathe in four counts, hold seven, exhale eight. Then, she gave the door a shove so that it would rotate enough to free the wedged dog toy and let Hot Guy out.

Nothing. The door didn’t budge. She shoved it again and grimaced at her horrifying reality. She’d jammed the door and was now stuck in a tiny, confined space separated from her super-crush by glass, like a fish in a bowl.

“Good morning,” he said from his own little glass wedge of hell. “This is an unexpected way to start the day.”

Ya think? Bags still pressed against the brass push bar, she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. This was going to make her even later.

“If we both push hard at the same time, I think we can get out of here,” he continued in a sexy, masculine voice that matched him to a T.

With a fortifying breath, she turned toward him, her back against the outer edge of the curved glass encasing the door. It was a good thing she’d taken a breath, because when she faced him, she forgot how to breathe altogether.

He was taller up close. And better-looking, which she hadn’t thought possible, dammit. He had perfectly straight, white teeth—she noticed because he was smiling, something she’d never seen him do before in her brief Hot Guy sightings. Heat spread up her neck and across her face. At least she wasn’t covered in dog and cat hair, like she would be by lunchtime.

“Okay,” he said through the glass. “I’m going to step on the end of the yellow thing to keep it in place, and we’ll both push. Hopefully, the door will rotate off of it.”

She nodded.

“Push on three,” he said. “Ready?”

She faced forward and pressed her forearms, wrapped around the bags, against the push bar.

He counted down, and after a few attempts and a hard shove, the dog toy popped free from the bottom of the revolving door with a mortifying squeak that dropped in pitch and fizzled out in a pathetic sputter, just like Fiona’s dignity.

With all those pretty white teeth showing in a triumphant, perfect grin, he held it up. But then, his expression changed completely as he studied Otto’s favorite toy.

As she stared at the yellow molded plastic, she realized why his eyebrows had lifted in surprise and amusement. With two orbs at the bottom connected to a cylinder with a little bulb at the top, its shape was more than a little similar to a… Oh, for the love of all that’s holy. Why had that not occurred to her before?

She could actually hear the blood in her ears as another blush raged over her skin, making her hot from head to toe. She had to get out of this revolving door before she dissolved into a puddle of pure frustration.

Stepping out, he squeaked the toy he was holding. Unable to look him in the face, she said, “Thanks for rescuing Sir Squash.” Seriously? Those were going to be her first words ever to Hot Guy? Ugh. Why did she always say ridiculous things when she was uncomfortable?

He stared at the toy, then back at her face as people hustled by on the crowded sidewalk. “It has a name?”

Could this be worse? She shifted the bags higher. “Yes. And a knighthood. His full name is Sir Squashalot, and he’s very chivalrous.”

Aaand that ridiculous remark confirmed precisely why Fiona giving a speech was a terrible idea. She didn’t do well in stressful social situations and ended up babbling. And man, oh, man, was this a stressful social situation. She’d just met her crush by jamming the revolving door with a bright yellow, knighted, phallus-shaped dog toy.

“Sir Squash is Otto’s favorite toy,” she said, like that would help.

He gently placed the toy on top of the full bag. “Do you need help carrying those?”

This was her chance. She should say yes. Absolutely, say yes. Jane and Caitlin would say yes.

“No, thanks. I’m good,” she said. “I’m only going about a half block down.” She gestured with a tilt of her head in the direction of the shop.

“Great. I’m going that way, too.” Gently, he took the bag from her left arm, and she shook out her strained muscles before wrapping it around the other bag.

You should talk to him, she scolded herself as they walked to the shop. She opened her mouth to say…something. She had no idea what, and she clamped her mouth shut, swallowing hard.

He opened the door to Animal Attraction for her, and she walked through. “So, no dogs this morning?” he said, finally breaking their awkward silence.

The tightness in her chest loosened. He really had noticed her when she hung out in the lobby with her dogs. That was positive, right? She set her bag on the counter, and he placed his next to it. “They’re here somewhere.”

“They are?” He looked around the lobby, shoulders stiffening under his suit jacket.

With her dogs there, she might be able to carry on a coherent conversation, not…whatever this was. “Yeah, I’ll go get them if you want to say hello.”

“Oh, no.” He cleared his throat, shoulders still tight as he backed several steps toward the door. “I need to get to the office.”

She swallowed the lump of disappointment that had blocked her throat. “Thanks for your help,” she said.

“You’re welcome. See you around the lobby.” With a wave and stiff smile, he exited and took a left, heading back in the direction they’d come from.

For several heartbeats, she stared at the door. He hadn’t been coming this way at all. Sir Squashalot wasn’t the only one who was chivalrous. His behavior was odd, though. Maybe it was hard for him to meet new people, too. But this was a good start, right?

With a shuddering breath, she leaned against the lobby counter, waiting for her racing heart to slow.

“You act like you’ve seen a ghost,” her friend Jane said, entering from the business office door to stand across the counter from her.

Worse. She’d just witnessed a social train wreck of her own creation, with her driving the train, of course. How long had she crushed on that guy, wishing they could meet someday? Never in a million years had she imagined she’d actually interact with him. And then when she got the chance, she’d said something ridiculous and then had become completely tongue-tied. Typical.

“Is it the award speech that has you wound up?” Jane asked.

“Yes,” she half lied, glad to not have to explain her Hot Guy encounter.

“I have a solution for that problem.”

Uh-huh. Like not giving the speech in the first place? Because that’s exactly what Fiona planned to do. She’d call in sick, and someone else would have to accept the award on her behalf. Maybe even Jane.

When she didn’t answer, Jane went on. “I asked around and got a recommendation for someone who helps loads of people with public speaking. He works with actors, business executives, and people who need to make a good impression.”

Yeah, like shy veterinarians who would much rather carry on a full conversation with an animal than say one word to a human.

Jane leaned forward, elbows on the counter. “Since the award is for your contribution to homeless pets in the city, Animal Attraction will pick up the bill for the public speaking coach. Your award is good PR for us.” She smiled at Fiona, who tried but failed miserably to smile back. “So, no stress or expense for you,” Jane added.

Sure. A public speaking coach would result in no stress whatsoever. Talk to a perfect stranger about giving a speech, which was her worst nightmare? Yeah, no problem. They’d probably try to convince her that public speaking was good for her and would help her overcome her shyness, which was total crap. Her shyness wasn’t something she could overcome, even if she wanted to, which she did not. And if she agreed to it for the sole purpose of making Jane happy, she’d feel guilty because someone else paid for the worthless lessons.

“It’s not necessary,” Fiona said as her dogs skidded into the lobby from the exam room hallway, toenails clicking on the polished floor. “But thanks for the offer.”

“You can thank me after your appointment with communications coach Jacob Ward from Upward Media”—she looked at her watch—“in fifteen minutes. I’ve already rescheduled your morning appointments.”

Fifteen minutes! Fiona’s heart flipped back into high speed. “I said—”

“I know what you said, but now I need you to listen to what I have to say.” Jane stepped around the counter, took a deep breath, and ran a hand through her blond hair. Fiona marveled at how amazing Jane always looked. Shoes and purse that matched. Cute outfits that weren’t covered in animal hair or worse. Today, Jane wore navy slacks and a low-cut floral silk blouse that Fiona could never in a million years pull off with her relatively flat chest.

“I think it’s important that you make this speech,” Jane said. “Not only because you deserve the honor, but because you can shine a spotlight on what you do for the pets of homeless citizens of Manhattan, and it’ll bring attention to Animal Attraction as well.”

“You know how I feel about talking in front of crowds. You’ve seen it. I used to choke up on grade-school book reports.” Heck, she couldn’t even string a full sentence together to talk to Hot Guy from her apartment lobby.

“Yes,” Jane said. “And I also know how much you love what you do and that you’d give anything to help animals on the streets. This is the best way I can think of to accomplish that. Maybe you can get more people to help, or at the very least raise awareness.” She gave a sigh. “If for no other reason, please do this for me.”

Fiona stared at Jane for a moment, and memories of growing up filtered through her mind. From the time she’d met them that first day of kindergarten until today, her best friends, Caitlin and Jane, had always had Fiona’s back. Meeting with some silly public speaking coach was a little thing to ask, in light of all the times Jane had been there for her growing up. Still…

When Fiona couldn’t bring herself to agree, Jane said, “I need you to do it for a personal reason, too. You know that the Anderson family made it possible for us to open this business. Claire Anderson is the person who made the recommendation, and she evidently had to pull some strings to get the coach to take you on.”

Fiona’s stomach dropped to her feet. What on Earth had he been told about her that would require string-pulling to get him to accept her? “Am I that big of a loser?”

Jane’s eyes widened with surprise, but then she smiled. “Of course not. His schedule was full, and he was hesitant to add someone else because he has a deadline on some article he’s writing for a psychology magazine. He works with Claire and has for years, and she convinced him to make room for you.”

Well, that made her feel better…sort of.

“Please, Fiona. I’ve already paid for two months of coaching. He’s supposed to be amazing. I know you take Daisy and Otto to that coffee shop down the street, and I wanted to make it as easy on you as possible, so you don’t even have to go to his office for this appointment. He’ll meet you at the coffee shop.” When Fiona didn’t respond immediately, Jane added, “I think you’re amazing, and I want everyone to know what you do for the community. Please agree to this.”

How could she say no to Jane? Knowing this was a terrible idea, she gave a tight nod, stomach whirling like a spin-art machine.

Jane beamed. “You won’t regret it.”

She already did.

Chapter Two

Coffee in hand, Jake stood in the doorway of the coffee shop and blinked hard. He was supposed to meet his client at one of the tables outside on the sidewalk. Prickles of dread climbed up his spine and across the back of his neck as he studied the corner table.

He checked his watch to verify the time, then checked Claire Anderson’s text to verify the address and description of his new client. Brunette, brown eyes—the address checked out, and so did the appearance of the woman seated at the corner table, proving the world was way too small.

He watched her as he approached—the dog woman from his apartment building, complete with dogs this time. They were straining against their leashes to sniff everything within reach, including him. Swallowing hard, he schooled his expression to one he hoped was pleasant and stopped far enough from the table to stay out of the dogs’ range. She fidgeted with the edges of a vet journal she was reading until she finally noticed him, her eyes widening in similar horror to his own.

“Hello, neighbor,” he said in his practiced, friendly, conversational voice. “I’m Jake.”

She stared up at him as if that meant nothing to her.

“Jacob Ward, your public speaking coach.”

Her eyes met his in astonishment, and her fingers tightened around the edge of the table as if it would give her some stability.

Maybe he had the wrong woman. “You are Fiona Nichol, right?” he asked.

She pointed to the pocket on the front of her medical scrub and said, “Fiona.”

His gaze fell to her breast, and he arched an eyebrow.

She glanced down, blushed a fiery red, and stammered, “I… Um…”

“You have a penchant for naming things,” he teased, hoping to pull her out of her obvious shyness.

“No. I… I thought I had my lab coat on. My name is embroidered on it. Yes, I’m Fiona Nichol.”

His dread grew from a trickle to a wave. “May I join you?” he asked.

Running her fingers over the edges of the magazine in front of her, she nodded. When he sat, her dogs, whose leashes were looped around the leg of her chair, tugged to get closer to him. He immediately scooted away, and she gave him a confused, disappointed look. For a few minutes, they sat in silence.

He couldn’t believe he’d been talked into this. The only reason he’d agreed to take on an extra client was that Claire Anderson was one of his best client referral sources and had told him how smart and funny Dr. Nichol was. It seemed like a slam dunk until he discovered exactly who Dr. Nichol was. This arrangement had disaster written all over it. It was all he could do to remain calm, and she appeared to be doing the same.

He’d noticed her for the first time several months ago. They were evidently on similar schedules, because they were in the lobby at the same time a couple of times a week, but he’d never paid close attention to her, dogs not withstanding, because she wasn’t his type at all. She’d struck him as unavailable and stuck-up, since she never made eye contact. Now, he knew she wasn’t stuck-up at all. She avoided eye contact for another reason—shyness.

This obstacle could ruin his perfect client success record at the office, and his coworker and ex, Charise, would never let him live it down. All of the coaches at Upward Media were competitive, but his rivalry with Charise was legendary, and he didn’t want to ruin his record because of a favor for Claire Anderson. He tamped down the urge to squirm. No need to lose his cool. First, he’d assess how bad things were, and then he’d lose his cool.

He eyed Fiona’s open magazine and read the title of the article out loud. “Clinical signs, treatment, and prognostic factors for dogs with Histoplasmosis.”

Shoulders stiff, she gestured to the pages with a steady hand but didn’t meet his eyes. “Funny, thrilling, edge-of-your-seat reading. This article will keep you up all night. I laughed; I cried; I begged for more.”

He relaxed back in his chair. Okay, well that wasn’t what he’d expected. Maybe there was some potential under all that introversion. He stared at her a moment, which was easy, since she looked everywhere but at him. She was prettier than he’d originally thought. Maybe the shitty lighting in their apartment lobby was to blame. Out here in the morning sunlight, her dark hair had some red hues, and her features softened. And she had a great ass. He knew that from his run in with her in the revolving door this morning. She’d leaned forward to push the revolving door and… Yeah. Really great ass. But she was a client now, so no more reflecting on the outline of her panties through her scrubs.

She closed the magazine and took off her glasses, setting them on top of the glossy heartworm medication advertisement on the back. Her eyes were the color of cinnamon interspersed with dark flecks. Cinnamon? Jesus. He shook himself mentally. The color of her eyes had nothing to do with giving a successful speech—or spices for that matter. Time to get back to the evaluation.

“Do you mind if I record our conversation?” he asked, flipping into coach mode. “It’s to evaluate speech patterns, inflection, and verbal habits.”

Her brow furrowed, but then she shrugged. “Go ahead.”

He placed his phone on the table and set it to record. “What is Histoplasmosis?” he asked.

Her eyebrows raised in surprise at the question; she must have assumed he asked because he was interested. Right. Like he gave two shits about Histo-whatever. High-interest topics were the best way to get a reluctant client talking so he could evaluate their mannerisms and speech patterns. At least that had always been his experience. Oddly, though, he actually found himself interested in what her answer would be.

Cinnamon… Seriously?

“It’s an infection caused by the Histoplasma Capsulatum fungus. Animals, including dogs, get it when they eat or inhale contaminated soil or bird droppings,” she rattled off.

Dogs eat bird shit. One more reason to not be a fan. “You have an issue with eye contact,” he observed. “And when you aren’t being witty, your delivery is flat and clinical, even when discussing high-interest topics.”

Her brow furrowed like she was offended. “Is every interaction going to be used as a diagnostic tool?”

“Yes. The good news is your voice is clear and your enunciation good. You also have a sense of humor, which mitigates your reticence to some degree. Still, this will be a challenge.”

She put on her glasses and shifted uneasily in her chair. “This is a mistake.”

“Can you say that again while making eye contact?” he asked.

Her gaze flitted to his, lowered to his lips, then immediately fell to the magazine on the table between them. “Definitely a mistake,” she muttered.

Wait. Had she just checked out his mouth? Jake shifted in his chair, then leaned back again. He was just imagining things. She was probably right about this being a mistake, though.

He took another sip of his cooling coffee. Letting her back out now, even though it would be convenient, would screw up his record. He stared at her a moment and found his body reacting again. Okay. So it wouldn’t only be his record that was screwed if she walked away; his curiosity would take a hit. Something about her intrigued him.

“You say that this is a mistake, but I’ve been told this award you’re receiving is a big deal,” he said. “Claire Anderson indicated it was important for your business—a vet clinic, right? Not giving the speech seems like it would be a mistake.”

She gave a defeated sigh. “Jane asked me to do this—both the speech and coaching for it. It’s the last thing I want to do. Claire asked you, and you don’t want to do it, either.” She leaned over and gathered her backpack from beside her chair, then stood. “So, why don’t we just make it easy on ourselves and let it go?” She removed the dog leash handles from under the chair leg and untangled them from each other, while the dogs pulled in different directions but, thankfully, not in his direction.

No way. There was no letting this go. He’d seen her humor and intelligence in the short time he’d spent with her. There was some good material underneath. He could bring her out, he just knew it. Besides, her name was already up on the client board at work, and he was one success behind Charise. Time for a more direct approach. “You don’t strike me as a quitter. If you were, you wouldn’t have ‘Dr.’ in front of your name.”

The side of her mouth quirked up, and he wasn’t certain if it was because he’d stroked her ego or because she saw right through his blatant ego-stroking. As if unsure of whether to bolt or stay put, she looked over her shoulder at the noisy group of tourists walking by, wearing matching lime green T-shirts emblazoned with I Heart New York logos. They made a lot of commotion over her two little dogs, several stopping to pet them. She was friendly and animated as she talked to and about the dogs. He noticed she didn’t engage the strangers directly but rather spoke in a proxy approach through her dogs. “Otto loves to meet people. Oh, he thinks he’s adorable, too.” “Daisy wants to know where you’re from.” And the weird thing was, it all flowed naturally, and she got the responses and answers she was gunning for.

After a few minutes, the tourists moved on, and she shot him a glance before looking away.

“Okay. So how about agreeing to a trial run?” he said. “Don’t walk away until you give it a chance for a month. If it doesn’t work out after that time, I’ll refund the second month. Jane and Claire are counting on both of us.” He hated to throw down the duty card, but he figured she was more likely to give it a go for someone else than herself. Most people were. “I want to help you work to overcome your fear of public speaking and make this event a success.”

Her brow furrowed in concentration as she considered his suggestion, and he found himself inexplicably holding his breath for her answer.

“One month,” she said. “And, just so you know…” She met his eyes for a moment before looking across the street. “This is only about the speech I have to give. Nothing else. None of the working-to-overcome-fear crap you mentioned. Just fix the speech.”

Wow. Well, that was unexpected and direct. “Okay.”

She nodded and adjusted her backpack again, then added, “Seriously, this is who I am and who I’ll always be. I’m not some Cinderella story waiting to happen.”

Her voice was hard, which indicated there was a backstory there. One he’d need to get to the bottom of in order to make this speech work. And also, if he were honest with himself, because he wanted to know more about her as a person for some reason, which was a departure for him. “Let’s meet at my office tonight at five.” He handed her a business card. “From there, we can come up with a plan and schedule.”

She shoved the card into her scrubs shirt pocket, right over the finely formed breast named “Fiona,” and he fought back a smile.

She must have been thinking about the same funny moment, because after staring down at her pocket, she blushed. “See you at five,” she said.

As he watched her walk down the street with her little dogs, he backed the recording up a bit to see if it had taken. “I’m not some Cinderella story waiting to happen.”

He picked up the magazine she’d left on the table and slid it into his briefcase. Underneath that shy, awkward shell was a passionate, intelligent, funny woman waiting to break free. “Challenge accepted, Cinderella,” he said, snapping the case shut.

Chapter Three

At five o’clock, Fiona was not in the Upward Media offices as scheduled. Instead, she was at her apartment, frantically showering and changing clothes because of an unexpectedly rough afternoon, including a Labrador Retriever walk-in at closing time with a messy abscess that needed immediate treatment. A shower and a change of clothes were not optional.

After toweling her wet hair and throwing on jeans, a T-shirt, and sandals, she grabbed her backpack, said goodbye to Daisy and Otto, sprinted to the corner, and hailed a taxi.

Sliding into the back seat, Fiona read the address off of Jacob’s business card to the driver, and he pulled away from the curb. She ran her finger over the raised phone number on the glossy card. Crap. She should text Jacob and let him know she was running late. With a sigh, she tucked the card into the outer pocket of her backpack. It was already after five, and she was on her way, so why bother? Still catching her breath from her rush, she sat back in the seat. The cab smelled like barf and disinfectant—sort of how she’d smelled before the unplanned shower that had set her schedule back. Better late than disgusting, she supposed.

She reached into her backpack to pull out her hairbrush so she could work through her wet tangles before she arrived but came up empty-handed. Dang. She must have left it somewhere. The office? Home? Perhaps wherever she’d left her dignity? Perfect. Now she was late, wet, and tangled—a look that could only be enhanced by her total lack of makeup.

Studying the green tree-shaped air freshener swinging back and forth under the cab’s rearview mirror like a metronome, she ran her fingers through her hair in an effort to put it into some semblance of order.

Looking on the bright side, being late meant less time working on a speech she didn’t want to give—not even a little bit. It also meant less time alone with the guy who had featured in award-worthy performances in more than one of her dreams since she’d spotted him many months ago. Heck, for his role in her most recent dream, he should be nominated for a Tony Award for best choreography.

She dropped her hands to her lap and sighed. She needed to push those dreams out of her mind. At the coffee shop, when Otto and Daisy tugged on their leashes to get closer to him, he’d immediately scooted back out of their range. She could tell from his physical recoil and facial expression he didn’t like dogs. And here, for months, she’d thought he was perfect. He was far from it. She had three rules for friendship, and he’d busted number one: must love animals.

Well, being her speech coach didn’t require friendship; in fact, not being friends would probably be beneficial.

It was five thirty-seven by the time she made it to the address on Jacob Ward’s business card. Still breathing hard from her frantic shower and sprint, she took the elevator up to the ninth floor and entered the reception room of Upward Media, which looked like a miniature version of a swanky hotel lobby. Comfortable leather club chairs circled a low marble table with trendy magazines on it and a fresh flower arrangement as tall as she was. Fiona’s throat tightened as she approached a burl-wood reception desk and a woman who was every bit as swanky-looking as the lobby. Her bright red hair gleamed in the dramatic down lighting that made the glass top of the reception desk glow.

Not only had Jane wasted money on this ridiculous fiasco, she’d wasted a lot of money.

Insides twisting, Fiona stood still as the woman looked her up and down with a curious expression. Fiona didn’t blame her. No makeup. Wet hair. Panting like she’d run a half marathon.

“You must be Dr. Nichol,” the woman said. “I’m Elaine. I’ll take you to your session.”

And just like that, with no paperwork or fuss, she followed the perfectly dressed woman down the hall, the flop-flop of her sandals in contrast to the decisive clicks of Elaine’s high heels.

Elaine opened a door at the end of the hall without knocking and pushed it open partway. She gestured for Fiona to enter.

With a breath, she pushed her glasses up on her nose, lifted her chin, and entered the room. Oooookaaay. Here goes nothing.

Only, it wasn’t nothing. It was something. A huge, horrible something in the form of a room of eight or nine people all sitting in a circle, every one of whom, at that moment, was looking at her. Heart thumping a million miles a minute, she froze in place like her sandals were superglued to the patterned carpet, and she felt ten years old all over again, facing a room full of strangers who were supposed to “help her come out of her shell.” She liked her shell just fine back then, and she liked it even more as an adult, thank you very much.

This Jacob guy should have told her this appointment was a group thing. She would never have agreed to it. That knocked out number two on her requirements for friendship: never lie. Of course, he hadn’t said it wasn’t a group thing, and she hadn’t asked, so maybe she should cut him a break on this one. Still, this sucked, and she was irritated. Gritting her teeth, she lingered just inside the door, teetering between acting like this was all cool or running like she was on fire to the nearest exit.

“Please come on in and have a seat, Fiona,” Jacob said from a chair in the circle. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”

Yeah, if only she’d been that lucky. Stomach doing barrel rolls, she eyed the door longingly over her shoulder, then trudged to the only open chair, which happened to be next to him.

Glancing around the circle, she took in the well-dressed people, all of whom looked TV ready…wait. One guy she did recognize from TV. Itchy prickles skittered up her back as she lowered herself into the chair, wishing she had taken the time to dry her hair or at least put on some lip gloss. Glancing down to avoid the group’s curious stares, she noticed her commemorative charity T-shirt she’d pulled on without even turning on the closet light. “Spay Day” was emblazoned in hot pink across her chest, above interlocking male and female symbols marked through with a big X. Freaking perfect.

“This is Dr. Fiona Nichol, and she’ll be with us for the next couple of months,” Jacob explained to the group.

Like hell she would. She’d only agreed to a month, and she wasn’t so sure about that at this moment. Instead of letting on that she wanted to use his crotch for kickball practice, she smiled and gave a ridiculous wave that would have been a real winner delivered from a freaking prom queen on a parade float or something. Crap. She dropped her hand to her lap, stomach roiling.

“So, let’s go again. Whoever wants to go first, jump right in,” Jake said, leaning back in his chair like they were all best friends—a total con she recognized from years of group sessions growing up. “Just relax and observe this time, Fiona. No pressure.”

No pressure. She’d like to apply some pressure in the form of hemostats to his—

“Yeeeeeooooooowwww!” the woman across from her howled.

Heart leaping to her throat, Fiona couldn’t even react before the guy next to her cut loose with a sound like a police siren.

“Woowoowoowoo!”

Alarm freezing her in place, she gripped the sides of her chair and glanced at the smiling faces in the circle. What in the ever-loving—

“Pew, pew, pew,” a woman in a business suit screeched, holding up her fingers like a laser gun.

“Luke, I am your father!” a guy shouted in a really crappy James Earl Jones impression, and everyone in the room lost their composure, giggling, laughing, and oh, yeah, there was even a snort, which set everyone off laughing again.

Fiona relaxed a bit, realizing this must be a loosening-up exercise or something.

Jacob leaned close enough for her to smell his clean, spicy aftershave. “It’s an inhibition activity. They’re acting out something they’ve secretly wanted to do at an inappropriate time, like a wedding, lecture, or religious service.”

Fiona could relate. She imagined doing things at inappropriate times often, but she’d never thought about whether other people did as well. In high school, she had a history teacher who spoke slowly and super loud when addressing her. Every time he did it, she wanted to scream, “I’m shy, not deaf.” She never did. She still sometimes daydreamed about doing it, even all these years later.

Once the laughter died down, Jacob stood. “Okay. We have an odd number, so I’ll pair up with Fiona today. Everyone else, starting with John, here, match with the person immediately to your left and find a space in the room to recite the first minute or two of your speech or presentation to each other; then, if we have time, we’ll come back as a group and report in.”

As if it were something fun, the group spread out in pairs around the room and dove into the assignment.

“Glad you made it,” Jacob said over the buzz of chatter from the others in the room. “I thought you were going to be a no-show.”

If only. She could be curled up with her dogs and a book, preferably one featuring a Highlander wearing only a kilt, while she chowed on a carton of takeout, instead of sampling the humiliating fare in Dante’s innermost circle of group-session hell. She ran a hand through her damp hair and shrugged.

“Did you get caught in the rain?”

“No. The shower.”

His brow furrowed, but instead of dwelling on that, he asked, “Have you started on your acceptance speech yet? Do you have anything in writing we can work with?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Nah. I thought I’d just get up on that stage the night of the event and improvise.”

There was a long pause, and Fiona fought the urge to smile. It bothered her that people rarely knew what to make of her, but that was also her favorite thing—people rarely knew what to make of her. She glanced around the room, taking in the ridiculous inspirational posters decorating the walls.

Jacob cleared his throat. “I’ll assume that’s the keen sense of humor Claire told me about.”

“Well, you know what they say—a comfort zone is a beautiful place, but nothing ever grows there.”

A quick glance at him revealed he was completely stumped, and again, she bit back a giggle. Her fight to not smile was heroic. She deserved a medal and a box of dark chocolate.

“Winners are not people who never fail, but people who never quit,” she said conversationally.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he realized she was reading the insipid posters pinned around the room. He joined in her fun and said, “When life gives you lemons—”

Instead of quoting the overdone and trite saying, she made up her own ending. “When life gives you lemons, freeze the lemons and then chuck them as hard as possible at the person who’s making your life difficult,” she said. “I wish I had some now.”

He barked out a laugh. “This isn’t that bad, is it?”

“From where I’m sitting, yes.”

He studied her so intensely, she fought the urge to squirm in her chair. Then, he broke eye contact and clapped his hands. “Okay, everybody. We’re going to call our session done here. I’ll see everyone Thursday, same time.”

Oh, thank God. The relief of not having to face a group of strangers warmed her up like a sip of chamomile tea, which would go great with the dark chocolate she’d imagined and the near-naked Highlander in the book on her nightstand. She stood to leave, but he reached to touch her arm, then quickly lowered his hand as if thinking better of it. “Please stay for a couple of minutes.”

With a sigh, she sat back down. Jane had paid for these sessions, so she should at least try to recoup some of the time she’d lost by arriving late.

“Why’s a group session so bad?” he asked after the room cleared. “The audience for your speech will be much larger.”

Consciously relaxing her hands on her knees, she leaned against the chair back. “It’s a forced social situation. You didn’t tell me it was a group thing, so I wasn’t prepared. To compound it, I was late with wet hair and a ridiculous T-shirt. I was uncomfortable.”

His eyes shot to her breasts, and darn it all if her nipples didn’t tighten. Irritated and turned on should not be a thing.

“I like the T-shirt,” he said.

She could feel the heat of her blush raging over her face as she stared at the chair directly across from her and said, “Spay Day is one of the reasons I’m getting the blasted award.” She stared down at the ridiculous shirt and her perky nipples that hadn’t gotten the memo that this was not the time or place to make a stand. “I’m sure I made a great impression on your other clients.”

“Group work would be good practice for you.”

Prickles of irritation danced up and down her spine. “I’m calling BS.” Her strong tone surprised her. She was opinionated and outspoken with her close friends but never pushed her views or opinions on people she didn’t know, like this guy. For some reason, though, he made her agitated, and her very thick, very comfortable shell cracked a little bit.

“Why?”

She waved a hand as if swatting a bug. “Doesn’t matter.”

This time, he did touch her. Just briefly on the shoulder to get her attention—like he didn’t have it already. “It matters to me.”

Darn it, this sucked. She liked it better when he was being didactic and bloviating about what was best for her. She was used to that from guys, not this “it matters to me” stuff. She wound her fingers in her lap and stared at her short, unpainted fingernails.

Instead of filling in the quiet with chatter, like most people, he waited patiently, not fidgeting. She liked that about him. She didn’t like group sessions, though, and she found herself wanting to tell him why. It was odd to find someone other than Jane and Caitlin she wanted to talk to. She shook her head, realizing how pitiful that seemed. She wasn’t lonely. She wasn’t sad. She just preferred a limited number of deep relationships over numerous shallow ones. That was her rule number three: She didn’t do casual. It’s why dating had never really worked out for her. Guys ran away from deep—at least the guys she’d dated had.

Still staring at her hands, she took a cleansing breath. “Immersion therapy does not work—at least not for me. My parents were both shrinks and forced me into social situations my entire childhood, thinking it would ‘fix’ me. This”—she indicated the circle of empty chairs—“is not helpful for me. You’re supposed to be a speech coach, not a therapist.”

“I’m not a therapist in any way,” he said. “I ready people for public speaking jobs and events. Period. What I’ve found, though, is groups, like this one and Toastmasters, instill confidence and make the speaking event easier and, oftentimes, more fun. Have you ever been to a Toastmasters’ meeting?”

“Absolutely not. I’d rather repeatedly slam my head in a door.” Okay, well, that was unnecessarily dramatic. She stood and ran her hands through her hair, which was almost dry now. “How would you feel if you were put in a situation that makes you uncomfortable, purportedly for your own good, knowing no possible benefit would come of it?”

She could feel his eyes on her as he spoke. “I’d be grateful and happy that someone was trying to help me.”

The smug jerk. “You think so?”

“Of course.”

“You honestly believe that if you were immersed in a situation that made you uncomfortable and anxious, you’d be grateful and happy?” she repeated.

“Absolutely.”

“Wanna put money on it?”

He raised an eyebrow. A perfect, calm eyebrow. “Yes.”

Chapter Four

Jake knew the bet was a bad idea the second the word left his mouth. How on earth did she plan to assess the outcome of such a thing? He couldn’t help himself, though. Something about her snagged him in like a lure.

Her smile was genuine and made him want to smile back as she sat down next to him again. “Deal,” she said, glancing at him briefly. “And I can prove you wrong in one day. Tomorrow. If you prove me wrong, I’ll come to a group meeting. If I prove you wrong, you drop the fee.”

“That’s a huge disparity in winnings. Besides, even though there is zero chance you could win, I can’t do that,” he said.

“Scared of being proven wrong?” There was a teasing dare to her tone.

“No. Scared of being fired. I work for Upward Media. I don’t run it. A client can fire me at any time, but I’d need a compelling reason to drop an assignment, and a bet to prove me wrong isn’t compelling.” But her smile certainly was. He found himself unconsciously leaning closer to her, and he could smell her shampoo. Like peaches. He took a deep breath through his nose, and his mouth watered. What the fuck? No. Absolutely not. Focus. He leaned back in his chair, giving himself an internal shake.

“Okay, then,” she said. “If you win, I’ll go to a group session. If I win, I don’t, and you have to admit you were wrong.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, control back in place. She was a client. An important one. “I truly believe that group work will help significantly with your problem.”

“As for problems,” she said, pushing to her feet, “mine doesn’t hold a candle to yours.”

“What problem?” Other than a pain-in-the-ass extra client with a little too much appeal, two hellhounds, and no doubt a dozen cats, in addition to a dick-shaped squeaky toy.

Crossing her arms, she stared down at where he sat in the chair, gaze on his collar rather than meeting his eyes. “Go ahead and be a judgmental know-it-all, but my problem only affects me occasionally,” she continued. “Like when I have to give a speech or interact in a forced or unexpected situation. Your problem affects you every time you leave your apartment.”

He had no idea what in the hell she was talking about. His breath caught as she met his gaze for a brief moment with a fierceness he’d not imagined she had. Everything in him hummed to life, from the professional coach to the man underneath. Now this, he could work with. This he could do a lot of things with. No, he reminded himself. Client. Full stop no.

Chin high, she met his gaze again. “In fact, I feel sorry for you.”

Okay, now this entire conversation had degenerated into the realm of the ridiculous. He draped his arms over the chairs on either side of him and tried to appear relaxed—something he’d mastered. She felt sorry for him? He was one of the most successful, sought-after, and highest-paid public speaking coaches in Manhattan. Nobody felt sorry for him—well, except maybe himself right now, because he couldn’t think of a single clever retort. He could only stare at her pretty, makeup-free face and tangled, damp hair and marvel. He was completely and totally screwed. He hadn’t been struck like this since—

“Is the cell number listed on your card good?” she asked, looking past him to the idiotic posters on the wall.

—since Charise. “Yes.”

Glancing at him briefly, then looking away, she said, “Are you free tomorrow morning?”

Her directness surprised him, but at this point, he was pretty sure Dr. Fiona Nichol was full of surprises. “My first appointment tomorrow is at three in the afternoon.”

“Great.” She strode to the door, a sly smile still lighting her face. “I’ll text you with the details tonight.”

And without a second glance, she left, closing the door behind her, leaving him utterly confused and, for the first time in a long time, at a complete and total loss for words.

Jake went straight home from the office, intending to work on the magazine article that was due way too soon. Once there, he found it hard to focus on anything other than Dr. Fiona Nichol—her sexy smile, understated sense of humor, and quick temper.

Abandoning the article, he shoved his laptop back into his briefcase, then flopped down onto his soft leather sofa and picked up the TV remote. His best friend, Marcus, was heading over to watch the Yankees game, which was good, since he wasn’t up to much else. He couldn’t get his new client out of his mind.

He had no idea what he’d expected from Fiona, but she’d surprised him. He’d known she was a doctor of some kind because of the lab coat he’d seen her wearing on the mornings when they’d gotten to the lobby at the same time. She’d never said a word to him, but he’d seen her check him out. Since he’d only gotten fleeting glances from her, he’d thought she was stuck-up or something. Surprise, surprise; she was shy, not stuck-up.

He could help her with the award acceptance speech. He just knew it. One of the local news anchors he worked with was a hardcore introvert and had become a lot more comfortable with himself after several months of working together. It would be difficult, but Jake loved a challenge.

He also loved brunette hair.

And brown eyes.

And smart women like Dr. Fiona Nichol.

Client, he reminded himself again. With a click, he hit the power button and scrolled through his saved programs, then selected last night’s baseball game and hit play, muting the pregame talking heads.

Hopefully, he hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew this time. Being funny and challenging him to a bet was different than giving a speech. He wondered what she had in mind to prove him wrong. Hell, he didn’t even know what she thought his “problem” was, and that really bugged the shit out of him. He looked forward to her text.

If she texted.

He checked his phone again. Nothing.

The doorbell rang, and after a moment, Marcus walked right in. He had a key, so ringing the bell was just a courtesy. Not that Jake needed it right now. He hadn’t dated in a while, so it wasn’t like his friend would walk in on something.

“Cued up to the first inning yet?” Marcus asked, grabbing two beers from the six-pack he’d brought before putting the others in the fridge.

“No. Was watching pregame.” Jake reached over his head for the beer handoff as his friend passed behind him.

Marcus sat on the sofa with a sigh and placed a pizza box on the coffee table. “Fuck, I need a new job.”

“You do,” Jake said, popping the top on his beer.

Marcus was an investment analyst for a mutual fund company, and his hours were terrible. So was his social life. The only thing he had time for was a run on the weekend, and every now and then, he found time to watch a recorded game. Hell, the guy didn’t even date anymore.

Jake took a swig of beer. Sound familiar? After another glance at his phone—which, of course, had no message from Fiona—he unmuted the TV as the first pitch was thrown.

“Pizza?” Marcus flipped open the box on the coffee table.

“Sure.”

Jake and Marcus had been friends since undergrad. It was nice to have someone he knew well enough to not have to be “on” every single second, which his job as a public speaking coach required. He was supposed to be the most outgoing, most well-spoken person in the room all the time, but with Marcus, he could just be himself.

He’d landed the job with Upward Media after graduate school. Honestly, he’d only gone to graduate school to kill time while he’d figured out what he wanted to do with his life—and to avoid his overbearing father, who wanted him to join the family window installation business in Queens. No way. No to windows. No to working with Dad. He checked his phone again.

“You waiting for something?” Marcus asked around a bite of pepperoni pizza.

“I’m expecting a text from a new client.”

“Another one of your famous stars?”

Jake worked with some pretty well-known folks, but for some reason, the idea of working with Fiona Nichol made him far more nervous. “No. A veterinarian who has to give a speech.”

Marcus snorted. “What’s the speech about? Rabies? Mange? Sounds awful.”

In the game, there were runners on first and third base, but Jake wasn’t interested at all. “Sounds awful because you haven’t seen the veterinarian.”

His friend’s eyebrows rose. “Now this sounds promising.”

Not as promising as he’d like. “She’s a client. Nothing promising.”

Marcus leaned back and studied him. “She’s hot?”

He wasn’t sure if hot was the right word, but something about her did a number on him. “She’s different.”

Marcus tilted his head as if seeing Jake for the first time. “I haven’t heard you talk about a woman in ages.”

“Says the man who hasn’t gotten laid since his high school reunion last April.”

Marcus laughed. “Not quite true.” He paused, attention drawn momentarily to the TV while the fans cheered for a base hit. “But you’re close. Like I said, I need a new job. One that doesn’t require eighty to a hundred hours a week. What’s your excuse?”

“Hey, I date.” That sounded more defensive than he’d intended.

His friend responded by snorting before finishing off his beer and going to the kitchen to get another one. “Yeah. You go out with women. Once, sometimes twice a month, even though you don’t have killer work hours.”

“I had no idea you were so up on my dating life, Marcus. I don’t know whether to be flattered or frightened.”

“Neither. My life is so boring, yours looks like an action movie.”

As Jake watched his friend, his chest tightened. He’d been worried about Marcus for a while, but he hadn’t realized he was this dissatisfied with his job and his life. Jake was lucky by comparison. Being a speech coach offered him a lot of variety, working in the office and out in the field. It put him in touch with cool and famous people, and no day was like the one before.

The downside was the constant pressure of feeling like he was auditioning or being judged when out in social situations, even on dates. It got old. Maybe that’s the reason he’d fallen so hard for Charise. They were both speech coaches, so they could drop all the bullshit when they were together and had downtime.

He supposed if he had an office job, or one where he did nothing but analyze stocks and investments, like Marcus, he’d be ready for a night out on the town.

He checked his phone again.

“Dude. You’ve got it bad,” Marcus said.

Yeah. Evidently, he did.

“Why don’t you just call her?”

“Because it’s bad form professionally.”

“I’m not talking about calling her as a speech coach, dumbass. I’m talking about calling her as a man.”

Jake held up a hand. “Can’t date clients.”

“That’s a stupid rule.”

“Company policy.”

“But you can date coworkers like Charise?”

“No,” Jake said. “They made a rule against that, too, after we broke up. It’s called the Jake’s a Jackass Rule.”

“Ridiculous,” Marcus grumbled into his beer.

The crowd on TV cheered as a player hit a foul ball.

Jake’s heart stammered when his phone dinged.

Fiona: Corner of 12th Ave and 52nd St tomorrow morning 10:00

“Dude,” Marcus said. “You’ve gotta do something about this. You’re grinning like a fool.”

He was—both grinning and a fool. He’d been worried she’d back out, but she really meant to go through with it—whatever it was. He responded immediately.

Jake: Do I need to bring or wear anything special?

Fiona: Bring an apology and wear your big-boy pants.

He barked a laugh. Claire Anderson had been right—Fiona was funny. An image of her flushing red when he held up the idiotic penis-shaped dog toy made him laugh again. He decided to play along with her teasing mood.

Jake: Are you bringing Sir Squashalot?

He held his breath as he waited for her reply, wondering if he’d gone too far. Fortunately, her answer was almost immediate.

Fiona: Nah. He’s kind of a dick.

This time, he gave a full-on belly laugh. He hadn’t expected that at all from a woman who was so shy she talked to tourists through her dogs.

“Seriously,” Marcus said. “Call her.”

“Business only,” Jake muttered, more to himself than his friend.

The crowd on the TV went wild when a player slid in for a home run.

His grin widened as he relaxed back on the sofa, thinking about the pretty, funny, smart Dr. Fiona Nichol and contemplating a home run of a different kind entirely.

It was going to be a really long two months.

Chapter Five

Jake stepped out of the cab at the corner of 12th Avenue and 52nd Street, blinking in the bright sunlight. He had no idea what Fiona had in mind, meeting at De Witt Clinton Park when Washington Square Park was so much closer to their apartment building.

“Hey.” The voice from behind him was light and feminine.

He spun to find Fiona striding toward him, wearing tight jeans, ankle boots, and a snug T-shirt that had two dogs on the front. One was sniffing the other one’s butt. The caption below them, hovering in the enticing shadow right under her breasts, said, “Love stinks.”

He bit back a laugh. “Hey yourself.”

She upended a paper coffee cup and chugged the remainder before pitching it in a can chained to a light post. “You ready?” She didn’t meet his eyes, but there was an edge of challenge in her quiet voice.

“For what?” Honestly, he had no clue what she was up to, which both infuriated and intrigued him. He noticed she didn’t have her dogs with her, so meeting at the park was even more of a mystery.

A slight smile tugged the corners of her mouth. “To be proven wrong.”

“Oh, totally ready, then.”

Without another word, she headed to the corner and stepped out into the intersection toward Pier 92.

Piers 92 and 94 were adjacent warehouses on the Hudson River. Conventions, trade shows, and even fashion shows were held there year-round, but Jake had no clue what was going on here today.

As they approached the entrance, she sped up her pace. That didn’t bother him a bit because it gave him a clear view of her from behind, which, he decided, was a really good view. The scrubs he always saw her in when he bumped into her in the lobby didn’t do her shape justice like tight, hip-hugging jeans.

Client, he reminded himself, followed by an internal string of curse words.

As they neared the door, he could see Meet & Compete was emblazoned across a banner over the entrance. When they entered, she flashed two tickets to a woman behind a desk labeled AKC Meet the Breed s.

Breeds. AKC. Frozen in place, he stared with dread at the logo of a spotted dog at the top of the sign. And just like that, his pulse kicked up a notch. AKC was the American Kennel Club. Shit.

Fiona opened the warehouse door on the left, and the gravity of the situation hit him like a punch in the face. Dogs. The smell of dogs. The sound of dogs. Barking. Loads and loads of barking. From high-pitched to booming. By this time, his pulse had hit light speed.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “Good joke.”

The door slammed behind them with a metallic bang that brought to mind a prison cell door closing behind him like in a bad movie.

“Relax,” she said, slipping the ticket stubs into her back pocket. “It’ll be good for you, remember?” Without a glance back, she struck out toward a booth decorated with plaid fabric. He focused on the sway of her ass rather than the cacophony of howls and woofs and yaps ricocheting around the space.

This woman might be shy, but this was a fierce play, and a trickle of admiration rose to the surface above the tightness in his chest from the mounting tension of…well, dogs.

“Dr. Nichol!” said a woman wearing a blue-and-yellow plaid skirt and matching sash as she shifted a pointy-eared black dog higher on her hip.

“Hello, Fergus,” Fiona said, scratching the dog on the chin. The dog closed his eyes and tilted his head as if saying, “higher…lower…ah, yeah. Right there.” His back leg spasmed like he was scratching right along with her.

“This is Jacob Ward,” she said, still focusing on the dog but gesturing toward him.

“Oh.” The woman scanned him up and down. “Nice to meet you.” She shifted the dog again and extended her hand. “I’m Carrie James. Are you considering a Scottie? They’re wonderful dogs.” She indicated several others in a baby pen–type contraption to her left and beamed as if showing off her grandkids. “You can pet them if you want.”

He fought the urge to take a step back. “No, but thanks.” He gestured to his nose. “Allergies,” he lied.

The woman frowned and made a tsking sound. “That’s a shame. I can’t even imagine how awful it would be to not be able to cuddle a dog. It lowers blood pressure, you know.”

So did meditation and alcohol. In fact, a shot of whisky would be amazing right about now. He glanced over to find Fiona studying him with a serious expression on her face.

The woman in the plaid didn’t seem to notice, and she gushed, “Dr. Nichol is amazing.” She turned to her. “Thanks again for coming to our hotel this morning to check on Bitsy.”

Fiona smiled and reached into the pen of dogs, taking the face of the smallest one between her palms. The dog looked up at her with adoration, tongue lolling out of its mouth. “Bitsy, don’t dig through your mommy’s luggage for a snack again, okay? You gave her a big scare.”

Jake noted she was doing that speaking-through-the-animal thing she’d done on the street the first time he’d spoken with her.

The woman laughed. “I thought she was throwing up blood. Instead, it was just wild cherry cough drops. She ate the whole package of them, the rascal.”

From the next booth, a huge dog woofed, and Jake’s heart lurched. He forced himself to stand still despite the growing urge to bolt for the door. Little dogs didn’t bother him nearly as much as bigger ones, and the one in the next booth was enormous.

Rhodesian Ridgeback in green letters decorated the back wall of the booth. Two calm brown dogs with weird stripes of hair going the wrong way up their backs lounged in a playpen area in the corner. One lifted its head and gave another loud woof, causing Jake to flinch in spite of his heroic attempt to look calm.

To his relief, Fiona didn’t stop at the booth with the monster dogs or the next three housing equally large animals. Instead, she stopped at a pink booth with small black-and-white dogs with big, hairy ears. “Dr. Nichol!” called a woman wearing a headband with butterfly wings. “Good to see you again. I was hoping you’d make an appearance.”

Fiona didn’t answer. She simply smiled, and Jake found himself relaxing a little bit. Not only was her smile beautiful, the dog on the display table was too small to cause him any issues. Letters covered in purple glitter on the back booth wall read Papillon.

“What’s your name?” Fiona asked the dog, who stared up at her adoringly.

Jake marveled at how seamlessly and naturally she engaged in conversation without directly speaking to the woman.

“That’s Buzzy. His full name is Everdale Buzzkill Party Boy,” the woman said.

“Big name for a small guy.” Fiona scratched under the dog’s chin with one finger. Jake envied her ease with the animal. As he studied her, he again noticed how relaxed she seemed when dealing with dogs versus people—the complete opposite of him—and wondered how he could use that in their speech preparation.

After another “I’m allergic” lie to avoid touching the dogs, they were on their way again.

“You should have warned me you were taking me to a dog show,” Jake said as they headed up the long aisle with booths full of barking dogs on either side. He had been utilizing all the calming techniques he taught his clients. At the moment, he was counting backward from one hundred, breathing in for five and out for five as he did so. It wasn’t working.

“Like you warned me that I’d be attending a group session?” Her voice was light and dismissive. “Are you grateful and happy yet?”

As if on cue, an enormous hairy dog the size and shape of a bear gave a bark to their right. As Jake fought back a grimace, Fiona grinned and approached the beast. “Lucy! I thought you were home with puppies.”

She glanced at him briefly as she hugged the huge, hairy animal. “Lucy is a Bouvier des Flandres. My favorite breed outside of cairn terriers.”

Cairn terriers must be what her two dogs were.

“Well, hello there, Dr. Nichol!” said a woman in a red dress. She didn’t have a gimmicky costume like the others. “Betty is home with a new litter. Lucy had her pups almost four months ago. She’s an empty nester now, so we thought a little travel would do her good, even though she’s not in the show ring this season. My other two are, though.”

“Great. Best of luck with your two, and give Betty and her pups my love.” Not taking her eyes off of the dog, she added, “This is Jacob Ward. Jacob, this is Lucille Barrow.” She ruffled the dog’s hair. “Lucille and I met two years ago when Lucy got a scratch on her eye before hitting the show ring. You won best of breed anyway, though, didn’t you, Lucy?”

The woman gave Jake a thorough once-over, and he tried to appear relaxed while never taking his eye off of the huge, hairy black dog with tiny pointed ears and small, intelligent eyes. Images of a gate and a black handle with a latch flickered through his mind. He pushed the memory away with a shudder. Small talk. Yeah, that would get his mind off of it. “Nice to meet you, Lucille. Is Lucy named after you?”

She nodded. “My husband named her. Said he wanted one woman in his life named Lucille to follow his orders, and this was his only chance.” She grinned and winked at a man on a stool in the booth, who looked up from his paper briefly and gave a nod.

“Touch her,” Fiona whispered.

No fucking way. The dog was huge. Even bigger than…

“Come on, Jacob, touch her. Her coat is amazing.”

Damn. The sound of her airy whisper made him want to comply, but he didn’t. Hell, he couldn’t even move as memories of a black dog and a gate flashed through his brain like a slideshow, causing his mind and body to lock up exactly as it had all those years ago.

Chapter Six

Fiona knew the moment the situation became too much for Jacob. The muscles in his jaw tensed visibly, he stilled, his respiration increased, and he blinked several times in succession as he stared at Lucy. He was very adept at masking his fear, but as someone with a lifetime of experience, she recognized it.

Leaning close to him, she whispered, “This is how I felt when I walked into that room full of people, thinking I would have to speak. I was not happy or grateful. Are you happy and grateful?”

“Not even a little bit,” he said. “Point made. You win.”

She grinned. “No more group sessions?”

“None.”

“And…”

“And you were right. I was wrong. I apologize. Can we go now?”

She smiled. “An apology wasn’t part of the bet.”

“Consider it a bonus prize.”

For a moment, she flicked her gaze to his face, and heat ran through her. He was a really handsome man. She’d thought she’d memorized him from watching him in the lobby over the months, but up close, he looked entirely different. Even better. There was a gold rim around his gray irises she’d not known was there, and a little freckle just under his lower lip. She stared at his mouth for a moment, imagining licking that little freckle, but then looked away when she felt his attention shift to her.

Crap! He’d totally caught her checking out his mouth. She struck out toward the exit, and he fell in beside her. Jacob Ward was way out of her comfort zone. She shouldn’t be looking at him at all, much less imagining those lips on hers—or licking that freckle, for Pete’s sake.

She cleared her throat. “Apology accepted.”

When they got out of the building and into the sunlight, she slowed to a casual pace. Glancing over, she could tell he had recovered a bit. His steps were looser, and his drawn expression had relaxed.

“Wanna tell me about your fear of dogs?” she asked as they waited for the walk light.

“Nope.”

She wasn’t surprised, but she was disappointed. She also assumed he was angry like she had been when he’d tricked her into a group session. Fair enough. “I’m sorry you were uncomfortable, Jake.”

“I imagine I deserved it.”

“You did.”

The light changed, and they walked across the street, stopping where he had been dropped off by the cab. For what felt like forever, they simply stood in silence.

Well, this was awkward. She couldn’t bring herself to look at his face when she was this uncomfortable, and she wished she had her dogs with her. What on earth was she supposed to say? Thanks for playing along and letting me scare the crap out of you to prove a point. I hate that it made you uncomfortable.

She moved her focus from the people walking on the sidewalk to the trees growing in a cluster to her left. What was wrong with her? She felt like a teenager on a first date, not knowing how to say goodnight. She hated this feeling and hoped he was equally uncomfortable. Finally, she chanced a glance at him.

Darn it. The guy looked totally composed and irritatingly amused.

“What?” she asked, frustrated far more with herself than him.

“You’re not gloating,” he answered.

“Should I be?”

He nodded once. “I would be.”

“Making someone uncomfortable isn’t something to gloat over.”

“Winning a bet is.”

She supposed he was right. Still, gloating wasn’t her thing. “I only wanted to illustrate how being in a forced social situation makes me feel. I imagine it’s the same as you feel when in forced proximity with dogs.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. “Point well made, and you most certainly won your bet.” After an uncomfortable moment of eye contact, he said, “Can the loser buy you a cup of coffee or something?” He nodded to a bagel shop across the street.

Oh, God. Was he asking her out on a date? No. Of course not. Why on earth would he do something like that? He was just being nice and doing what outgoing people do—being polite and not just saying bye and taking off.

“Uh, no.” She glanced at him, and a brief flash of disappointment crossed his face. She supposed a guy this good-looking was rarely turned down even when only being polite. “Thank you, though. I’ve got appointments scheduled for the rest of the day.”

“Share a ride, then?” he offered. “Since your business is in the bottom of our apartment building.”

Man, oh, man were those trees interesting. Far more interesting than the prospect of being alone in the back seat of a cab with him, or that freckle under his bottom lip, or her heart beating out of her chest. No. No way could she be in a car with this guy right now without saying something ridiculous and making a total fool of herself.

“Thanks for the offer, but no,” she said in a voice far calmer than she felt. “I have some errands to run on the way back.”

She half expected him to offer to go along with her out of extrovert pride, but to her relief, he only nodded and opened his ride app.

What should she do? Wait for his cab to come while inevitably engaging in disastrous chitchat, maybe even about the dreaded speech, or head out like she was dying to do? Instead, she avoided making a decision and continued her avoidance tactic of staring at the sunlight flickering through the branches.

“Nice trees in this park,” he said.

Busted. “Yeah.”

God, she wished her dogs were here to give her something to focus on other than trees or that freaking freckle. A few more moments of silence stretched between them, but he seemed calm and happy to stare at the park beside her. She hated the awkwardness that had fallen over her like an itchy blanket. This was how things always were with people she wasn’t close to, but for some reason, she and Jake had seemed to bypass this kind of weirdness. Well, until now. What had changed?

She studied him as he stared out over the park, and it dawned on her that it was her. She was starting to think of him as a friend despite his not meeting her three requirements. Her stomach flipped over. She’d been seduced by a freaking freckle.

“So, how about a coaching session in my office?” he suggested. “No group. Just you and me.”

The words made her heart jump into her throat. She glanced over, and her eyes focused on his mouth like a laser scope. What was wrong with her? Considering the idiotic way she was acting, being alone with him was hazardous.

“Sure. When?” she asked, staring at the streetlight straight ahead on the other side of the crosswalk, acting like she didn’t feel like she was falling off a cliff.

“I’ll check my schedule and text you. It would be helpful if you could outline the main points you want to cover in your speech, and we could work from there. Is that acceptable?”

“Sure.” Fantastic. Homework. This was a perfect time to leave. “I should go, so I make my appointments on time.”

“Okay.”

She stared at the trees, then back at him, hating that she sucked so bad at being normal. “Okay, well, bye then.” She turned to leave and only got a couple of steps before he spoke.

“I would say thanks for the adventure this morning, but, uh…” His voice drifted off, with the obvious unfinished words hanging between them. Again, she felt like a jerk for putting him through that, but hey, all was fair in life and self-improvement, right?

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Okay, bye for real this time.” Then she dropped her gaze, because that was a super ridiculous thing to say, and again, that freckle was acting like a tongue beacon. Before she said something else inane, she turned and headed off toward home. “Okay, bye for real this time.” Seriously?

She decided to go to the next subway station over instead of the closest one. A longer walk would give her time to get her head together. Though she seriously doubted there was a walk long enough for that. Something about this guy got to her, and she wasn’t sure that was a good thing. She pictured that delectable little freckle again and fought the urge to look over her shoulder to check him out.

Yeah, definitely not a good thing.

Chapter Seven

“How did your appointment go with your referral from Claire Anderson—the acceptance speech?” Charise swept her long, dark hair over her shoulder and leaned a hip against Jake’s office doorframe. “I saw on the books that she joined your group yesterday and you had an appointment again this morning.”

“It went fine.” He closed his laptop, welcoming the distraction from his unfinished article for Today’s Psychology. While happy for the break, he wasn’t thrilled with her choice of topic. Ordinarily, he enjoyed talking and sharing opinions about clients with Charise and the other Upward Media coaches. It was company practice to brainstorm in order to maximize success—hence the progress board in the conference room. The only time feedback wasn’t shared was when it was a client who specifically requested confidentiality, which was a rare politician or someone working on a private project.

“It went fine,” Charise repeated. “Elaine said she was…different.”

Elaine would. Always perfect, with-every-hair-in-place Elaine would certainly have looked forward to briefing Charise. Hell, she’d probably been waiting by the door when Charise arrived. He pictured Fiona as Elaine ushered her into the group session forty-five minutes late in her funny shirt, wet hair, and flip-flops, and couldn’t help but smile. “She is different.”

“And?”

The look on her face appeared simply curious. It was normal behavior for her to ask about a new client, just like he did with her. This time, though, he didn’t really want to share. “And she arrived too late to participate last night, and this morning was just a brief getting-to-know-you session. No progress yet. We’ll be reviewing her speech outline when we meet next.”

She stared at him a moment, and he held his breath, willing her to move on. Finally, she nodded. “The Johnston sportscaster audition went well…at least that’s what he told me. You can’t tell with that guy, though. He’s not super self-aware and could’ve totally blown it. His agent should hear back sometime today as to whether or not he got the job.”

Charise had been working with Alan Johnston for over a month to prepare him for his audition with a local news station. He’d evidently been difficult to work with, but Charise was great with egos. She should be, since hers was a thing of wonder.

“If he gets the job, that puts me two up on you.” She brushed her hair over her shoulder in a practiced move he’d seen a hundred times. Jake thought of Fiona’s silly Love Stinks shirt she had worn today and how, to him, her natural sensuality was much more appealing than Charise’s calculated sexuality. Not that Charise’s approach didn’t work. It had worked really well on him, in fact.

What had drawn him to Charise the most was that she knew herself and how she came across to others. It was why she was so good at what she did. Like Jake, she was good at promoting her strong points. She was smart, driven, and she dressed to enhance her attractiveness with calculation and accuracy. Her work clothes were custom made, and she took great care with her makeup and appearance, which, when they had been together, had been a pain in the ass. She hogged the bathroom and made them late to everything. Still, he supposed, the end result was worth it to her and boosted her confidence. Though Jake wasn’t sure her confidence needed any boosting whatsoever—as opposed to his new client, who needed all the confidence she could find—at least with regard to the speech. Outside of that, she seemed surprisingly secure in herself. He nearly shook his head to clear the image of her from his brain. He needed to quit thinking about her.

Marcus teasing him about not dating came to mind, which was irritating. He could do something about that, though. Fire up that online dating site and give it another go.

Just thinking about keeping up his image for a date with a stranger was exhausting. At least with Charise, they’d both been in the same game and could drop the speech-coach routine when they weren’t out in public. That had been one of the only things they had in common, though. He’d thought they were on the same page, but it was hard for Charise to be there for someone else when her own goals always took priority.

Once she’d determined Jake wasn’t essential to forwarding those goals, she turned their relationship off like a faucet. She went on vacation and didn’t let him know where she was or when she’d be back. She’d ghosted him completely, not returning calls or texts for two solid weeks. He’d have called in a missing person report after the first day if it weren’t for Elaine telling him Charise was fine and he needed to move on with his life.

Charise hadn’t even done her own dirty work, and Jake had let her know exactly how he’d felt about that when she finally rolled into the monthly progress meeting sporting a huge smile and a new tan. Regrettably, he’d lost his shit in front of every single coworker in the conference room. The Jake’s a Jackass Rule was aptly named and had become an ongoing joke around the office.

At least he and Charise had remained friends. When he looked back on it, that’s all she’d ever considered him in the first place: a friend with benefits. Being dumped so publicly had sucked. So, he’d taken a page out of her book and decided only lighthearted fun and casual sex for him from now on. You can’t get hurt if you don’t invest emotionally.

Charise cleared her throat and pulled him back to the moment.

He smiled at her. “Yeah, looks like I’m going to have to step up my game if I’m going to beat you this quarter,” Jake said. “Or take on some easy clients like some people.”

As expected, she didn’t take offense and laughed. “Luck of the draw, I suppose. I take it that means your new one is not going to be easy.”

Not in any way imaginable. “Probably not.”

“Why?”

Charise was relentless. Another trait that made her top in her field but got on his nerves. “I don’t know enough about her to accurately discuss it yet.”

She nodded. “Got it.” She pushed away from the doorframe with her hip in a single, graceful move. A real feat in her high heels, he supposed. She brushed some invisible speck off of her sleeve. Her long, French-manicured nails caught the light and sparkled, like her new engagement ring from the advertising executive she’d dated for the last four months. Obviously, she had found someone who could advance her goals—whatever those were.

She smiled. “Let me know if you want some input once you get going. If Alan Johnston doesn’t get this job, I may need an evaluation and opinion from you before he auditions again. I should have the tape of his live screen test soon. I’ll keep you posted.”

As usual, she didn’t say goodbye or close the conversation. She simply walked off, something else she was really good at, especially during an argument. When she was done, she was done.

He stared at the empty doorway for a moment and grinned as he remembered Fiona’s awkward goodbyes before finally walking away this morning. He looked forward to their next appointment. He glanced at his schedule, picked up his phone, and texted her.

Jake: Does an appointment at 7:00pm today work?

He opened his laptop to work on his article but couldn’t focus. He should never have agreed to write the damned thing. They’d asked him for an article that explored the biggest obstacles he encountered when coaching someone for a prepared speech—his specialty. Right now, though, his specialty seemed to be staring at a blank screen and a blinking cursor, trying like hell to not think about Fiona Nichol.

“Stop it!” He snapped the laptop closed, along with the mental image of her in that silly T-shirt. “Focus.”

He opened the laptop again, and, forcing himself to follow his own advice to his clients, he made a list of what he wanted the article to accomplish. When, after twenty minutes of half-assed list making, he hadn’t heard back from Fiona, he shut his computer and wandered to the window. What was wrong with him?

Below, a street vendor passed a hot dog to a customer as people purposefully bustled past. Everyone was heading to and from someplace as if they had a goal or mission. As he watched, Jake realized that this perception was all due to his perspective. From up here, he couldn’t see the worry on their faces or the hesitance in their steps. Just like how if someone looked at him, they’d see a driven, successful man, not a guy worried over whether or not a woman he’d just met was ghosting him.

Not a woman, a client, he reminded himself. He had lots of clients, but for some reason, he was hyper-focused on this one. Why? Because of the challenge. She presented an enticing professional challenge. That’s all.

“Hey.” It was Elaine sticking her head in this time. “I’m headed to the deli. Want anything?”

He looked at his watch. Twelve thirty-two. It had been twenty-two minutes since he texted Fiona. “No. I’m good. I’m meeting a friend for lunch. Thanks for asking.”

“A friend?” She waggled her eyebrows. Always on the hunt for gossip.

“Marcus.” Only, Marcus didn’t know it yet.

“Oooh. Tell him hi. If he’s still single, tell him hi and give him my number.” She winked.

Bringing Marcus here for the office Christmas party last year had been a mistake, probably, but he’d just broken up with Charise and had wanted to have someone to hang out with that wouldn’t inspire a scene in front of the clients. Though, in fairness, Charise wasn’t likely to cause a scene, but still, it was safer to not bring a date or come alone, since everyone that worked there was aware of their less-than-tidy breakup.

“I’ll tell him hi for you,” he said, packing his computer in its case. “I’ll be back before my three-o’clock appointment.”

“Long lunch,” she said, voice full of innuendo.

“Errands,” he answered as he brushed by her.

He grimaced as he waited for the elevator, realizing Fiona had used the same “errands” excuse on him this morning. He straightened his tie. Maybe it hadn’t been an excuse. Perhaps she’d really had errands to run. He checked his texts again as the elevator door opened, then shoved the phone into his inner jacket pocket and turned to face the closing doors. His reflection in the shiny surface stared back, well-dressed and self-assured. Again, all a matter of perspective, he mused.

Maybe that was it. Maybe that was what fueled his intense interest in Fiona Nichol—his changed perspective. He’d never met anyone who’d smashed his first impression to bits like she had. Ordinarily, he was great at reading people in minutes. Part of his business was to sum a person up accurately so he could help them perform better. Well, he’d sure as hell fallen short in his assessment of Fiona. The more time he spent with her, the more he realized he’d totally underestimated her. She wasn’t the odd, shy woman loitering in his lobby he wanted nothing to do with.

The elevator slowed and stopped.

She was… He took in a deep breath. Damn, it was hard to even put it into words. He patted his jacket over his phone. Still there. And still no text from her, dammit.

The elevator doors opened, and he stepped out and made his way to the street. Why hadn’t she replied? He slowed his pace, and a woman pushing a stroller passed. More importantly, why did it matter so much?

And then it hit him. He’d been right. It was totally a perspective problem. He stepped aside next to a covered bus stop to get out of people’s way. He wasn’t stressed because a client hadn’t responded regarding an appointment. He was stressed because he was interested in her as far more than a client.

Well, shit.

He shook his head to clear it and then took off down the sidewalk in large strides. This couldn’t happen. She was a client. Only a client. Over and out.

He pulled out his phone to text Marcus. A burger with his friend would put it all back in perspective—a professional, responsible perspective, he told himself, resisting the urge to check his phone again.

Chapter Eight

Fiona stared down at the chart and sighed with relief. Boris was one of her favorite patients. Not only because he was adorable, but because his owner wasn’t a talker, which was exactly what she needed right now. Her growing interest in Jacob had thrown her. At least Addison was here from the animal rescue farm today and was helping her out. Right now, she was putting Otto and Daisy into the daycare room.

With a practiced, fake smile, Fiona pushed the door open and greeted the middle-aged English bulldog. “Mr. Boris. How are you, sir?”

His owner, Mrs. Krenshaw, was sitting in a chair with Boris at her feet. Even though it was a sunny spring day, Boris sported one of his signature raincoats that Mrs. K made and sold on Etsy. This time, he was shrouded in cornea-obliterating, neon-pink floral.

“Looking smart there, big fella. Pink’s your color. How about we talk eye to eye?” She put on some exam gloves and hefted him up on the table with a grunt.

Mrs. K wrung her hands. “He’s been licking his paws and rubbing his face on my bath mat for a week. This morning, I noticed he had some redness above his nose.”

“Probably brought on by seasonal allergies,” Fiona said. Boris snorted, then made a rumbling grunt and stretched to lick Fiona’s cheek when she leaned closer to take off his raincoat. She grinned and rubbed his head, then checked out the wrinkles above his nose. “Yep. No wonder you’re rubbing your face, Boris. You’ve got a light case of skin fold pyoderma. No big deal.”

“I wash his face every day, just like you told me,” Mrs. K said.

“Sounds like you’re being well taken care of,” Fiona reassured the dog as she checked the rest of his body. “Be sure your mom dries your face really well after washing it, especially between your wrinkles. I’ll send some medicated wash and wipes home with you, along with written instructions.” She gave him a pat and then hefted him off the table. He immediately lumbered back over to Mrs. K.

“You know,” the woman said, taking the raincoat from Fiona, “one of these days, he’s going to answer you back.”

Eyes still on Boris, who was standing still as Mrs. K buttoned his raincoat, Fiona said, “He already does.”

Most animals spoke to her in one way or another. She found animal body language and needs much easier to read than that of humans, which was why she’d wanted to be a vet for as long as she could remember. She opened the file drawer and attached the skincare instructions to Boris’s chart with a paper clip, then moved to the supply cabinet above the small sink.

A sharp rap came on the door, and Addison stuck her head in. She was dressed in her usual boots, jeans, and plaid shirt with her long, auburn hair in a single braid. “Good morning. Need any help, Dr. Nichol?”

“No, thanks, Addison. We’re just wrapping it up here.” Fiona pulled out some medicated wash and face wipes from the cabinet.

Boris strained to get to the door and away from Mrs. K, who was trying to cram a hat on his head. He didn’t seem to like his hat as much as he did the jacket.

“Maybe you should go without the hat until your skin clears up, Boris,” Fiona said. She was relieved when Mrs. K surrendered and put it in her bag without any complaints. “So, Boris, I’ll see you in two weeks if it doesn’t heal up by then. If it’s gone, there’s no need to come back in. Just be sure Mom keeps the area clean and dry.” She handed Mrs. K the wipes, wash, and chart to take up front to check out, then said goodbye to Boris.

After closing the door, Addison sat on the round exam stool and spun a three-sixty, then another as her cowboy boots made a scraping sound over the vinyl tiles. “You do realize that you didn’t say a single word to the owner, right?”

Fiona busied herself with cleaning the table. “Yes, but by the time the exam was over, Mrs. K knew exactly what was wrong with Boris and how to treat it, so I communicated effectively, which is the objective.” She glanced at Addison, who was studying her with her head cocked and eyes narrowed. Fiona turned her attention to organizing the prep area. Addison was a fairly new friend. Considering Fiona didn’t make friends easily and could count them on one hand, the fact she thought of Addison as a friend was really something.

Addison pulled Sir Squash out of a bag slung over her shoulder and gave him a squeak. “Otto dropped this on his way in, evidently.” She held it up and laughed. “You know this looks exactly like a—”

“I’m totally aware.” Fiona held out a hand to shut her up. “It’s Otto’s favorite. He picked it out himself at the store as a little puppy and won’t play with anything else. We can’t apply our human conceptions into what a dog sees and likes.”

Addison snorted. “I can relate—to both the shape and singularity of this shape’s appeal.” She winked and gave it a succession of rapid, rhythmic squeaks.

Fiona groaned and rolled her eyes.

With a laugh, Addison pitched Sir Squash onto the exam table and opened the door. “I’m heading out now, but I’ll bring back your next patient. You might want to put that thing away before somebody gets the wrong idea.”

Too late. Sir Squash had already made his public debut in the revolving door of doom—the memory of which made her thoughts turn to Jacob and her infatuation with the freckle under his lip, which in turn made her insides revolve like that door.

Work. She’d focus on work until then, and once her appointments were over, she’d go home, have a bubble bath, curl up with Otto and Daisy, and read a good, sexy romance novel.

Hours later, Fiona sighed with relief as she snapped off her exam gloves and pitched them in the trash can. She’d had back-to-back appointments with no breaks, since she’d pushed them back for her visit to the dog event with Jacob this morning. In addition to the crammed schedule, two walk-ins arrived, and because they were established patients, she felt uncomfortable turning them away, especially since one of them was there with an abandoned puppy. Thank goodness her friend and co-owner, Caitlin, had stepped in to help her out after Addison left.

“You think that dehydrated pup’s gonna make it?” Caitlin asked, washing her hands.

“Yes.” Fiona had seen a lot worse. The puppy had been found not long after it had been dumped in the garbage can. Sometimes, people’s cruelty was more than she could stand. “I’ll take her home tonight. Addison will pick her up tomorrow and drop her off at the farm until she’s ready for adoption.”

Caitlin nodded and dried her hands, moving aside so that Fiona could wash up. “I’d take her myself, but we’re flying out to my in-laws as soon as Taylor gets home. We want to give them the good news in person.” She rubbed her still-flat belly and got that wistful, mushy mom-to-be look on her face. A look that was one step off of the blissful new wife look, and two steps away from the starry-eyed optimism of the newly engaged, which Fiona had put up with from both Caitlin and Jane. Neither outright said it, but she knew they hoped she would become a member of their happily-ever-after club ASAP.

No thank you. She was perfectly happy as she was without having to bend or change to meet someone else’s needs.

Still, part of her envied her besties. They didn’t seem to be held back by their relationships—they were enhanced by them. And honestly, Caitlin seemed to glow. Fiona was happy for her and Taylor. They had what very few couples found—certainly something she didn’t expect: complete and total balance. Heck, Fiona couldn’t even find balance in a simple conversation, much less a complex, long-term relationship. That’s why her dogs were the perfect roomies. They didn’t want to debate controversial topics, and they never complained over her choice of movie.

A knock came on the door, and then it opened immediately. Jane stuck her head in. “You have a personal call on hold, Fiona.”

That was weird. “Will you take a message, please? Sorry, I’m way behind and starving.” Four forty-five was way too late for lunch, and the trail mix she’d snacked on between patients wasn’t doing the trick. Her stomach was rebelling in a big way, growling and grumbling and trying to light her on fire from inside.

“I think you should take the call,” Jane said.

Fiona wiped her hands dry and rolled her eyes. “Having a best friend as a workmate and boss is a pain, you know.”

“We’re co-owners,” Jane said. “I’m not your boss.”

“Oh, good. Take a message, then.”

Jane arched a blond eyebrow. “Though, technically, I own more of the business than you do, so take the call.”

Fiona picked up the handset from the phone on the wall, staring at the ominous blinking light, wondering what had set Jane’s pants on fire like this. “Who is it?”

“Your public speaking coach.”

Huh. Why had Jacob called the business number? Hesitantly, she pushed the blinking button and put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Will you be here at seven?” he asked. His voice sounded sharp. Maybe he had reconsidered and was irritated about the thing with the dogs this morning.

“Uh…” She plugged her other ear and closed her eyes, narrowing her world to only the phone so that she could focus on her words and not her two concerned friends watching her. Why hadn’t he texted? She was so much better in writing. “At your office?”

There was a pause. “Yes. At my office.”

“Um, yes. That’ll work fine.”

When nothing came from the other end, her hunger turned into nausea. God, she hated talking on the phone. “See you at seven.” Still nothing. “Bye.” She hung up but clung to the phone like a lifeline.

When she turned, both Caitlin and Jane were studying her. “What?”

“You look a little pale,” Jane said. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just hungry. I don’t have any more patients scheduled today. Do you mind if I knock off a little early?” When Jane continued to stare at her with a puzzled expression, she said, “I have an appointment to work on that speech, and I’m supposed to outline it before I go in tonight.” That should make her happy. “Plus, I need to get Otto and Daisy used to the puppy so that I can get some sleep tonight between feedings.”

Jane’s expression lightened a little, but there were still worry lines between her eyebrows. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. I’m perfectly okay,” Fiona answered. Yeah, okay, except for the fact she hadn’t eaten anything substantial all day, had to outline a speech she didn’t want to give, would be up every two hours to feed a puppy that some piece-of-crap human had dumped in the garbage, and had an appointment to see a hot guy who had mad-called her—a guy who was the opposite of what she needed but was becoming something she wanted. Badly. “I’m great.”

Ten minutes later, after scarfing down a granola bar she’d found in the break room, she headed out the door, with Otto and Daisy pulling in opposite directions on their leashes. She ignored the curious stares and avoided tangling up around living and inanimate objects as she navigated the brief distance to her apartment. Pulling back against the leashes looped over her elbow, she cradled the sleeping puppy against her chest in her other arm while trying to balance her heavy backpack on one shoulder, and she pushed the revolving door. From his place of honor, peeking out of the side pocket, rode Sir Squashalot, chirping enthusiastically with every step.

Yeah, she was just great.

Chapter Nine

This time, when Fiona entered the Upward Media offices, she was early, and her hair was dry. She’d even put on some mascara and lip gloss. She wore a silky pink blouse with a pair of black pants she’d bought for a blind date last month that, of course, had been a disaster.

The beautiful redhead, Elaine, who had greeted her last time, was not behind the reception desk when she stepped into the lobby. It was almost seven o’clock. Maybe she’d left for the day.

“Hello?” she said in a light voice after she’d waited for a brief time. From the hallway to the right of the desk, a woman poked her head out of an office. She was tall, with curly dark hair, huge earrings, and a great smile.

“Hi,” the woman said, striding toward her—well, she didn’t really stride; it was more like a runway walk. She wore a form-fitting business suit and high pumps that would land Fiona on her butt if she took one step in them. Looking down at her own sensible flats, Fiona suddenly felt underdressed despite her best efforts.

“You must be Fiona Nichol,” the woman said, holding out a perfectly manicured hand in greeting. “I’m Charise Webb.” She gave her a quick, firm handshake. “Follow me.”

Fiona followed her down the opposite hallway from where she’d been before, but this time, they stopped at a door immediately on the right. Charise tapped on the door with her fingernails in a rhythmic pattern that seemed like a familiar code or secret knock.

“Come in, Charise,” Jacob’s voice called from the other side of the door in a flat tone.

She smiled at Fiona and opened the door, gesturing for her to lead in. Fiona paused, her heart hammering out a quick rhythm, much like Charise’s fingernails on the door. Jacob had sounded so off earlier, and she had no idea what to expect. Having supermodel Charise standing as witness made her want to dissolve into the carpet.

“Fiona,” Jake said, rising to his feet, eyes scanning her from head to toe and then back up again. “Come on in.” He gestured to the chair opposite his desk, expression unreadable.

Okay, well that wasn’t too bad. She switched the open-topped canvas tote bag to her other shoulder and shuffled into the room, sitting in the chair he’d indicated.

Charise stood behind the chair next to Fiona. “I’d love to sit in, if you want a second opinion—and if that’s okay with you, Ms. Nichol.”

No, no, no, no. Jake had promised it would just be the two of them for today’s appointment.

“Doctor Nichol,” she said, as if the title would counteract the ugly-duckling effect of Fiona being in the same room as the swan in high heels. Fiona was comfortable with her appearance, but she was also a realist—and right now, her reality was a fascination with the guy across the desk, who was the male equivalent of the swan waiting patiently next to her.

“Thanks, Charise, but not this time,” he said. “I’ll let you know if a consult is needed. We’re just getting started.”

Fiona let out her breath and consciously relaxed her shoulders.

“I saw on the board that you were still in the prep stage.” Charise sauntered to the door, and Fiona couldn’t help but watch. Her balance in those shoes was like a Cirque du Soleil act. “I’ll leave you to it. Nice to meet you Dr. Nichol.”

Dazzled by her comfort and poise, Fiona managed a feeble wave and even more feeble smile. She’d never really minded being shy, but every now and then, she experienced a pang of longing to be extroverted and social…like now.

For what felt like forever after Charise had left, they sat in silence. She studied the photos behind him while he studied her.

“You look nice,” he said.

She never knew how to react to compliments…well, she knew. It had been drilled into her from the time she could talk, but it was never natural. “Thanks,” she said. “I didn’t have to rush this time.” Though her time at home had been frantic, thanks to the blasted outline and a playful puppy. As if Fiona’s thoughts had conjured her, the pup whined and wiggled. The bag fell over, and the formula bottle and puppy rolled out. Crap.

She dropped to her knees and gathered up the bottle and puppy, juggling them until she had a good hold. Then, she dug through the bag and switched out the bottle for her outline, which, of course, had been crushed, mangled, and—she fingered the tattered corner—yeah, chewed on. Still managing the squirming puppy, she dropped the outline on his desk. True to luck, it slid across the slick surface, and several of the papers fluttered off on the floor at his feet.

“Sorry,” she said, pulling a blanket out of the bag, wrapping the puppy, and cuddling her to her chest.

His voice was flat. “You brought a dog.”

“Not really a dog. It’s a four-week-old puppy some jerk threw away in a trash can near Times Square.”

He stared at the bundle, his expression grim but certainly not scared. Good. She’d noticed it was the big dogs that really got to him. This little girl appeared to be part Pomeranian, so it was tiny and would stay small.

“I’m sorry I had to bring her. She can’t stay by herself yet,” she said, focusing on the puppy. “She isn’t weaned and has to be fed and cared for all the time. Ordinarily, Addison takes care of our fosters and adoptees, but she won’t be back until tomorrow.” She realized she was talking really fast, which was one of her nervous tics.

“So, it’s not yours.”

“Only for tonight.” She rocked the cute little puppy, who was, again, fast asleep.

Jacob leaned over to pick up the papers that had skated off his desk. He stared down at one of them. “Your speech is for the New York City Humanitarian League.”

She nodded, then stared at the photo on the wall over his right shoulder in order to not check out her new obsession: the freckle under his bottom lip.

“This is a very detailed outline.” He picked up the wrinkled pages that had not flung themselves overboard and scanned them.

She relaxed a bit. At least he recognized she’d put some work into the thing, even though she knew her prospect of successfully delivering the speech was a lost cause. Wait… She stared at the picture to the left of his shoulder, then the row of photos above it. Holy cow. Jane had told her that the guy had worked with loads of big celebrities and important political figures, but seeing pictures of his clients holding their Emmys and Oscars and Tony Awards took it to a whole different level…and now he was working with…yeah, her.

The puppy had begun to snore lightly. Usually, that would make Fiona relaxed and calm, but as she stared at the photos, all she could think about was running for the door. She didn’t belong here with a guy who coached the stars. Hell, she couldn’t even string a sentence together in front of a crowd.

He was still reading. Without looking up, he said. “Yeah, it’s super organized and detailed, but it’s totally unusable.”

Her discomfort, which had already been revving its engine, saw the checkered flag and screeched across the line. Heart hammering, she gently placed the puppy still wrapped in her blanket burrito into the bag. Then she rose from her chair and put the bag over her shoulder. “I, uh…”

He stood. “Is something wrong?”

“This is a mistake. I don’t belong here.”

“Look, when I said the outline was unusable, I didn’t mean it was bad. I meant it was not right for this event.”

“I’m not right for this event.” As she started for the door, it struck her she was totally overreacting to the situation, but the insecurity snowball had started rolling down the hill and was moving too fast for her to catch it. “I’m not right as your client.”

“Is that why you ignored me today?” His tone was urgent.

Ignored him? She turned, surprised to see his drawn expression. She stared at him for a moment and realized that, just like her, he was operating from some weird place of insecurity. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I texted you, and you ignored me.”

Fiona was pretty sure nobody ignored Jacob Ward, which would explain his cold tone during the phone call. “Oh…” She set the bag down, then dug under the sleeping puppy and pulled out her phone. Sure enough, there were two texts and a call from him. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Jacob.”

He gave her a skeptical look.

She sighed and put the phone back in the bag. “I wasn’t blowing you off. I had patients all day after we left the dog show. I didn’t expect you to set up an appointment so soon, so it didn’t cross my mind to check my phone at the clinic.”

Honestly, she never looked at her phone at work because patients’ owners called the office phone, and the only people who texted or called that she wanted to talk to were Jane and Caitlin, and they had been there with her. No phone necessary.

And she’d been so busy after work caring for a puppy, writing the useless outline, and trying to make herself look…something other than a mess, she had never even thought to check it. She’d just moved it from her backpack to the shoulder bag on the way out the door. “I’m not a big phone person, really.”

His shoulders relaxed a bit, and she wondered if he was this wound up about returning calls and texts with everyone. Probably so, if he was on call for the kind of people in the photos all around his office. Geez, it was like a who’s-who of NYC.

She adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “I’m really sorry about not responding.” She shrugged, and the dog made a happy nuffle sound. “I appreciate your willingness to work with me, but really, it’s a mistake. It’s a waste of Jane’s money.”

…

Jake stood. “Please, don’t leave. Have a seat, and let’s talk about it.”

For a moment, he thought Fiona would bolt for the door. His chest loosened with relief when she flopped back into the chair with a frustrated huff. What in hell had set her off?

She’d said twice that this was a mistake, and he agreed with her 100 percent, but not for the same reason—whatever that was. He knew working with her was a mistake because he was frustratingly and irrationally drawn to her, which was a no-go. He was being paid to coach her, not kiss her, which was what was playing through his mind right now. That wasn’t fair to her—or to him, for that matter.

“Why did you say this was a mistake?”

She gestured with both arms awkwardly, like a windmill. “Look at this place.”

He stared around his small office with its single window and calm, beige walls. “And?”

She pointed to a picture of him and a soap opera star he’d worked with for her Emmy acceptance speech. “She’s like the goddess of daytime TV. Look at all of these people. These are your kind of people. Not me.”

In Jake’s mind, that’s where Fiona had it completely wrong. She was his kind of person, not these folks grinning back from the walls—and that was the heart of the problem…for him, anyway. Her problem was easier.

“Let me work with you. I can help you, and you need help.” She wasn’t convinced—he could tell by her pinched expression—so he went for what he knew was her Achilles’ heel. “It’s paid for. It would be a waste of Jane’s investment to quit.”

“You could give the money back.”

“As I told you before, it’s not my company. There are four of us together who own it, and we have a month upfront no-refund policy.” Besides, he needed this success on the board and, honestly, he wanted to help her, which was not his norm. Until now, it had always been about the success of the project, not his enjoyment of it. And that troubled him.

He could tell she was still uncomfortable by the way she stood perfectly still, her knuckles almost white where she clutched the straps of the bag over her shoulder, and that reminded him of how he felt this morning around the giant dog that looked like a bear when she’d encouraged him to pet it.

By asking her to stay, he was asking her to pet the bear dog.

“Why don’t we go work somewhere else,” he suggested. “Maybe a restaurant or a bar or something. A place where you feel less”—he gestured to the photos on the wall—“less uncomfortable.” The squirming bag caught his eye, and he hoped turning the conversation to something she enjoyed would help her relax. “What’s the puppy’s name?”

“Brutus.”

“Wait. I thought it was a girl?”

“It is. The person who found the puppy must’ve thought it was a boy. When they filled out the drop-off form, they put down the name Brutus. The name stuck. It’s only temporary until she’s adopted.”

“How did a tiny thing like that score a big name like Brutus?”

She gave an amused huff. “Hey, Brutus. Don’t listen to him. You’re huge and ferocious. You survived in that garbage can all by yourself. You kick butt, honey.”

He was a little disappointed when she spoke to the dog, because even when they met at the coffee shop and she’d spoken through her dogs to the group of tourists, she’d addressed him directly. Then he realized she was speaking to the dog, not through it, and the tension loosened in his shoulders. Some part of him wanted to be special where she was concerned, which circled back on his agreement to her statement that this was a bad idea personally. Professionally, he was determined to check off that box next to Finalized Performance Material.

“Okay, Fiona. If we could meet and work anywhere, where would you pick? What is your ideal work space? What would make you most comfortable?”

She didn’t hesitate. “My ideal work space would be my exam room at Animal Attraction with Daisy and Otis there with me.”

Well, shit. Jake took a deep breath and picked up his cell from the edge of his desk. “Okay, let’s go.”

Chapter Ten

Fiona’s exam room at Animal Attraction was clean and bright, and though Jake detected a hint of animal and antiseptic, it was nothing like the dog-hell smells of the AKC event.

He’d been relieved when she’d agreed to come straight here and not pick up her two dogs on the way, after he told her it would be a short session where they would only brainstorm.

“Gimme a sec,” she said, digging in the big bag she’d placed on the stainless steel exam table. “I need to text Jane and Caitlin to let them know we’re here.” From inside the bag, the puppy made a muffled, sleepy sound.

“I was under the impression you were an owner of Animal Attraction,” he said, taking in the degree, license, and certifications on the far wall. There were also numerous framed award certificates and photos of animals.

“I am a co-owner.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose and fiddled with her phone. Her voice sounded distracted, as if she were talking to herself. “But it’s a courtesy we put in place after Caitlin walked in on Jane and Paul one time.” After a short, embarrassed intake of breath, she closed her eyes and cleared her throat, body stiff. “Not that I need to warn them because there’s a potential for that kind of problem.” She had begun speaking superfast, and Jake fought back a smile. “I mean, we’re working on a speech and not working on…you know… Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She threw her arms up. “You know what I mean. All of us check in if we’re here after hours.” She stuffed the phone back in her bag and leaned against the exam table, eyes closed.

Jake sort of liked that she rarely looked directly at him when she spoke. It enabled him to study her—for professional purposes, of course. And, if he was honest with himself, he also had to concede he liked studying her nonprofessionally. She reminded him of a deer—graceful and awkward all at once. Fiona’s demeanor was completely unplanned and unpretentious. Again, he looked at the certificates and photos on her wall, and her shyness struck him as out of place. She should be walking confidence circles around everyone. Certainly competence circles. God, the brain power and retention she must have in order to have accomplished so much.

Staring at a poster taped to the back of the door that featured some disgusting images depicting the life cycle of a heartworm, she crossed her arms under her breasts, which caused her neckline to gap a bit, revealing a tiny bit of pink lace on her bra.

Client, he reminded himself, this time feeling more regret than conviction.

“So, let’s start with a new outline,” he suggested, removing his laptop from his leather case and setting it on a small Formica desk area against the wall. Pulling a round stool on casters over, he opened a blank document, then swiveled to face her. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”

She shook her head. “That’s fine.”

After starting the recording, he said, “I want to start with some bullet points first.”

Relaxing against the exam table, she nodded.

“Why are you receiving this award?”

She shrugged. “I helped some homeless people’s pets.”

“That’s too generic,” he said. “The first thing to keep in mind when organizing an award acceptance speech is that extraordinary people receive awards for doing extraordinary things. You did something extraordinary. What was it?”

She blinked several times and looked puzzled. “Like I said—I helped some homeless people’s pets.”

This was going to be harder than anticipated. Again, Jake stared at the degrees, license, and awards. She was intelligent and obviously driven to succeed. Where was her ego?

“You say that like it’s no big deal. Is it something I could do?” he asked.

She slanted him a look that all but said duh. “No.”

“Why not?”

Her voice was slow, like she was talking to a little kid, and he was pretty sure she was fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “You’re not a vet.”

“So, only a vet can help homeless people’s pets?”

This time, she rolled her eyes. “Of course not, but only a vet can spay, neuter, and vaccinate them.”

“Do all vets do this for homeless people’s pets?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it takes time and resources, and there is no money in it.”

Now they were getting somewhere. “How much time?”

She stared straight ahead as she rattled off her answer. “It varies. My hands-on animal time on the streets is two days every month. The second day is usually busier because word gets out that I’m in the area. We move around to a different part of Manhattan every month to make it easier for people who have limited mobility or access. I see anyone who shows up and do an examination of the animal and administer vaccinations, necessary testing, and minor treatments. We give out medicine if needed, and food. I also provide vouchers for spay and neuter surgeries, as well as necessary minor procedures, like tooth extractions. They can bring the voucher here, to Animal Attraction, the third Thursday of every month, and if the animal is healthy enough, I do the needed surgery in my operating room the following morning.”

“So, you just go around looking for people with pets?” he asked.

“If I run into someone living on the streets with a pet, I give them an information sheet and tell them about it. I also put up flyers saying where I’ll be. Animal control and shelters help me get the word out, too. We get permits to set up in a public area.” She paused. “I say it’s only two days every month plus surgeries, but it takes a lot more than that. There are quite a few volunteers, and there are virtual meetings, permit applications, paperwork, and fundraisers to cover cost of supplies. Jane organizes the volunteers and does the fundraising part, thank goodness. That’s way out of my wheelhouse. Caitlin covers the permit applications and paperwork. She’s a CPA, so it fits. I organize the supplies and do the vet part.” Her mouth turned down in a scowl. “One of them should give the speech, but I was doing this before we opened Animal Attraction and they started helping, so Jane pinned it on me.”

She’d just covered the facts from the outline she had given him. All good information, but nothing to grab an audience. Just facts. “Why do you do it?”

She tilted her head and met his eyes, her brow furrowed as if she couldn’t fathom why he’d ask such a thing. “Because it needs to be done.”

He’d never had a client so hard to draw out. “You’re not hearing the heart of my question,” he said. “Why do you do it?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Again. Too generic. Why doesn’t every vet in the city do it? Why you?”

When she answered, she did that rapid-fire speaking style again. “Well, I’m not the only one. Programs like this are in place all over the country. In fact, in Denver—”

“Your audience won’t care about other programs. They will care about you. Why do you do it?”

An almost startled look crossed her face, and he could practically hear the gears in her brain working to find a way to play down her reasons. Squeaks and squeals from the bag behind her on the table saved her from answering, and the relief was clear on her face. She reached inside and pulled out the puppy, who squirmed and whined.

“Dinner time, big girl?” She pulled a bottle out of the bag while holding the puppy against her chest. After unfolding the blanket and uncapping the bottle, she moved to a plastic chair in the corner and spread the blanket over her lap. The instant she set the puppy in place, it latched onto the bottle. She made soothing small talk to the dog instead of answering Jake’s question. Maybe having the puppy in her arms would make her more comfortable.

“So, why you?” he asked again once she seemed settled. “Why do you do it? You don’t make any money, and it sounds like a hassle. If it takes two days, plus surgical and organizational time, you probably lose paying appointments here in addition.”

“I just…”

He could tell she was struggling for an answer, which could be the result of several factors. Maybe it was part of her shyness—some sort of self-preserving attention-deflection thing tied to downplaying her accomplishments. Maybe talking about herself in any capacity was uncomfortable. Perhaps she had never really analyzed why she did it and simply didn’t have the right words yet. As he watched her, she seemed to concentrate hard, and then, as if having reached a decision, she took in a deep breath.

Never taking her eyes off the puppy, she said, “Someone threw this little girl away like a piece of trash…” Her voice trailed off, and her brow furrowed.

Jake sat very still, not wanting to interrupt her.

“In some cases, that’s what has happened to people on the streets—they’ve been discarded. Some have mental illness, or drug issues, or have lost their jobs or families, or have fallen on terrible times. It’s like Brutus, though, you know?”

He found himself holding his breath.

“She needs food, medical care, and love.” Fiona adjusted the bottle, and the puppy grunted in protest. “Every living creature needs love in order to thrive. I firmly believe that. It’s why keeping the pets of people on the street healthy is so important. These pets are a lifeline for some of these people. Their only friend. Unconditional love.”

Now they were getting somewhere. “Why you?”

For a moment she looked at him, then quickly glanced away. He thought perhaps she wasn’t going to answer.

“Because I can…” She didn’t look up from the puppy, but to his relief, she continued: “I can’t give these people the medical or emotional care they need. I’m not qualified to counsel or treat them. From my position of comfort and privilege, I cannot possibly understand what they’re going through, but I can help the animals they love and rely on for companionship. With proper tags, the animal is less likely to be taken away or considered a stray. It’s less likely to get sick or spread disease to other animals. If neutered, it won’t add to the seventy-million stray dogs and cats living in our country.” She adjusted the little puppy in her arms, who had finally given up its hold on the bottle and drifted off to sleep. “I do it because people and animals should not be discarded like garbage—like Brutus was. Like my dogs Otto and Daisy were.”

She looked over at him and shrugged. “Why do I do it? How could I not?”

And that, he thought, was a spectacular acceptance speech in the making. He stopped the recording and said, “I’ll start a rough draft of a speech based on tonight’s recorded conversation, and you can help me fill in the rest at our next appointment.” He closed his laptop and slid it back in his bag. When he turned around, she had placed the puppy on a blue-and-white plastic-looking blanket thing on the floor, and it was taking a dump.

“Babies always have to go after you feed them.”

And as if it were no big deal to let an animal crap in her workplace, she folded the pad up and dropped it in a metal bin in the corner of the room. After placing the puppy and back in the huge, open-topped bag, she washed her hands, and Jake realized that she’d acted like it was no big deal because it wasn’t a big deal.

Something in him shifted a little. He’d never put much thought into caring for dogs—it had always been a hard no for him. This one was tiny—not even a dog, really—more like a guinea pig or something. Not all dogs were big and overwhelming like the one he’d seen over and over in his head since he was six years old.

He stared at the framed pictures on the wall above the metal bin. Like him, she had photos of her clients…or rather, patients, on the wall. Many were pictures from competitions, with people and a dog or cat surrounded by ribbons or a gaudy trophy bigger than the animal itself. And just like in his office, some had personalized thank-you notes scrawled across in Sharpie. He recognized the owner of the big bear dog from this morning in one of the photos, standing proudly with a silver trophy, a ridiculously large ribbon, and a ridiculously large grin to match. “To Dr. Nichol, Thanks from Lucilles 1 & 2” it said in tidy script across the bottom.

“Shall we meet here again tomorrow?” he asked.

“Sure. What time?”

He thought about saying he’d text after he checked his schedule but figured locking up a time now was probably wiser. “Seven again?”

“Sure.”

“Okay,” he said, picking up his briefcase.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, neither moving nor speaking. And it struck Jake that although awkward exits seemed odd to him, they might be the norm for her. Or maybe she was as conflicted as he was about their arrangement. Maybe she was running a wide range of options branching out from this moment through her brain, like he was.

Her gaze lowered to his mouth, and her cheeks tinted pink. Immediately, she opened the door to the exam room and stepped into the hallway.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jacob,” she shot over her shoulder, striding toward the front door, face still flushed.

Yep. She was considering options, too.

“Jake,” he said. “My friends call me Jake.” But his clients didn’t. He swallowed hard. What the hell was he thinking?

She smiled and opened the front door, and they both stood there awkwardly again for a moment. Why was goodbye so uncomfortable for her? She dropped her gaze to his mouth again, and the answer became very clear. It wasn’t just her. He was acting awkward, too, and he knew exactly why.

He didn’t want to say goodbye. He wanted to kiss her, and she wanted the same thing.

He was so screwed.

Client, he reminded himself as the scent of her peach shampoo haunted him all the way down the block.

Chapter Eleven

“You seemed kind of intense today,” Addison said as she helped Fiona load some supplies into boxes to go to Addison’s animal shelter seventy miles away in New Jersey. Animal Attraction paired with the shelter, raising funds and soliciting supplies on their behalf at their annual fundraiser. Usually, supplies were shipped from donors directly to the farm, but several individuals and local stores regularly dropped off overstocked items and donations at Animal Attraction.

Fiona didn’t answer, not really knowing what to say. Intense was a good word to describe the scrambled feelings bouncing around her insides, she supposed, but talking about it was not going to help. Instead, she folded the flaps on the box under one another to keep it closed and grabbed another box from a shelf behind her in the storage closet next to the grooming room, where they were loading up supplies. Everyone else had left for the day over an hour ago.

From a crate in the corner, Brutus watched Otto and Daisy tussle over a rope toy with knots on each end. Both dogs were growling, tails wagging wildly.

“Does it have to do with the speech Jane was talking about?” Addison asked.

“Yes.” That should satisfy her and end the subject. It wasn’t a lie, honestly, though it wasn’t the speech itself that had pushed her off balance. It was the man helping her with it. Helping…

She shoved some boxed dog treats into the container. Jacob—Jake—wasn’t just helping with the speech; he was helping her lose sleep. He was also helping her hormones flit around like fireflies, making her body hot and cold at the same time. Yeah, he was helping. And getting up all hours of the night to feed Brutus hadn’t made for a good night’s sleep, either. All in all, she was grumpy and frustrated.

“Jane says this speech guy is super cute.”

Right. Jane was helping, too. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Addison snorted and added several more containers of treats to Fiona’s box.

“Jane also said he’s coming here tonight to work with you.”

Fiona and Jane were going to have words. Many of them. She folded the flaps and stacked the box on top of two others near the door. “When is your brother going to be here to pick the stuff up?” she asked.

Addison put her hands on her hips and smiled. “You mean, when am I leaving so that you don’t have to answer any questions about the good-looking man who will be here in”—she slipped her phone out of her jean pocket and checked it—“twelve minutes?”

Crap. Twelve minutes.

Heart bouncing around her rib cage, she looked down at herself. It had been a messy day. The last patient had been a Himalayan cat that shed all over the place. Before that was a parrot that needed a nail trim, whose owner promised it had never bitten anyone.

Of course, it bit Fiona. Twice. Once on the shoulder and again on the finger…and that was before she had even examined the bird.

There was a palm-sized blood spot on her scrub sleeve to commemorate Pedro’s proclaimed first-ever aggressive act. Fiona knew better. The bird was a biter, and that was why the owner brought it in for a routine nail clip. She should have paid closer attention to the body language of the bird and less to the words of the owner. Animals were always honest.

“I need to change clothes,” Fiona said, turning to leave. As she entered the hallway, it struck her that she had walked out without saying goodbye. She poked her head back into the doorway. “Bye. See you next week. Thanks for helping out today.”

Addison was in the same position, grinning. “Bye, and you’re welcome. Want me to put these two in the kennel when I go?”

Holy cow. She’d not only walked out on Addison, she’d walked out on Otto and Daisy. “No. I’ll keep them with me.” She snapped her fingers, and both dogs trotted into the hallway, each still holding an end of the rope, neither willing to relinquish possession.

“Hello,” a voice called from the waiting room. “Fiona?”

No. No, no, no. He was early, and she looked like… She glanced down at herself again, then took a deep breath. She looked like a veterinarian who had been working all day. She would not change who she was for someone else. Ever. He’d have to deal.

Addison brushed past her, and the dogs jumped into her wake. “I’ll bring him back. You want him in the exam room?”

Good question. It hadn’t been thoroughly wiped down, since she’d run late today, and it was as big of a mess as she was. She’d have to come in early tomorrow to detail what the cleaning crew missed tonight.

“No. The break room would be great, if you don’t mind. I’ll be right there.” She wasn’t surprised Addison jumped at the chance to check out Jake after Jane’s lead-in. She wasn’t certain whether to be irritated or grateful. Grateful, she decided, because it gave her enough time to grab her clean lab jacket.

Addison gave her a wink and a thumbs-up as she passed her in the hallway. When Fiona entered the room, she found Jake sitting in a chair at the circular table with his wide eyes glued to Daisy and Otto, who were playing a loud and ferocious game of tug-of-war with the rope toy.

Great. Way to put him at ease, kiddos. “It sounds menacing, but that’s just the way they talk to each other. Terriers of all kinds are notoriously feisty,” Fiona said, hoping to ease some of his obvious tension. “This breed was fine-tuned over the decades to be good ratters. This tugging game is a natural extension of that instinct to pull something out of a tight place and tear it apart.”

He paled.

Oops. Wrong thing to say. She snapped her fingers and said, “Stop.” Both dogs fell silent, but, in typical hardheaded terrier style, neither was willing to give up the toy, so they stood facing each other, looking at her out of the sides of their eyes. “Drop,” she said, and after a moment, they both let go of the toy. “Sit.” Reluctantly, the dogs obeyed, eyes never leaving the rope as she picked it up and set it on the counter near the sink. She felt bad taking it away. They’d been having so much fun.

Maybe she should have let Addison kennel them for this session with Jake, but if she was going to have to do something that made her uncomfortable, then it was only fair that he be uncomfortable, too. She sighed. That wasn’t really the reason. Deep down, she was hoping to chip away at her friendship requirement number one: must like animals. From the look on his face, she wasn’t sure that was a possibility.

“Want to tell me about what happened to you that makes you afraid of dogs?” she asked, pulling out the chair across from him.

“I will if you tell me why you are afraid of speaking to a group of people.”

“It’s apples and oranges,” she said. “I was born this way. It’s how I’m wired. An event did not precipitate my hesitance to engage with large crowds.”

For a while, he stared at her, then reached into his briefcase and pulled out some tidy, printed pages. “I wrote up a rough draft of a potential speech.”

For some reason, she couldn’t seem to keep her attention on his words, only his mouth, darn it.

“I’ve kept the speech as short as possible,” he continued. “We can go over it and change anything you don’t like or doesn’t feel right on your tongue.”

At that moment, she was thinking of lots of things that would feel right on her tongue, starting with the freckle under his lip. Why, why, why, after so long being content as things were, was she so attracted to this man? He was absolutely wrong. He didn’t even pass her first requirement and had skirted around the edges of the second. The third wasn’t even worth exploring. Getting serious with someone who didn’t like dogs was a no-no.

Inwardly, she groaned. Getting serious? The guy was with her because he was doing a paid favor for a friend of a friend. What in the world was wrong with her?

Him. That’s what. Him and some raging hormones.

“You okay, Fiona? Is something wrong?”

Yeah, you. You are all wrong. “No. I’m just tired. Brutus kept me up last night. Addison is taking her to the shelter until he’s ready for adoption, so I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“I half figured you’d keep her,” he said.

“Oh, no. I’d love to. She’s adorable, but I’m very disciplined. Several stray puppies a month come through here, as do kittens and other random animals, and I can’t take them all in. It’s a hard line. Daisy and Otto are the perfect roommates. I don’t need anyone else.”

She realized she was doing that talking-too-fast nervous thing again—probably in response to the adrenaline dump from his mentioning her tongue, and then the subsequent fantasies that invoked. Maybe she’d been reading too many romance novels. Maybe she wasn’t reading enough.

“Addison’s shelter is top-notch, and with all the volunteers from the local high school she’s enlisted, Brutus will get more than her share of cuddles.”

He pushed the stack of papers toward her, and she noticed how nice his hands were. Long fingers with well-trimmed nails. He was in a suit, as usual, looking perfect, as usual. She decided she liked that. It wasn’t her thing for herself, but it looked good on him and didn’t seem overly formal or pretentious, like on some guys. He seemed as comfortable in a tie as she did in her scrubs. She looked down. As comfortable as she was in her purple scrubs covered in long, gold cat hair. Ugh.

“Tell me what you think of it,” he said. When her eyes flitted to his freckle under his lower lip, he added with a smile, “Tell me what you think of the speech draft.”

Busted.

She could feel her cheeks heat as she turned the papers to face her, not picking them up for fear she’d drop them. She read the first page, which was only a bullet-pointed cover sheet with facts about her and the award. Not the speech itself. She could feel him watching her. Really feel it, like one of those silly GIFs Caitlin included in her texts with animals and people with laser eyes, and it made it impossible to concentrate.

Then, her stomach rumbled. Not a regular, run-of-the-mill, short growl; it was a gastric symphony. Starting low, it got louder and higher pitched, and then, darn it, it went right back down the scale to a fade out at the end.

She placed a hand on her belly—like that would help—and he laughed. It wasn’t a mocking laugh. It was a full-of-fun kind of sound, and she loved it.

“I assume you haven’t had dinner,” he said.

“No. Days when Addison is here are really busy. We were still working when you arrived.”

“Would you like to go somewhere and get a bite?”

No, she’d already had a bite from a parrot and was covered in enough cat hair to knit a sweater. She couldn’t go anywhere like this. The lab coat was just a Band-Aid. “No, I’m fine, really.” She stood and began rummaging in the cabinets behind him. The dogs perked up from where they were lying like bookends near the door and immediately joined her to beg for treats. “Sorry, you guys,” she said, “granola bars are not on your diet.”

“They’re not on my diet, either,” Jake said. “And I’m hungry, too. Why don’t we go get dinner?”

That sounded way too much like a date to her hormones, which were bouncing around like kittens chasing a laser pointer. “I really don’t want to go out.”

He held his phone aloft. “I can work magic. Pepperoni, sausage, and bell peppers? Or veggie?”

“Veggie, extra peppers, no onions or olives,” she said. “If that works for you.”

He lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

“I’m shy, not indecisive,” she said with a grin. Everyone thought she was meek and submissive because of her introverted nature. It didn’t work that way.

Smiling, he entered the order on his phone while she scanned the speech. It was much easier to concentrate when he wasn’t watching her read.

“This is what I said yesterday, almost word for word,” she said when he put his phone down.

“It is. You’ll be much better off using your own phrasing and syntax. It will sound more natural and will be easier to remember and deliver. I only added an introduction and some transitions. We still need to come up with an ending, and you should tweak the intro to put in more comfortable phrasing.”

She was surprised. Really surprised. After doing her outline, she expected this to be a horrible chore to create and memorize, and in just one session, Jake had drawn almost the entire speech out of her.

“It should run no more than three or so minutes, since you are one of several awards that night. I think you’re fine time wise with that version as long as you don’t rush through it like you did yesterday.”

The relief was so huge, she smiled. Actually smiled about a freaking speech, for goodness’ sake.

Otto was sniffing around the room and gave a small, plaintive whine. It was the where-is-my-favorite-toy whine. It would soon turn into really loud whimpers and then a piercingly shrill bark he only made when he needed Sir Squash.

Jake was watching him but didn’t seem uptight. Good. This was progress.

“I need to get his toy,” she said. “Excuse me for a moment, or he’ll shatter our eardrums.”

Jake’s entire body stiffened. So much for not being uptight.

“Oh, lighten up,” she said. “I’m only kidding.”

…

Jake stared at the gold dog that had remained behind when the gray one followed Fiona out of the room. The dog stared right back, unblinking, ears pricked up on the top of its head.

From somewhere else in the suite, a rapid squeaking pulled the gold dog’s attention to the door. Undoubtedly poor Sir Squashalot being tortured by its companion.

“So do you have a favorite toy?” he asked the dog. In a sudden move, it turned its head toward him and tilted it to the side. He flinched but found himself fascinated. He’d been around dogs at larger gatherings or out in public but had avoided being one-on-one or in close proximity. This wasn’t so bad, he supposed. The dog was small and seemed interested in him. Of course, it could be his imagination.

“A ball, maybe?”

The dog walked to the counter where Fiona had placed the rope toy and stood on its hind legs, front feet on the cabinet door as if trying to reach the toy.

“Ah. The rope. Do you want it?”

The little dog wagged its tail furiously and made a high-pitched yip.

Why was he nervous? It didn’t even reach his knee when it was on all fours and clearly had no intention of biting him. This was the closest he’d been to an unleashed dog since he was six years old—that was why he was nervous. It wasn’t about actual danger; it was about remembered events and guilt. Lots and lots of guilt.

He picked up the red, white, and grime-colored rope, and the little dog turned in a circle, tail wagging so hard it was a blur. “Sit,” he said, and the thing actually did as he commanded.

“Here you go,” Jake whispered as he dropped the toy. The dog snatched it out of the air and did a loop of joy around the small break room, toy stuffed in its mouth. Some little part of Jake wanted to join in the victory lap. This dog thing wasn’t all that bad.

He’d noticed the squeaking had stopped. When he turned to the door, he found Fiona and the gray dog with Sir Squashalot at its feet, watching him from the doorway. She had an odd look on her face—as if she were experiencing wonder and concern at the same time.

“What?” he asked, a little embarrassed for some reason he couldn’t pinpoint. It wasn’t really embarrassment, he supposed, just self-consciousness.

She gave a slight shake of her head. “Nothing. You surprised me, that’s all.”

But that wasn’t all; he could tell.

His phone buzzed from the table. “The pizza’s here.”

Not two seconds later, the dogs barked and bolted toward the door of the suite. Fiona followed, telling them to hush, but they clearly weren’t listening. “Sit. Stay. Silent,” she said, and the barking mercifully stopped. By the time he’d reached the door, she was tipping the delivery guy and had taken the pizza. The dogs were at her feet, attempting to sit, but appeared too excited to fully plant their butts on the floor. He found their behavior endearing. They were sort of like little kids. Funny how he’d never noticed that in dogs before.

“It smells really good,” she said, not meeting his eyes as she passed him on her way back to the break room. The dogs stayed where they were, still obeying her command. Perhaps they would stay in here and he would be able to enjoy the pizza without dogs around. Maybe they’d stay in here while they worked on the speech and he wouldn’t have to deal with them in the room at all.

He took several steps toward the door and suddenly felt like a dick. Fiona’s dogs weren’t hurting anything. He was surprised she’d left them behind. When he turned, they were sitting all the way, watching him, tails tentatively wagging. He couldn’t just leave them here. He sighed and shook his head. This woman was doing a real number on him.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. He patted his leg. “Come on.” To his amazement, both animals stood and followed him down the hallway. Okay, he could grow to tolerate this.

The little gold one yipped, then bolted past him. Maybe he could grow to tolerate this.

…

Fiona placed the pizza in the middle of the table, resisting the urge to call the dogs. When she found Jake talking to Daisy and giving her the toy, she had been surprised. And happy. And kind of freaked out. If he met friendship requirement number one, and she was letting him skate on the requirement number two infraction because he was dishonest by omission, then this whole working-one-on-one thing just got a lot more complicated.

Maybe he’d make it easier on her and he’d ignore the dogs and leave them in the entry alone. It was a sick kind of test, she knew, but it was a certain way to see if there was a reason her heart seemed to beat too hard and her body get too warm when he was around, other than simple animal attraction. She laughed at her own inside joke. God, she needed some sleep. Feeding the puppy every two hours last night had worn her down and left her exhausted. She probably should have postponed this session, but something in her couldn’t resist. A silly, reckless part.

To her relief and, at the same time, her dread, Jake entered with both dogs. Daisy skidded into the room several paces ahead, with Otto trotting along beside him, staring up at Jake with clear adoration. Jake glanced down, and there was no fear in his eyes or body language. Yep. He’d just blown the doors off of requirement number one.

“That looks great,” he said, sitting opposite her and picking up a slice. After a few minutes of serious eating, they discussed the outline and came up with some ideas for changes to it, including the closing. She made notes on the pages, leaving an occasional tomato sauce mark along with her scribbles.

Fiona marveled at how easy Jake was to be around. He had a great economy of conversation, which she loved. He didn’t fill the silences with idle chitchat she had to work to return. Soon, they were at the end of the revision and out of pizza.

“You ready to give the speech a try?” he asked, tossing the empty box in the trash.

She took a sip of her Dr Pepper. “No. I thought we were just planning it out tonight.”

He sat down opposite her again. “I think you should read it out loud. Don’t perform it. Just read it.”

He didn’t get it. A guy like him probably never would. “Reading aloud is performing,” she said.

“Oh, come on. Don’t you ever read aloud to a friend when you come across something really interesting?”

“No.”

“Seriously?” He narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “Hey, friend, listen to this news article! Blah, blah, blah, et cetera?”

“Never.” Though, she did read aloud when she was alone, sometimes. Never in front of anyone else.

He threw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, we’ll call it performing, then.”

“I hate this.” She closed her eyes and gripped the table, remembering all those times in school when she’d been forced to read a passage out loud.

Squeakity, squeak, squeak, squeak.

He chuckled. “You stay out of it, Sir Squash. Nobody asked you.”

She smiled. “He’s very opinionated.”

“I bet he’s a good listener,” Jake said. “May I?” he asked Otto, who reluctantly released the toy.

She knew reaching down and pulling something from a dog’s mouth was a big deal for Jake. She also knew the toy was slobbery and disgusting. And at that moment, the crush she’d had on him when he was only Hot Guy who she saw in the lobby on occasion came roaring back with bells and whistles and pinging hormones. Not smart, Fiona.

Jake moved to the chair next to her and set Sir Squash on its base on top of the napkins. “Okay. So, pretend he’s your audience and give it a read. Focus on Sir Squash and not anything or anyone else in the room.

Fiona stared at the toy, with its domed bulb on the top of its cylindrical body balancing upright on the two bulbs at the bottom, and bit her lip. Holy crap. He wanted her to give a speech to…no way. Before she could stop it, a giggle bubbled up in her throat. The giggle turned into a laugh.

Her laugh must have been contagious, because he joined in until they were both holding their sides and wiping away tears.

“Okay,” he said. “Maybe that wasn’t the best plan.”

Her response was to begin giggling all over again.

He picked up Sir Squash and handed him to Otto, withdrawing his hand quickly as the dog snapped the toy out of his fingers.

For what felt like a ridiculously long time, their eyes met, and they stared at each other like something out of a mushy Hallmark movie. All that was missing was the romantic music and blurry edges of the screen.

And then he leaned close and kissed her, almost causing her to squeak in surprise. Surprise morphed into buzzy heat as she relaxed and wound her arms around his neck. Warm and confident, his mouth moved over hers. The kiss deepened until she became light-headed and buzzy. She couldn’t help the small sounds of pleasure that escaped her.

Slowly, Jake pulled away, and Fiona dropped her hands to her lap. Both breathing heavily, they met eyes briefly before she looked away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

A little pin pricked behind her sternum. She wasn’t. Although, making out in the break room was probably a bad idea. She wasn’t sure why, but it had to be, right?

She ran a fingertip over her lip, keeping her eyes on the tabletop, and fought back a smile. Yeah, she definitely wasn’t sorry. She’d finally gotten up close and personal with his freckle. She’d also learned that his face was even more perfect when he laughed, something she was sure her overactive imagination would add to her dreams.

Jake cleared his throat. “Why don’t we meet again tomorrow, after you’ve had time to practice the speech out loud by yourself?”

Wait. He was leaving?

He stood.

Yep. He was leaving. She sighed. He was probably right. Getting away from each other right now before she said something silly or tried to kiss him again was the best course of action. Kissing wasn’t conducive to speech coaching, for sure. She forced a smile. “Tomorrow’s good.”

“Maybe someplace public…to get you used to distractions.”

She almost laughed. Nothing could be as distracting as being alone in a room with this man and his talented lips. “I’m off on weekends. Text me where and when. I’ll be sure to check my phone this time.”

He stood, looking uncomfortable, then glanced at his watch. “I, um, need to go. See you tomorrow.”

As he left, she noticed he went to the right, not toward their apartment lobby, which bothered her more than a little bit.

“Get a grip on yourself,” she muttered. It was just a kiss. Probably nothing to a guy like him. And it was Friday night. Maybe he had a date. A good-looking man like that probably had a date every night.

She straightened her spine. She could have a date, too, if she wanted one. Which was the problem. She usually didn’t want one. “What is it about this guy?” she asked Daisy and Otto. “He’s all wrong for me.”

Perhaps that was the draw—the opposites-attract thing.

“Come on, you two. Time for a glass of wine, a bubble bath, and hopefully, some sweet, sweet dreams.”

Chapter Twelve

“Jesus, you’re killing me, Jake,” Marcus huffed from a couple of strides behind on the jogging trail. “What’s up with you today?”

Jake slowed his pace fractionally. “Nothing.”

“I mean, I agreed to meet at the ass-crack of dawn. The least you could do is cut me some slack for my sacrifice.”

“Sorry.”

Marcus grabbed his side like he had a cramp and gulped in some air. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I told you I needed to run early today because I have a client at ten.”

“I’m not talking about why we’re here this early. I’m talking about why you’re running like you’re trying to get away from a fucking bear or something.”

He was trying to get away from something. Himself. Himself and his attraction to Fiona. He had to shake this. She was a client. “Sorry, Marcus. I’m frustrated, I guess.”

By now, his friend had caught up, matching his strides. “It’s that new client, isn’t it? The vet with the rabies speech.”

Jake laughed. “It’s not a rabies speech.”

“Ah-ha! But it is the vet.”

They ran without talking for a while. When they passed under the bridge into the last stretch, Jake slowed to cool down. “I don’t know what to do about her.”

“I have an idea. Why don’t you ask her out?”

“Client.”

Marcus punched him playfully in the shoulder. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. She won’t be a client forever. Once the speech is over and she’s no longer a client, ask her out.”

“That could be as long as seven weeks from now.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” The kiss, though brief and totally unplanned, had been spectacular. He ran a hand through his hair and huffed out a breath. His dreams had invaded his waking hours now, and he found himself drifting off into daydreams about a witty, strange woman who never ceased to surprise him. “Talk me down. Tell me to live up to my job and be professional.”

“Hey, man. I’m your best friend. I’m supposed to steer you right.” They had made it back to their starting point across the street from the Met. Marcus leaned over, catching his breath, hands on his knees. “I think you should ask her out and then take her home and—”

“Stop,” Jake said. Hearing it would only make it worse.

“You wanted my opinion. How does she feel about it?”

That was a really good question. He was pretty sure she felt the same way. She’d certainly kissed him back like she felt the same way, but she wasn’t direct verbally—though in fairness, neither was he. “She’s harder to read than most people.”

“In other words, she’s not coming on to you like Charise or that woman at the pub last month.”

Fiona didn’t strike him as someone who would flirt hard like that. “No, she’s not coming on to me.”

“So, what do you want?” Marcus asked, retying his shoelace.

“I want you to encourage me to stay professional and do the right thing.”

“No, you dumbass. Not me. What do you want from her?”

More. Jake’s stomach churned. “I don’t know.”

Marcus stared at him for a moment. “Dude, you are so fucked.”

…

Fiona grabbed another donut from the box. Chocolate filled, her favorite. Jane crossed her arms and sat back in the metal bistro chair outside their favorite coffee shop, brow arched.

“Gonna tell me about it?” Jane asked.

Fiona shook her head and chewed, certain that her friend had waited to ask until her mouth was full to give her time to work out what to say. It’s something Jane had done since they were kids. She’d always seemed to understand Fiona better than anyone. She also understood that donuts were the perfect bribe or payoff, depending on the situation.

“I’ll wait,” Jane said, picking up her coffee cup and taking a sip.

Holy cow, it was a great donut. Dream Fiona had worked off a billion calories with dream Jake last night, and real Fiona was feeling the effects. At her feet, Otto and Daisy had given up begging and had settled down. She had a strict no-people-food policy, but they never gave up hope. That was something she loved about dogs: they were eternal optimists.

Once the last delicious bite was gone, Fiona knew her time was up. She’d requested the breakfast meetup with Jane, who no doubt knew there was a reason other than donuts.

“I’m confused,” Fiona said, wiping the chocolate from the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin.

“That’s not like you,” Jane said.

She was right. Fiona usually had a good sense of direction and purpose.

“He confuses me.”

“Jacob Ward.”

“Yes.”

Jane nodded. Before they’d opened Animal Attraction, Jane had been a successful divorce attorney. She was a master at listening and asking the right questions without pushing.

“He makes me feel…conflicted,” Fiona said.

“What’s at issue? What is the conflict?”

“My brain knows he’s not right for me, but my emotions and body keep telling my brain to go to blazes.”

Jane smiled. “Been there, done that.”

Ah, here came the join-the-happily-ever-after-club speech. Fiona folded the box closed and waited for the now-familiar diatribe in which her friend encouraged her to take a leap into the warm, sparkly waters of happiness, bliss, and sexual gratification.

Jane put her coffee cup down. “If you have reservations, maybe it’s not right. You should examine the issues.”

Wow. Well, that wasn’t what she’d expected. “He’s my opposite.”

Her friend leaned closer. “If he were not, you’d both sit around and read and never talk to anyone outside your close friends. I can’t imagine anything more boring. Can you?”

She had a point. Some of her most interesting times had come from Jane’s and Caitlin’s antics. Heck, Animal Attraction was a result of their very extroverted efforts and schmoozing. The business’s success, though, was due in part to Fiona’s veterinarian practice and behind-the-scenes philanthropic endeavors. The three of them worked great together. Maybe the opposites thing wasn’t a detriment after all.

“I’m not sure he’s interested. It’s like he’s thinking about it but then talks himself out of it.”

Jane nodded. “He’s been hired to coach you. Maybe there is some business conflict with dating clients.”

Huh… Fiona hadn’t thought of that. Maybe his holdup wasn’t about her as a person at all. Maybe he’d left right after kissing her because he was trying to be professional.

“Do you like him?” Jane asked.

So much. Too much. “Yes.”

“Oh, well, it’s easy, then.”

“It is?”

Jane stood and picked up her trash from the table. “Sure. Find out where he stands. If he’s into you, and there’s a rule at his company preventing him from dating you”—she pitched her cup and napkin in the trash, then handed the box of donuts to Fiona—“fire him.”

Fiona’s jaw dropped open. After a moment, she pulled herself together. “Fire him? What about the speech?”

“Fire him and give the speech anyway. Come on, Fee. You, more than anyone, know that a woman can have it all. Do it all.”

Jane leaned down and kissed her cheek, then headed down the sidewalk. Fiona stared after her, slumped in her chair with a box of donuts cradled to her chest.

Chapter Thirteen

Jake made another round of the Washington Square Arch. Even his earlier run hadn’t worked off his extra energy. He needed to get this thing with Fiona under control. As he scanned the park, he congratulated himself on picking the perfect meeting place. There was no way his mind—or body, for that matter—could wander into dangerous territory surrounded by all these people. It would be good for Fiona, too, he decided. Hopefully, she’d practiced so that she was able to read the speech without distractions throwing her off.

It was probably unkind of him to make her first reading happen in public, but nobody would pay attention, and he needed the break from being alone with her. From her peach-smelling hair, to her funny half-smile when she was trying to be serious, to the way she kissed and the little noises she made—the woman got him going, which was not good.

Where was she? He stationed himself on an empty bench when a couple who had been reading poetry to each other vacated it. It was a gorgeous day, probably one of the last warm ones of the season. He smiled. He would miss Fiona’s tight little T-shirts with the silly logos when things cooled down to jacket weather.

Squeak, squeak, squeak, came from behind, and he grinned. He’d know the plaintive cry of Sir Squashalot anywhere.

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Have a donut,” Fiona said, thrusting a box in his lap.

Her quirky greeting caught him a bit off guard, but donuts beat the hell out of “good morning,” he supposed. He’d rushed here after showering and hadn’t eaten since last night. The run had left him starving. “Thank you.”

She sat on the bench beside him, and the dogs stood facing him, both eyeing the donuts with something that could only be described as lust.

“No people food,” Fiona admonished. “Down.” Both dogs lowered to their bellies. “Stay.” The gold one sighed, and the gray one—Jake thought his name was Otto—licked Sir Squash before putting his chin on it like a pillow.

“Did you have a chance to work on the speech?” he asked, picking up a plain glazed donut from the box.

“I read it to Daisy and Otto. They said I sucked.”

He chuckled and took a big bite. Thank God she’d brought food to distract him. She was not in her scrubs, and her dark hair was down, blowing across her shoulders in the light breeze. She was so natural. He loved it. And, yep, he loved her silly shirts. This one was green with a cat and the words, “Nevertheless, she purrrsisted,” emblazoned over her small, high breasts.

So much for no distractions. Be professional, he reminded himself, focusing on the elderly couple across the park. “Your dogs are not reliable speech critics. They were probably holding the no-people-food rule against you. I’m sure you did just fine.” He took another bite and looked away when the couple, who were easily in their eighties, clasped each other’s hands in a familiar, comfortable way that made it clear they had been in love forever.

Crap. He switched his focus to a girl playing a game on a handheld device. Surely that was safe. “Why don’t you read it for me?”

Fiona’s entire upper body went rigid at the mere suggestion of reading the speech out loud. Everything in him wanted to wrap his arm over the back of the bench and pull her close. To hold her and ease her fear. Instead, he took another bite of donut.

After what felt like an hour but was probably ten to fifteen seconds, she pulled some papers out of her backpack. He smiled at the pizza sauce stains on the back of the pages.

She stared across the park for a moment and then began to read. Her voice was soft and tentative, as he’d assumed it would be.

“Very few things worth doing are easy…” She set the fluttering papers in her lap and took a deep breath. Rather than interrupt or coach, he remained silent and still, hoping she’d work through whatever block she’d thrown in her own way.

“…and worthy accomplishments are rarely the result of a single person’s actions.” She took another deep breath and closed her eyes, clearly miserable.

“Would it help if you delivered the speech to the dogs instead of an invisible audience?” he asked.

Opening her eyes, she focused on her two little dogs, who were looking under the bench at a poodle playing with a ball behind them. When she spoke, her voice was stronger and had lost its waver. Perhaps the speaking-by-proxy thing he’d seen her do so often was the ticket.

“I am honored to accept this award, and even though I am the only one standing at this microphone tonight, there are many other people who made this project possible.”

At that moment, a couple walked by, arm in arm. They stopped under the arch at the center of the park, and the guy dropped to his knee. In a loud voice, he proposed to his partner, who, with teary eyes and lots of applause from onlookers, gave a hearty, “Yes.”

So much for less distraction. After a woman took photos with the groom-to-be’s phone, things settled down again. But not for long. Just when Fiona picked up her papers to begin again, a string quartet started up a waltz, and the elderly couple began dancing. It was obvious they’d danced together longer than Jake had been alive. They twirled in slow circles as onlookers watched and recorded them on their phones. Shit.

He closed the donut box.

“This isn’t going to work,” she said, shoving the papers back into her backpack.

“What a beautiful couple you are,” a woman said, setting up an easel in front of them. The dogs pulled on their leashes, wagging and panting to greet her. “Would you like a portrait?” she asked, whipping out a piece of charcoal. “I can put your dogs in, too.”

They looked at each other, and for a moment he thought from the serious look on her face and her quavering lower lip that Fiona was going to cry, but then, to his complete surprise, she burst out laughing.

She stood. “Thanks for the offer, but we’re late to get somewhere.” She dug in her back pocket and handed the woman a couple of bills, not making direct eye contact. “I bet that couple over making out near the arch would like a portrait. They just got engaged.”

Still laughing, she grabbed her dogs’ leashes, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and glanced back at him.

“Where are we going?” he asked, jogging a few steps to catch up.

“Someplace less romantic,” she said. “That was ridiculous.”

He was pleased they were on the same page. “Where?”

“The dog park.”

Yep. That’d do it.

…

Jake was being a remarkably good sport, Fiona decided. He hadn’t argued or even blinked when she’d mentioned the dog park. She opened the gate into the small-dog side and unleashed Otto and Daisy, who immediately charged across the yard to sniff a French bulldog.

She tucked Sir Squash into her backpack side pocket to prevent an encore of the great squash-napping episode of last year. A corgi had made off with the toy when Fiona wasn’t looking, but fortunately, the corgi’s owner retrieved it before there was bloodshed. Otto considered squash-napping a serious crime.

She set her backpack on her usual bench, which was, fortunately, empty. In fact, except for the Frenchie and a pair of dachshunds, they had the small dog park to themselves. The big-dog section behind them, not so much. It wasn’t until she sat down that she realized Jake was standing facing her, face white, staring into the crowded big-dog area. Oh, crap.

Immediately, she stood and drew his attention to her. “Hey, look at me, Jake.”

He did. Her heart squeezed when she recognized that look.

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought this through.” She pulled Sir Squash out of her backpack pocket. “Like last night when I was supposed to deliver a speech to a yellow squeaky penis.” She gave the toy a couple of squeaks and relaxed a bit when a little of him returned to his eyes and he tried to smile.

“I’d still like to see that,” he said. She could tell he was fighting the urge to look past her into the yard and whatever was scaring the crap out of him.

“We can go,” she said.

“No. I…” He looked past her, then back to her face. “I’ll be fine.”

“Let’s move to that bench instead.” She pointed to an empty bench on the side of the yard, where he wasn’t facing the big dogs but his back wasn’t to them, either, which she was certain would have made him feel vulnerable.

He nodded and followed her. This was the first time she’d ever seen him in something other than a business suit, she realized. Even in blue jeans and a navy T-shirt, he looked perfectly put together. They sat in silence while Daisy and Otto played a vigorous game of chase with the dachshunds as the Frenchie barked his approval.

“I got hurt by a dog when I was a kid.”

She sat very still. He did, too, except for his right index finger, which tapped rapidly on his thigh.

“It wasn’t an attack or anything. It was an accident. I caused it, really. The dog was just being a dog.”

She could tell by the way he was staring off in the distance, he was reliving it in his memories, so she waited.

After a while, he continued. “We lived in Queens. I had just turned six. I’d been told to stay in our front yard to play. Mom went inside to get something, and the neighbor’s dog had come to the gate right next to our yard. It was a big dog. Probably a Lab… I don’t remember that much about it.”

Fiona suspected he remembered every little detail about it, including the color of the dog’s eyes and what its name was.

He looked over at her. “This is ridiculous. You don’t need to hear this. Nothing really happened to cause me to be nervous around dogs. I mean, I’ve never even mentioned it to anyone because it’s so silly.”

She placed her hand over his and stilled his tapping finger. His muscles loosened at her touch. “Nothing that makes you uneasy or unhappy is silly.”

“You of all people would know that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

The dachshunds and her cairns reversed directions, zooming counterclockwise now.

“I’d asked Santa for a dog for Christmas for three years running, but he never brought one.” He shook his head. “At least that’s the legend according to my dad.”

She could imagine a four, five, and six-year-old Jake sitting on Santa’s lap, asking for a puppy. “Your parents didn’t want you to have a dog.”

He shook his head. “Mom thought they were dirty. She’s a cat person.”

The four pint-sized racing-dog wannabes were taking a break at the water fountain with the Frenchie, seeing who could make the biggest mess. Her dogs were winning by a landslide.

“Anyway, I had gone over to see the neighbor’s dog, and while petting it, I tripped the latch. The dog was standing on its hind legs, leaning on the gate. When the gate swung open toward me, the dog lost its balance, and I got knocked backward onto the pavement.”

That had to have been terrifying for a small child.

He was staring far away again. “I remember the dog landing on top of me and the sound of my head smacking the pavement.” He paused as if reliving it again. “When I woke up, I was in the hospital emergency room with a cracked skull.” His eyes came back into focus, and he turned his palm over, taking her hand in his.

Fiona’s heart ached for the scared little boy, but she didn’t squeeze his hand back like she wanted to for fear she’d interrupt his thoughts.

His brow furrowed. “Mom was really pissed. At me, at the neighbor, and at the dog. Even after it was clear I wasn’t affected in any permanent way, she was still angry enough to call the neighbor from my hospital room to threaten a lawsuit. She also pushed the cops on how to get an order to have the dog put down.”

Fiona bit back the ugly words she wanted to say about that.

“When the police questioned me after I got home from the hospital, I told them what had happened and that it wasn’t the dog’s fault. I begged them not to kill the dog. That made Mom even madder.”

Jacob gave a helpless shrug, like Fiona imagined a six-year-old would do, and her breath caught. Thank goodness she’d kept her mouth shut and let him continue.

“The cops told her that since it happened on the neighbor’s property and I had opened the gate, there was nothing they could do.” His brow furrowed. “Mom was furious, and I felt horrible for making her so mad.”

Jake laced his fingers through hers, and Fiona marveled at the rightness of his touch. So weird, considering they were talking about his childhood trauma.

“Sometimes fear manifests as anger,” she said. “Your mom was understandably upset thinking she had caused you to be hurt.”

“Thinking she caused it?”

“Sure. She left you outside. Ultimately, the entire thing was her fault.” And Fiona wanted to chew her out for it, especially for making a little boy feel that dogs were somehow bad or dangerous. Still, thinking her kid had possibly been permanently injured or could have been because of her negligence must have been terrifying for the woman. “My lawyer friend, Jane, calls it the ‘but for’ rule. But for your mother leaving you alone, you wouldn’t have been hurt. She blamed herself.”

“Huh… I’d never thought of that. I’d always thought she was just mad at me for disobeying her and pissed at the dog for knocking me down.”

He glanced to his right at a black Lab playing with a big poodle mix, but his hand and thigh under her hand didn’t tense. “But for you, I’d have seen that dog and I would’ve been blocks away by now.”

Something in her clicked into place at his words, and her ribs felt too small to hold her heart and lungs. She’d practically run from Washington Square to get away from all the ridiculous romance that was making her body plan a coup against her mind. And here she was, holding his hand in a dog park. She had to get this train back on the rails before she made a fool of herself. He had clearly regretted the kiss, if his apology was anything to go by, so getting all mushy and ignoring her brain’s very strong opinion that falling for this guy was a bad idea would be foolish. Fiona was a lot of things, but a fool wasn’t one of them.

She unlaced her fingers from his and removed her hand. “But for you, I wouldn’t be giving this stupid speech.”

“Oh, no,” he said. “You are the reason you’re giving the speech. You earned it. You own it. Don’t go blaming me.”

After some digging around, she pulled the pages out of her backpack. This time when she read, she imagined Daisy and Otto sitting on the end of her bed, listening, with their heads cocked to the side. It made it easier to imagine them as her only audience as she recited the words on the page, but she still hated it. Somehow, though, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been at home alone. She could sense Jake’s big body next to her on the bench as she stumbled through the speech, and it was like he radiated comfort. The words on the page faded for a moment, and she shook herself internally. Get it together, drama queen, she admonished herself. He radiated comfort… Sheesh.

“Almost done,” he encouraged.

She flipped to the last page. “So back to that question a friend asked me: Why do I do it? The answer is clear: How could I not?”

When she glanced over, he was watching the Lab across the fence.

“And the crowd goes wild,” she said.

“They probably fell asleep,” he answered with a smile. “But it was a solid first run. Now, we need to get you used to the words so that they are second nature. You should memorize it or at least commit most of it to memory. I think it would help you be more comfortable. What do you think?”

“Sure.” She had a great memory. That would be a snap.

He glanced at his watch. “I need to get to the office for a lunch meeting.”

Instead of rejoicing at the end of a public speaking practice, she was disappointed, which was all kinds of messed up.

He stood, but she remained seated. “How about later today?” he asked.

When she glanced up, he was staring over at the big-dog park, looking relaxed. She half expected the black Lab to be gone, but he was still there, loping along the fence line, chasing a ball. “You’re doing better.”

“Yeah, I am.” He smiled, and to Fiona, it was as beautiful and as bright as the sunlight breaking through the trees overhead. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and her heart rate kicked up as she imagined pressing her lips to his.

Fire him.

“So, if your schedule permits, I can go to my next appointment, and we can meet up later today after you’ve committed some of that to memory,” he said.

She blinked the image of kissing Jake out of her head. Maybe this was one-sided. If she fired him and they weren’t on the same page, she might not get to see him again outside of passing in the lobby. Right now, she wasn’t willing to risk that. “Sure. I’m going by the clinic to do some cleanup and organization, and then I’m free the rest of the day.” Well, that sounded pathetic, like she didn’t have a life at all—maybe she didn’t. No. She wasn’t going to go there. She loved her life and was completely happy with it.

“Well, then. How about we meet at Chez Ari at five?”

That sounded like a date. She swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“Great. I’ll make a reservation for an outside table in the courtyard. Drinks and a speech. Does that work?”

Yeah, way too much like a date. “Sure.”

He gave that sunlight-through-the-trees sparkly smile again, then headed out of the dog park. She should stop this before she got her heart hurt. Jane had been right about examining her reservations, which way outnumbered the positives, but dammit, something about this guy made her a little reckless.

She watched him until he turned the corner at the end of the block. “Why do I do it?” She shoved the papers into her backpack and picked up Daisy’s and Otto’s leashes. “How could I not?”

Chapter Fourteen

“This isn’t working,” Jake muttered under his breath. The cursor blinked at him from the top corner of the blank page on his screen. Ordinarily, written projects were easy for him. He’d written plenty of advice columns and essays over the past years, but this one wasn’t happening for some reason. He couldn’t even figure out what he wanted to write about. It only needed to be a case study illustrating a challenging success story.

With a sigh, he snapped the laptop shut and checked his phone. There was still an hour before his reservation at Chez Ari, and he really needed to get a start on this damned article. Maybe a change of venue would break the block. He strode into the conference room, flipping the light switch with his elbow, and set up on the end of the long, shiny table with his back to the door. The cursor was as uncooperative here as it had been in his office, though, blinking against the white as if taunting him.

“Shit!” he said, louder than he’d planned.

“Really?” Charise’s smooth voice said from behind him.

“Yeah, really.”

She slid into the chair to his right and arched a brow in the way she did when she wanted him to talk. Only, he had nothing to say…just like he had nothing to write. When it was clear he wasn’t going to dish, Charise strode to the huge gridded whiteboard at the far end of the room and wrote something. “Alan Johnston didn’t get the sportscaster job. I’m still waiting on the audition tape. Would you mind giving me a second opinion when it comes in?” She ran her finger down the board and stopped at Fiona’s name. “Still in the planning stage of the speech?”

“No. She’s got a draft and has made it through it. She’s memorizing it.”

She nodded and checked off the appropriate boxes by Fiona’s name. “I’ll help you with that if you’ll look at the audition tape.”

Usually, he’d jump at the chance for a second opinion, especially from Charise, but for some reason, he didn’t want anyone’s help with Fiona. “I’ve got her. Thanks, though. Just send the Johnston audition file when you get it.”

For a while, she simply stared at him. “What’s wrong, Jake?”

“Nothing.”

Again, she arched a perfect eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he said, as if repeating it louder would make it true.

“I’m calling bullshit on that.” She glanced at his computer. “Why are you working in here instead of your office?”

“I was having trouble focusing. I thought a change of space would help.”

“With what?”

“I’m under contract for an article for Today’s Psychology.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, except I have no clue what to write about. They want a case study.”

Her brow furrowed. “How about that actress with the stutter from two years ago?”

Jake shook his head. “She’d never give me permission to write about it. She hired me so that she could keep it on the down low, remember?”

“Yeah.” She tapped her finger on her lip. “You’ve helped with some pretty heavy-duty politicians.”

He shook his head. “No politics. I’ll lose more or less half the audience no matter who it is. I was thinking maybe that scientist who—”

“No,” Charise interrupted, eyes bright. “Do Eliza.”

He racked his brain for a client by that name. “Who?”

She rolled her eyes. “Your new client.” He evidently looked as confused as he felt, because she continued. “The one you’re working with so she can pass herself off as something she’s not. Like Eliza Doolittle in the play Pygmalion.” When he didn’t reply, she gave a frustrated huff. “They made a musical based on it called My Fair Lady. Ring a bell?”

Of course it did, but he didn’t see how Fiona was Eliza.

Charise’s eyes had narrowed, and she was wearing that look she got when she was working something out. “Think about it, Henry Higgins. You’ve agreed to take a woman who is so introverted anyone who meets her notices it within seconds, and you are mentoring her in order to put her on a stage to make a speech by herself. You’re passing her off for something she’s not in a ballroom full of people, just like Eliza Doolittle. Only in your case, you didn’t accept the challenge on a bet—you did it for the money.”

God, that sounded shitty. This was not the kind of client he usually accepted, and it wasn’t for the money. “I did it as a favor to Claire Anderson.”

She grinned. “Even better. A favor, a bet, a dare, whatever. Tell it from that angle, and you have a story. You can also do it without revealing anything about her identity, since it’s an everyday person giving an everyday acceptance speech.”

Everyday person. Nothing about Fiona was everyday.

“I’m not sure she’d like it,” he said.

“She’d most likely be flattered. She’s a vet, right? She’s had a lot of education. She of all people would understand the mechanics and necessity for publishing credits and research. It’s not like you’re going to say anything bad about her or reveal a secret. It will make her look good, even brave, that she’s working with you to overcome obstacles. Besides, she’d never know. Doubtful she reads psychology magazines.”

Charise was most likely right. Fiona would totally understand. In fact, if he weren’t so into Fiona, he wouldn’t give a second thought to using her as a topic for the article. It had nothing to do with their personal relationship—which wasn’t really even a thing, was it? It’s not like they were sleeping together. He let out a slow breath. It only involved their professional relationship, so it wasn’t an issue.

“When is it due?” she asked.

“Too soon. I need to get a first draft out in a day or so.”

She waved a hand in the air. “Well, there you go. Problem solved.”

Charise picked an apple out of the bowl in the center of the table. The crunch when she took a bite seemed unnaturally loud. As he watched her chew, he realized for the first time what a good thing it was she had dumped him. They were nothing alike. Nothing at all. She was a hell of a speech coach, though, and her angle on his article was spot-on. His job, like that of Henry Higgins, was to work with shy Fiona Nichol until he could pass her off in public as a skilled speaker—at least for three minutes. And Charise was right. He could write the article in such a way that nobody would know who his Eliza was, even Fiona. No harm, no foul.

With a resigned sigh, he woke his computer up.

“See ya later, Professor Higgins,” Charise called as she left the room.

…

Fiona checked her look in the glass doors of Chez Ari and grimaced at her reflection; not because she looked bad—she looked pretty good, if she said so herself—the grimace was for how out of character checking her look was. Not a date, she told herself for the billionth time.

“Are you Dr. Nichol?” a host at the front desk asked.

“I am.”

“Your party is already here. Follow me, please,” he said.

Jake had left the name Dr. Nichol rather than Fiona. Her mind went straight to motive mode. Was Fiona too personal? Too casual? Was Dr. Nichol to let her know it was business, or was it a kind of flattery or respect?

Give it a rest, she scolded herself. Not a date.

She followed the host into a small outdoor cobblestone courtyard, and Jake stood until she was seated. She had met his eyes briefly when she’d entered but didn’t maintain eye contact. She wasn’t insecure, just uncomfortable. There was a huge difference.

“You look fantastic,” he said.

So did he, but then, he always did.

“The wonders of modern plumbing and cosmetics.”

He smiled, still staring. He probably wasn’t as interested in her as all that but instead was trying to get her to make eye contact. She briefly did so that he’d quit staring holes into her.

“I memorized the speech and ran through it a half dozen times or so,” she said.

“And?”

She ran her finger along the leather spine of her menu. “And I’m glad I don’t give speeches for a living. I’d starve.”

He laughed, and she relaxed a bit.

“Speaking of starving…” He opened his menu, and she did the same, studying it in silence.

She really loved how he didn’t feel compelled to fill every second with chitchat. Most people would start remarking on menu items, or the decor, or the weather. Anything to fill the silence. Instead, she took a sip of the wine he’d had waiting for her, a rich merlot, and enjoyed analyzing the menu instead of formulating potential responses to inane chatter.

After placing their orders, he seemed comfortable enjoying his wine and the sound of classical music playing from hidden speakers at the back of the courtyard. There was only one other occupied table out here, and it was a young couple, clearly on a date—giving each other charged looks and gentle touches across their table.

She sighed, imagining Jake touching her hand and giving her a heated look like that.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he said, still relaxed back in his chair as he placed his wineglass on the table.

“Not even worth a penny,” she said.

He leaned forward. “Not true. I’d pay good money to know what you’re thinking.”

She leaned forward as well. “Then you, my friend, do not make sound financial decisions.”

“My friend,” he repeated. “Then I’ve moved up. I’m pretty sure that during that group session I was public enemy number one.”

“Personal enemy number one. The public wouldn’t have taken offense.”

He smiled and leaned back again.

That smile. God. She could sink so far into that warm, fuzzy feeling that wrapped around her like a blanket when he smiled. Instead, she cleared her throat and forced herself back to business. “So, do you want me to give my speech now? It’s probably a good time because the food won’t be out for a while. Also, I’ve only had a sip of wine and it’s still early enough that nobody’s sitting near us.”

He picked up his wineglass and glanced around the courtyard as if he hadn’t noticed anything but her. “Sure. If you want to.”

Want to? She never wanted to give this speech. Any speech. But that’s what they were here for, wasn’t it? “Not sure it’s as much a case of want as it is of need.”

His reply was only an arch of one eyebrow.

“I mean. I don’t need to give the speech. I’m only doing it for Jane. But if I’m going to have to give it, I need to practice it. I don’t want to. I—”

“You ramble when you’re rattled. Why are you rattled?”

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times but couldn’t come up with an answer. Maybe it was the speech. Maybe it was the romantic setting. Maybe it was the fact she was within touching distance of Hot Guy from her apartment building, who had turned out to be a lot more than good looks. Maybe it was that freckle under his lip that seemed even more pronounced in the flickering light from the candle in the middle of their little table.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Picture your dogs and deliver the speech to them.”

Good. Yes. She never had trouble talking to animals. Closing her eyes, she imagined Daisy and Otto sitting on the foot of her bed, heads tilted as they had listened to her earlier today. After a deep inhale, she began.

…

Jake found himself holding his breath, mesmerized. Fiona seemed to get prettier every time he saw her. Tonight, she was stunning. Her shoulder-length dark hair was highlighted with gold from the table’s flickering candle, and she’d put on makeup that made her lips appear fuller and her eyes look even bigger. Her blue top wasn’t overtly sexy, but it clung to her shape as if it had been tailor-made.

He almost laughed. He’d never wanted to hear a speech so badly in his life.

She began speaking quietly and quickly, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth.

No. He didn’t want to hear the speech. He wanted to kiss the speaker. Badly.

As she rattled off the words, he imagined silencing her with his lips. His muscles tightened as if his body were going to override his senses and carry out that mission. He consciously relaxed back in his chair so she could continue to the end.

It’s not like this was the norm for him. In fact, it had never happened before. Clients had never been a temptation or even a consideration. Why her?

“Why do I do it?” she said. “How could I not?”

How could I not…

He stood from his chair, stepped around the table, tipped her face up with his fingers, and covered her mouth with his.

Chapter Fifteen

Holy crap. Jacob Ward was kissing her in the restaurant. Really, really kissing her, like tongue and all. And mmm, it was good. He tasted like merlot and smelled like expensive aftershave. She’d give a speech every day…no, every hour if this was the reward. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with equal enthusiasm.

From behind them, a throat cleared, and she released him as if she’d been jolted by a dog shock collar.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have your meals,” their waiter said.

Like a high school girl caught kissing a date goodnight on her porch by a parent, she looked down in her lap, heat boiling under her skin.

“No problem,” Jake said coolly, returning to his chair as if they’d not just been participating in the mother of all hot kisses—better even than the one at the clinic.

For Fiona, silence was usually a good thing. At this moment, while the waiter placed their meals, it was excruciating. It seemed to take forever. Absently, she ran her fingertips over her lips, and when she glanced up, she found Jake watching her.

After the waiter left, she picked up her fork and stabbed some romaine in her salad. God. What was she supposed to do now? Act like it didn’t happen? But it did. Act offended or surprised? No. She’d been surprised but not offended at all. Maybe she should act honestly and ask him to do it again. Lots of times.

Instead, she did what she did best. She silently ate her food, working it out.

“I owe you an apology,” he said, plate untouched.

Again? Her heart sank. He was going to apologize for kissing her. For that kiss, which would take away all the magic it had created.

“I interrupted your speech,” he continued. “That’s a big mistake on my part. It’s basically one of the cardinal rules: thou shalt not interrupt your client.”

She was so confused. And relieved. He wasn’t apologizing for the kiss. Something inside her chest did a happy dance. “Well, technically, I had finished the speech when you…” She twisted her fingers together in her lap. “When we…”

Face unreadable, he sliced off a bite of his chicken. He gestured to his plate. “Would you like to try it?”

“Oh, no, thanks.” She felt so awkward. But then, most people in this situation would. Confident in that knowledge, she took a bite of her salad.

“So, your speech was better.” He took a bite and chewed, then swallowed before continuing. “You still sound stiff compared to when you first said those words to me in your break room. What can you do to make it more natural?”

Nothing about giving a speech would come off as natural. “Keep practicing?”

“Have you recorded yourself?”

She shuddered. “No, it makes me anxious and uncomfortable to hear myself speaking.”

“I wish it didn’t.” He took a sip of wine. “You have a lovely voice, and with your looks, you could have a crowd eating out of your hand.”

With her looks? She stared to her right at another table being seated. This time it was two women in their fifties. She put a hand to her chest over her pounding heart. He’d just complimented her looks after kissing her silly.

When she turned her attention back to him, he was staring at her as if trying to figure out a puzzle. “Are you up to trying another run of the speech? This time, do it really fast and quiet. Say the speech as fast as you can. Sometimes that helps set the words in place better. It’s called a speed-through.”

She stared down at her salad. “Right now?”

He nodded. “It will take less than a minute if you do it quickly. Afterward, I promise no more speeches until dinner is over.”

She’d rather he promise another kiss or maybe a dozen. After a fortifying swallow of wine, she closed her eyes to imagine her dogs. No words came. Another swallow of wine. Still, nothing. Then, she imagined his face leaning over her right before he kissed her. His eyes searching hers for permission, then dilating as he gazed at her lips before pressing his to hers.

…

Jake sat perfectly still as Fiona clearly struggled to begin her speech, eyes closed. She appeared to have lost her focus completely, which didn’t bode well for the stressful situation she’d be in at that acceptance podium. Then, she opened her eyes, staring at a point over his shoulder, and began.

Fast and low, the words poured out of her in a rich stream. Completely fascinated, he watched her lips move. The lips he’d kissed only minutes before. The ones he wanted to kiss again.

When she neared the end, he fought hard to remain in the present and focus on what she was saying and doing, but all he could think about was his conversation with Marcus. “What do you want?” he’d asked.

Her. He wanted her. This socially timid, brilliant, beautiful woman ticking off a speech in a low, breathy voice, sitting across the table from him.

But he couldn’t have her. She’s a client. He could drop her as a client. No, you can’t, he scolded himself. That would be unfair and would hurt his relationship with the Anderson family. It would also be unfair to Fiona. She’d still have to give that speech. Maybe he could help her as a friend, not a hired coach. Friend. Lover. God, he wanted her.

Her lips had stopped. She’d finished.

She lifted her eyebrows in a questioning way. “You still with me, Jake?”

He wished. He wished he were with her in every way.

“Um, yeah. That was really good. Much better than your prior run.”

She gestured to her plate. “So…”

“Dig in,” he said, finally able to catch his breath. “No more speeches tonight.” His self-control couldn’t take it.

Chapter Sixteen

The rest of dinner was…weird. Fiona didn’t know what to make of Jake’s quiet, introspective mood. She was pretty sure it was because of the kiss but had no idea what he was thinking. Just one more reason she loved animals. They were open books. They were either happy, sad, lonely, scared, or angry. They didn’t brood and ponder the pros and cons of kisses, like she was doing, and she was pretty sure he was, too.

Jake had picked up the check for dinner, refusing to let her contribute at all. No guy had paid for her dinner in ages, and she found herself flattered by it. “Business expense,” he’d said when he’d put his card in his wallet with the receipt, sucking all the romance out of the gesture completely.

They took the subway to get to their building, which was kind of a relief. Sitting in a cab that close to him would have been hard. Instead, they stood, giving each other awkward half smiles over the head of a little old lady holding the pole between them.

Fiona stopped outside the revolving door to their lobby. “Well, thanks for dinner and the coaching session.” And the panty-melting kiss.

He didn’t answer right away. He just stared at her. She could practically hear the gears cranking in his brain. The guy was carrying on a serious debate in his head.

She shrugged. “Okay, well, I need to walk Daisy and Otto before their bedtime.” When, again, he just stared, she entered the revolving door and pushed. Feeling weirdly hollow, she struck out toward the stairs.

The door whooshed to life behind her, followed by, “Want company?”

She stopped on the second step to face where he stood just inside the revolving door. The look on his face was hopeful, almost pleading, and something about that made her heart do a tap dance.

“Do I want company walking my dogs?” Ugh. What a silly thing to ask. Of course he meant that. What else would it be? Company tonight in her apartment? In her bedroom? Why yes, she would answer if it were the latter option. Yes, I do. Bring your lips and tongue, please.

He nodded, then said, “Yes. Walking your dogs.” She noticed he was breathing shallowly, like a little kid on the high board of the swimming pool about to jump off for the first time. Was it because of the dogs or because of something else? She knew that her dogs made him uncomfortable but not this worked up. Clearly, he’d lost—or won—his mental debate and had come to some conclusion that put him on edge.

“Sure. I need to change and get the pups. I’ll meet you back down here in ten?”

With a grin that made her toes curl, he strode to the elevator. “See you in ten.”

…

Jake beat Fiona into the lobby but just barely. Like him, she’d changed into more casual clothes than they’d worn to the restaurant. He had thrown on a T-shirt and jeans. She had changed into gray sweatpants and a green T-shirt that said, “Meow or Never,” above a cat silhouette. At her feet, the dogs strained toward the door, obviously not interested in slowing down at all. As if they’d done it thousands of times, they led her to the revolving door and then drew in close to her ankles. “I think they’re in a hurry,” she said over her shoulder as she pushed the door.

Jake followed them out and fell into step beside her, Daisy and Otto pulling her like sled dogs.

“Not sure if they’re getting revenge for being left alone or if they really need to go super bad,” she said. After both dogs did some business over a tree grate, the rest of the walk was much calmer.

“I’m curious about your shirts,” Jake said when Otto stopped to sniff a light pole.

She laughed and looked down at the one she was wearing. “Most of them are event shirts and some, like this one, are gifts from patients.”

“I didn’t mean their origins. It just strikes me as odd that you wear amusing shirts that might draw attention to you.”

“Ah.” She nodded as if she’d heard this before. “You’re assuming since I’m reticent to engage in social settings, I’m someone who wants to be invisible.”

“I guess.”

“That’s not how it works for me. For some people, that’s true. I don’t have low self-esteem. I like who I am, and I’m not embarrassed of how I look.” She shot him a smirk. “Well, I’m not embarrassed about my looks unless I’m wearing flip-flops and have wet hair when I show up to a group session where everyone else looks like they came straight from the office or a TV newsroom set. I think that kind of self-consciousness is normal for most anyone, though.”

“I thought I’d been forgiven for that episode.”

“The episode is forgiven, not forgotten. I intend to wield it over your head for guilt inducement whenever possible.”

For the second time, Daisy walked on one side of a parking meter, and Otto the other, causing Fiona to do a sort of dance, wrapping her arms around the pole and switching one of the leashes to the other hand.

“Let me,” Jake said, relieving her of Otto’s leash before he really thought about what he was doing. The little dog fell into step beside him as if they’d been buddies for years. He was walking a dog. It made him want to laugh. No way would he have even considered such a thing before he’d met Fiona.

When he looked over, she was grinning at him. Her smile was amazing. She was amazing. He grinned back, feeling happier than he had in a long, long time. He was going to let her go as a client tonight. After the kiss in the restaurant, he realized Marcus was right. This whole thing was ridiculous.

When they made the block and were outside Animal Attraction, he stopped. To his relief, Otto stopped as well and dropped to a sit at his feet.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, brow furrowed.

He stepped into the little alcove outside the front door, and she followed him. “Yes,” he said. “Something’s wrong.”

The dogs sat side by side at their feet and looked up at them.

“What is it?” she asked, brow furrowed.

“She really doesn’t know,” he said to the dogs, who wagged their tails and stared adoringly up at him.

“What don’t I know?” she asked the dogs as if they would answer.

“Shall I tell her?” The dogs’ tails wagged faster.

He looped Otto’s leash over his wrist and wrapped his arms around her waist, then slid one hand up to the middle of her back, pulling her against his body.

“Oh,” Fiona said in surprise, smiling. “You two dogs have been keeping secrets from me.”

“I swore them to secrecy. But they don’t know the whole story.”

“Want to share it with me?”

“Yes, I do,” he said, lowering his head and taking her mouth. This kiss was even better. The one at the restaurant had been hot, but this time, it wasn’t just their mouths; their entire bodies were pressed together, and it was incendiary. He ran his hand up and down her spine, and she melted into his touch.

Never had he experienced a kiss like this one. Something about her was like kerosene that lit him on fire.

She fisted her hand in his shirt as if she needed to hang on to something in order to stay upright. Gently, he turned her to where her back was to the door of her business, and she leaned against it, pulling him with her so that most of his weight was against her. She scraped her fingers through his hair, and he became light-headed for a moment. God. If he ever got this woman naked, it might kill him outright. The kiss grew deeper, and he moaned her name.

“Wait,” she said.

It took his mind a minute to register her word.

She pushed gently against his chest, and he reluctantly gave her some space.

“Jacob, wait.”

She wasn’t saying no or stop, he realized with relief. She’d asked him to wait. Wait for what? For his heart to jackhammer straight out of his chest? For his knees to give out?

“I have something to say.”

Holy hell. She wanted to talk? Now?

He wasn’t even sure he could string together a coherent sentence, so he met her eyes and waited, both of them breathing hard. She didn’t say anything for what felt like forever. She took a deep breath a couple of times as if she were going to speak but evidently thought better of it.

She looked down at the little dogs sitting expectantly at their feet, and he was worried for a moment she was going to speak to him through them.

But then she raised her eyes to his, took a breath, and said, “Jacob Ward, you’re fired.”

Chapter Seventeen

Fiona wasn’t exactly sure what reaction she’d expected from Jake, but she loved the one she got.

“Thank you,” he said. “I never thought being told I was fired would make me happy.”

Looking around, her old discomfort reared its ugly head. They were on the street, for goodness’ sake. Albeit, they were sort of concealed in the little alcove outside the door to Animal Attraction, but they were in public. A little bit of queasiness churned in her stomach.

Jake must have sensed her unease, because he switched Otto’s leash to his right hand and took her free one. “Let’s go someplace else.”

Her hand felt so small in his. And his was warm, just like his body had been against hers. She glanced across to Otto trotting along next to Jake. It looked so natural to see him walking a dog. It felt right, just like everything about this man did, including his kisses.

As they neared the apartment lobby, her heart began to race. She’d fired him. There was no obstacle to them being together now. Really together.

Her heartbeat was so fast now, it felt more like a flutter. Should she ask him to her place? Would he ask her to his? Would she go if he did?

Hell yes, she would.

There was something about this guy. Something beyond supercharged kisses. No way would she pass this moment up. She glanced down at her shirt and grinned.

Meow or never.

…

First things first, Jake reminded himself. Number one priority was to lose the dogs. They were okay, but he could anticipate them being a full-blown cockblock if things got going, which he hoped they did.

She’d fired him. He didn’t even try to hold back his grin. He wondered if he’d ever stop being surprised by her. He hoped not.

She was staring up at him, he realized. Waiting for him to do or say something.

He cleared his throat. “My apartment is not very dog-friendly.” A total lie. He had no idea what constituted dog-friendly; he just didn’t want them up there doing dog things. Sitting on his furniture, or worse, getting up on his bed.

“Well, um…” She looked down at the two wagging, panting dogs. “You want to come up to my place?”

Thank God. “Yes. Absolutely.”

With a curt nod, she headed up the stairs to the second floor. The dogs sniffed the bottom of every door along the hallway without breaking stride, probably able to tell what had been for dinner and who was home. Again, he was surprised by how interesting they were and lamented he’d never gotten to have a pet growing up. Maybe it would have helped with his fear. Fiona stopped at the last door on the right, which meant she had a corner apartment and extra windows.

He’d half expected her place to smell of dog, but there was only a slight smell of something fruity like her shampoo or a room freshener, maybe. The space was tidy and well-decorated with comfortable-looking furniture and a large bookshelf lining the interior wall, stuffed full of books of all sizes. At the far end, the kitchen had been opened up to the living area, unlike his, which was closed off completely. Her place was nice. Really nice.

She unsnapped the dogs’ leashes, and they casually strolled to the kitchen. She followed. “You want something to drink? Wine, water, soda?”

The dogs noisily slurped water from a bowl in the corner.

“I’m good. Thanks.”

Again, he found himself surprised. Maybe he’d assumed she’d live in a tiny, closed-in space like a little old lady or something because of her shyness. This was a beautiful place. It suited, he decided. Like her, it was understated and well-thought-out.

The dogs trotted out, and she followed. They ambled into the bathroom and sat on a thick rug in front of an oversize bathtub. Clearly it had been added, because when Jake bought his apartment, it was in original condition, and his tub was barely bigger than a bucket.

“Not tonight,” she said.

“Do you bathe them every night?” Dogs were a mystery.

She laughed. “Oh, no. Not only would that be a pain, it’s bad for their skin to give them daily baths. They keep me company when I take a bath.” She shifted awkwardly. “Daily baths are not bad for my skin.”

Jake eyed the deep tub and imagined her reclining in it, naked. Then, he imagined himself in there with her, equally naked. Time for a topic change. “You have a two bedroom,” he observed.

“Yes, I used to have a roommate. Caitlin. She left me to go marry the man of her dreams and live happily ever after.” She rolled her eyes.

“Is that a bad thing?”

She walked back into the living area and sat on the cream-colored sectional. No TV, he noticed. “No. I just get sick of hearing about it.” She shuffled a couple of magazines on the coffee table. “I love that she’s happy, but it always comes across as a low-key sales pitch.”

He sat next to her. “A sales pitch for what?”

“Finding Mr. Right.”

He leaned back against the sofa cushions. “You’d prefer Mr. Wrong?”

She laughed. “No. But it’s not like I need someone else to make me happy. I am happy. Do your friends push you to find someone?”

He thought of Marcus encouraging him to go for it. “Sometimes, but for the most part, they’re in the same boat.” Or in Marcus’s case, worse. Poor guy was married to his job and had no time for anyone or anything else.

Daisy trotted over and made to jump up on the sofa, but Fiona raised her hand, palm out, and the little dog heaved a dramatic sigh and flopped on her belly under the coffee table. Otto had clearly found Sir Squashalot, based on the shrill squeaks from the kitchen.

Between two vigorous bouts of squeaks, Daisy burped.

For a moment, Fiona held her breath, then busted out in giggles. Jake loved her laugh and joined in.

“Way to help with the mood, you two,” she said. “You guys are more effective than candles and soft music.”

Otto, evidently thinking this was his time to shine, bounded into the room with Sir Squash and presented it at Fiona’s feet.

“Ah, no. Not now, baby. Mama’s busy. Well, she wants to be busy,” she said with a sideways glance at Jake. Not one to take no for an answer, Otto grabbed the toy in his teeth and shook his head vigorously, causing the toy to make a series of squeaks that blended together in a trill.

“That’s it,” she said, standing. “Drastic times call for drastic measures.” She held out her hand to Jake, and he took it without hesitation and stood. She turned her attention to the dogs and held up her hand, palm out again. “Stay,” she said. “I mean it. I didn’t fire this man so that he could play with you two.”

“Why did you do it?” he asked, still holding her hand.

“So you could play with me.”

Amused and intrigued, Jake grinned as she led him into the bedroom and shut the door behind them.

Chapter Eighteen

Fiona’s adrenaline was off the charts. She’d never had a man in this apartment before. She and Caitlin had agreed to a no-penis policy when they were roomies, so all dates had happened elsewhere as a courtesy, until Caitlin met Taylor. She, on the other hand, had never gotten serious enough with someone to want them to see her place.

She liked this. Liked being with Jake in a familiar setting. Her turf, so to speak.

He was staring at her with one lifted eyebrow, as if asking her what came next. Oh, crap. What did come next? She wanted to tumble onto her bed and rip off their clothes, but maybe that was too much. She glanced down his body at his obvious erection straining behind his jeans. Maybe it wasn’t too much.

Fortunately, he took making the next move out of her hands and pulled her against him for another devastating kiss. This time, his hands wandered not only over her spine but over her backside, then under her T-shirt to cup her breasts. Heat shot through her, coalescing between her legs, and she clung to him to keep from melting into the carpet.

“My God,” he said, breathing hard. “Who would have thought it?”

“Thought what?” she practically gasped.

His warm palms were still covering her breasts. “That you are scorching hot and kiss like the devil.”

“I’m shy, Jake. Not dead.”

He chuckled. “Clearly.” He kissed her again, then made slow circles over her nipples with his thumbs, which sent shivers up her spine and more heat to her core. He lifted his head, moved his hands to her waist, and maneuvered them toward the bed. When the backs of her legs met the mattress, she fell backward and tightened her hold to pull him down with her. He lay over her for a moment, grinning as if he was having the time of his life, which made her even hotter. Sex was fun, and it bothered her when people went about it as if it were life-altering or serious. Of course, there were serious aspects to it, like…

“Do you have a condom?” she asked.

For a moment, he appeared stunned. Then, his expression changed to one of delight. His eyes narrowed in challenge. “In my right back pocket inside my wallet.”

She ran her hand over his backside—a very fine one, by the way—and felt the outline of his wallet. She slipped her fingers in and pulled it out, then peered over his shoulder as she searched it over his back. Pulling out the foil wrapper, she pitched the wallet to the floor and squinted at the lettering.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Looking for an expiration date,” she said. “My body, my temple and all that.”

He rolled to his back and took her with him. She settled in on top of him and continued squinting at the wrapper. He put his hands behind his head and watched her as if she were an entertaining movie on TV.

“We’re good,” she said, delighted she wasn’t going to have to go to her bathroom to search for one of her own that had been collecting dust and probably wasn’t in date like this one.

“The Highlander’s Seduction?” he said. “Ten Days in Paradise?”

Still straddling him, she sat up, mortified he was reading the titles of the books on her nightstand. “Now listen here, Jacob Ward. If you make fun of my books, you’re not getting laid. Are we clear?”

His expression went from amusement to absolute seriousness. Then he said in a somber voice, “I think your choice of reading material is admirable and unequalled, and making fun of your books would be a colossal mistake.”

She ground down where their bodies touched, and he groaned. She leaned close to his ear and said, “You bet it would.”

“In fact,” he said, struggling to pull her T-shirt off over her head. “I think those books should be required reading.”

“Would you like me to read to you?” she asked, helping him unclasp her bra.

“I thought you didn’t read out loud to anyone,” he said.

“For you, I’d make an exception. Shall I read?”

“Not right now,” he said, pitching her bra to join his wallet on the floor. “But yes. Absolutely. I want you to read one of those books to me.”

She’d never felt this at ease with a lover—not that she’d had a lot of them, but there were a few guys in college and then a couple more in vet school. Since then, only an occasional date, but none of them ended up like this. Usually, her initial quirkiness because of her shyness turned people off, which turned her off. College and vet school had been different because she’d spent time with the guy in class or labs and felt more comfortable. Dating sites or casual hookups were Fiona’s idea of a special kind of hell, ranking right up there with group therapy sessions. This, though, was heaven, she decided, as he raised up on his elbows to run his tongue over her nipple.

“Jake, I need…”

“Yeah, me too,” he said.

Rolling her over to her back, he rose to his feet and pulled off his T-shirt, then kicked off his shoes. Smiling at her, he shoved his jeans and underwear down in one motion, scraping his socks off with them.

“Perfect,” she whispered as he stood up. His body was absolutely perfect. Not bulky or bulging with extra muscles, but lean and strong, like a runner. Efficient… Her eyes drifted lower… And no doubt effective.

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” he said, untying her sneaker. “Perfect.”

She felt her face heat in a blush. One-on-one with someone she knew or trusted was comfortable for her most of the time, but compliments, no matter the source, still made her twitchy.

“Oh, you can dish it but not take it,” he teased with a smile. “Look at you.” He gestured with a hand before untying her other shoe. “Incredible.”

She covered her face as another blush burned it up.

He leaned over the bed, pulled her hands away from her face, and kissed her gently. “You said you were happy with your appearance. I’m really happy with it. You seem uncomfortable. Do you want me to stop complimenting you?”

Never had a person been so in tune to her feelings. It was as if her well-being mattered even more to him than his own pleasure. She was certain if she even hinted that she was uncomfortable, he’d stop whatever it was immediately. The thing was, she liked his compliments. She liked him. Everything about him.

“Don’t stop,” she said, with reference to both the compliments and the removal of her clothes. She untied the bow at the top of her sweatpants, then met his eyes. “Don’t stop.”

The relief on his face was clear as he grabbed the bottom of her pant legs and pulled them off, then ran a finger over the lace at the top of her panties. “So pretty,” he said. “Like you.”

This time when she blushed, she didn’t cover her face.

He smiled. “Better.” He crawled onto the bed next to her and kissed her, his fingers skimming her from her neck to her belly button and back up again. She made a mmmm sound as her body roared to life at his touch.

“Even better,” he said, fingers drifting lower, brushing over her folds, then parting them. He deepened the kiss and increased the pressure of his touch, dipping his fingers under the lace and running them over her slickness.

She could feel his erection pressing against her thigh, hot and hard. When she touched it, he hissed in a breath. After a few gentle strokes, he relaxed and matched her rhythm with his own touch, making her heart hammer and her body crave more. She gasped when his thumb settled over her most sensitive spot, his pressure and tempo perfect.

She was going to come like this. Muscles tightening, she couldn’t concentrate on stroking him and instead grabbed fistfuls of the sheet. “Don’t stop,” she gasped.

With a playful grin, he said, “You’re repeating yourself. You already said that.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not funny.”

“No?” His fingers stilled.

She almost screamed, then took a deep breath and said, “Okay, okay. I take it back.” Slowly, his fingers began to stroke her again. “You are funny.” The pressure increased. “Hilarious.” He had resumed the prior tempo, causing jolts of fire to shoot from where he touched her to all other parts of her body. “You,” she said, gasping between words as the pressure built, “are the funniest”—another gasp—“person I’ve ever met.”

She thought she heard him laugh, but the blood pounding in her ears drowned out everything as her climax rolled through her in wave after scorching wave.

For a long time, she lay in silence as he remained perfectly still, hand still cupping her between her legs, his erection throbbing against her thigh.

“You back down to Earth yet?” he whispered.

“Almost.” She opened her eyelids enough to peek over at him. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, and he was in her bed. She was determined to bring him as much pleasure as he’d given her. “I’m back down to Earth. Are you ready for liftoff?”

“Always.”

She grinned and rolled on her side to face him. “Let’s commence countdown, shall we?” She sat up. “T-minus ten…nine…”

…

Jake couldn’t believe his good fortune. He’d known there was humor under that shy demeanor, but he’d had no idea she’d be playful in bed. And her body. Jesus. Her ass in jeans was hot, but out of them, it was phenomenal. He reached over her to give it a squeeze, and she grinned.

“Eight…” she continued, rising to her knees. She searched the bed, no doubt for the condom. “Seven…”

He almost laughed out loud when she tore it open with her teeth as she slurred “Six…” So much unexpected from this woman. He reached over and tweaked one of her pink nipples, and she made a squeaking sound, then shook a finger at him.

“Nope. None of that. You don’t mess with command central when countdown has started. You just lie there and prepare for liftoff.”

This time, he did laugh out loud.

“Not funny. Now we have to start the countdown all over again.” She set the opened condom still in its wrapper next to her knee on the bed.

Good, he thought. He wanted this time with her to last as long as possible. Her behavior was a complete surprise. No shyness. No looking away. She was completely present and focused. He loved it.

“Ten…” She took him in her warm fingers and caressed his length. He fought to not thrust into her hand.

“Nine, eight, seven.” She stroked in time to her countdown, and he gritted his teeth to avoid early launch.

“Six…” She lowered her head and gently touched her tongue to the head of his penis, and his body bucked.

Holy hell. He focused on remaining still as her breath whispered over him, her lips so close, he could feel their heat.

“Five,” she said, eyes meeting his briefly before taking him into her mouth, which was almost his undoing.

Heat traveled from her mouth up his spine until his ears began to ring. Involuntarily, his body rocked in time with her movements.

She paused and lifted her head, meeting his eyes directly. “Are all the rocket boosters firing?”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe both. “Fiona, we’re going to have premature liftoff if you keep this up.”

“Four!” She brandished the condom and removed it from its wrapper. “Three.” She rolled it onto him, and he groaned. “Two.” She maneuvered herself over him, and he thought he might die from anticipation. When she met his eyes, he knew he would. “One,” she groaned as she lowered herself slowly onto him. Her eyes slid shut, heavy-lidded, then opened to meet his. He felt her muscles tighten around him and couldn’t lay still any longer. He rolled her under him and thrust into her as she dug her nails into his back. This woman was so right. So…so… He increased his pace until he became mindless with the bliss of her body opening to him. Of his flesh pounding against hers. Until…

“We have liftoff,” she gasped. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her body pulsed around him, sending him over the edge right along with her.

It was a long, long time before Jake felt like he’d reentered Earth’s orbit.

Chapter Nineteen

The morning sun shimmered around the edges of Fiona’s bedroom blinds. With a smile, she stretched, enjoying the weight of Jake’s arm draped over her waist and the pleasant soreness in muscles that had been ignored way too long. She rolled over and flinched at the thud of something hitting the floor. Jake woke with a start, then made a muffled mmmmmm sound as his arm tightened, pulling her close against his body. Propping up on her elbow, she craned her neck to discover what had hit the floor was her copy of The Rogue Pirate’s Bride.

Nestling back into the pillows, she fought the urge to giggle as she remembered him reading sections of the book out loud to her last night in a truly terrible pirate accent.

Jacob Ward was funny and playful in bed. Sex with him was a blast—rocket launch pun intended. Her smile widened into a grin. Behind her, Jake shifted, draping his leg across hers in an intimate, familiar way. Her skin warmed where it met his, and her entire body hummed to life. She took a deep breath and listened while his breathing became slow and level as he slipped back into sleep. She could get used to this—to him wrapped around her in the mornings. Her grin faded, and her pulse kicked up as a jitter of worry skittered down her spine. She needed to be careful. It would be easy to lose her heart to this man…she possibly already had.

Correction: probably already had.

She took a deep breath through her nose. Who was she kidding? She totally had.

His fingers grazed her arm. “Arrrgh, me matey,” he whispered in her ear, causing her body to hum with anticipation.

She giggled and snuggled into his body spooned behind hers.

He chuckled and nipped her earlobe, sending a full-body shiver cascading through her. “Careful,” he said.

“Or what?” She could hear her pulse pounding in her ears. “Are you going to make me walk the plank, captain?”

He pressed his erection against her backside. “Aye. There’s a plank, but ye’ll not be walking it.”

She laughed and turned to face him and the incoming bundles of energy and fur leaping onto the bed to join them. She’d expected Jake to recoil, but he didn’t seem afraid of her dogs, only amused and a little bit irritated

“Off with ye, scallywags!” he ordered in that pirate accent that wasn’t improving with practice. He pointed at the door. “Go splice the mainbrace or swab the decks or…” The dogs cocked their heads in unison as they watched him from the edge of the foot of the bed. He smiled. “That cute act won’t work on this ship’s captain.”

Fiona sat up, tucking the sheet around her waist. “They need to go outside.”

He pulled her back down. “I need to be inside.”

She laughed and pushed him away. “Seriously. I have to walk them.” She stood and slipped on her clothes from last night. “I’ll be right back.”

He groaned and pulled the sheet over his head.

“Don’t hoist the anchor or mainsail or whatever pirate captains do in order to leave port,” she said. “Keep that plank at the ready.”

He was still laughing when she pulled the apartment door closed, Daisy and Otto tugging at their leashes.

…

True to her word, and to Jake’s relief, Fiona returned right away. She’d only been gone long enough for him to select another book and search out an appropriate passage—or rather, an inappropriate passage. This one was from one of her romance novels featuring fate-mated werewolves. Within minutes, he had her back in bed, naked, at first howling with laughter, and then with passion.

Sweaty and exhausted, he fell back on the bed, giving one last wolf cry at the imaginary moon. She snorted, and they both busted out laughing again.

He inhaled a deep breath through his nose, taking in the smell of her peach shampoo and the arousing scent of their lovemaking. Staring at the ceiling, his body buzzed with the warm hum of contentment. He was happy. Truly happy. And it felt amazing. She was amazing.

“What are your plans today?” she asked.

He only scheduled rare emergency appointments on Sundays, so his day was clear, thank God. “My plans are to spend all day in bed with you.”

Sitting up, she ran her fingers through her tangled hair. He loved her like this. Naked and messy. She was the most natural woman he’d ever met. Everything about her—even her reactions were genuine and unaffected. No pretense or artifice.

She swiveled her feet to the floor. “I’d love that, but I promised Addison I’d come check on some of her rescues at her farm.”

The disappointment felt like someone standing on his sternum. Damn. He needed to get his act together or he’d be way too attached before he knew it.

She looked over her shoulder at him. “It’s only a short train ride away. Why don’t you come with?”

He should say no. Animal rescue farms were not his thing. It wasn’t that he didn’t like animals; he was just unfamiliar with them. He almost laughed when Otto, after turning in several circles, flopped down hard against his thigh, resting his chin on Jake’s knee. Dogs hadn’t been his thing, either, and yet, here he was with one cuddled against his leg. Things changed, he supposed.

Not to be left out, Daisy nudged her nose under his hand, demanding pets. He rubbed the top of her soft head.

“I have appointments first thing tomorrow morning,” he said.

“Me too. Monday is always my busiest day. The rescue farm is in New Jersey. A short trip by train. We should be back well before dark.” Fiona stood and grabbed a blue silky bathrobe from a hook behind her closet door and, to his disappointment, slid it on.

When he didn’t agree to go right away, she added, “We can take up right where we left off when we return.” She threw her head back and gave a howl.

“I was kind of hoping for another spaceship launch.” He gave her a wink, hardening at the thought of her on top, going through her countdown procedure again.

She held up a finger. “I have an idea. We could launch some seafaring werewolves into space.”

“I’m not sure I could howl in a pirate accent,” he said.

“I have faith in you, Jacob Ward.” She snapped her fingers, and both dogs hopped off the bed. She reached out and took a book from the tall bookcase next to the closet door. “How about this one when we return?”

She pitched the book to him and sauntered from the room, dogs at her heels.

The Vampire’s Lover.

Jacob tilted his head back and laughed. Thinking about getting her back in bed again wasn’t making it easier to get out of bed right now, which was critical if he wanted to spend more time with her. And he definitely wanted more time with her, even if it was at an animal rescue farm.

Chapter Twenty

Daisy and Otto launched from the truck with so much exuberance, a bystander would assume they’d been locked in their carriers on a train for weeks, not barely over an hour.

“I need to remove your leashes. Sit,” Fiona commanded, and both dogs lowered their backsides almost to the ground but not quite. They were way too fired up. Honestly, so was Jake. This little field trip was a huge departure for him. Though varied and interesting, his life was not unpredictable or adventurous. Until now.

Addison’s brother, Gus, had picked them up at the train station. The drive wasn’t long, but it was filled with chatter about the health and conditions of dozens of animals. Jake half listened from the back seat as Daisy and Otto panted and pressed their noses against the glass, making smudges on the windows.

P&A Farm, named for the dad, Paps, and his kids, Addison and Augustus, was not at all what Jake had expected. He’d imagined something more like the pound—or what he thought a dog pound or animal control facility would look like; he’d never actually seen one. This place was like a real farm with green pastures and red-and-white barns in a horseshoe arrangement around a white wooden house with a porch wrapping all the way around it.

Addison looked the same as when he’d seen her at Fiona’s clinic, with her reddish-brown hair pulled back in a braid, wearing jeans, boots, and a huge, friendly smile.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing a friend, Dr. Nichol,” she said, leaning over to rub on Daisy and Otto, who were so excited they looked like they were on the verge of combusting.

“You remember Jacob Ward,” Fiona said absently, looking past them to a couple of donkeys strolling to a wooden fence between two buildings.

“I sure do. Welcome to P&A Farm.” Addison gave him a firm handshake while her brother placed Fiona’s medical kit and canvas bag on the porch and went inside the house.

“When is she due to foal?” Fiona asked, still staring at the donkeys.

Addison glanced over her shoulder at a small, long-eared donkey with a huge, round belly. “Any time. She arrived yesterday, but our big-animal vet can’t make it until tomorrow.” Fiona and Jake followed as Addison strode toward the porch. “He’s also scheduled to check out a pot-belly that needs his tusks trimmed and an emu with an attitude problem.”

“All emus have attitude problems,” Fiona said, climbing the porch steps.

“True that. But this one is particularly grumpy, and we’re hoping he can find a cause. For you, today, we have a litter of six pups who need their first round of shots, three you did last month who are in good health and are ready for their second, and two kittens we’ve been bottle-feeding.”

Fiona sat on a bench on the porch and pulled some rubber boots out of her bag.

“You up to handling a case of bumblefoot in a pullet?” Addison asked. “I didn’t know about her until after I sent you the email with the list of patients.”

Fiona slipped off her sneakers and pulled on the boots. “I’ll treat anything without hooves. I left large animals behind at vet school, so I’m rusty. Paws, feathers, and scales are all fine. The pullet’s no problem if you have some Epsom salts.”

“Yep. Pups first.”

Jake hadn’t considered the wide range of animals a vet would have to study in school. The more he got to know this woman, the more she impressed him.

Medical kit in hand, Fiona walked with Addison to the barn closest to the donkeys with Jake, Otto, and Daisy following behind. As they neared the building, a small pack of six or so dogs ranging in size from tiny to enormous ran out into the sunshine, full of energy and wagging tails.

Daisy and Otto blasted past him to greet the pack with yips, barks, and butt sniffs. Jake remained frozen in place. Fear, thick and heavy, filled him head to toe like concrete. Even breathing became difficult. He’d thought he was past this, somehow, especially after spending time with Fiona’s dogs. Clearly not. Maybe he’d never get past it.

Ahead of him, Fiona turned. Her words were unintelligible and sounded far away.

Focus, he told himself over the buzzing in his head. Focus on remaining calm. It was the advice he gave his clients with intense stage fright. Relax your body from head to toe.

He began releasing the muscles starting with his jaw, then his neck and shoulders, moving down his body, never taking his eyes off the milling dogs, including Daisy and Otto, who were now making their way into the barn.

Shake the fear away, he told himself. This was one of his favorite exercises for clients made stiff from fear before they entered the stage. It not only created a good mental image, but it also afforded a positive physical action prior to performance. He shook his hands, trying to visualize his fear falling in droplets from his fingertips, like he encouraged his clients to do. After a moment, his wrists ached and his fingers tingled, but other than that, nothing.

Ridiculous. The entire exercise was ridiculous and useless.

For years he’d given frightened people advice from his lofty place of social ease and performance comfort, not realizing it was not just an issue of mind over matter. It was an issue of mind over instinct. Sometimes even the instinct to survive.

“Jake.” Fiona’s soft, rich voice broke through the ringing in his ears.

He’d had a taste of it at the dog show and later at the park, but Jake now better understood where Fiona was coming from with respect to public speaking, and it was a horrifying place.

“Jake,” she repeated.

With a shake of his head, he pulled himself back in the moment. Just because a fear seemed irrational or unfounded didn’t mean it wasn’t legitimate or serious. He thought back on the times he’d wanted to shout “get over it” to clients. There were too many to count.

Yeah, he was successful and had helped a lot of people, but he’d also probably done a disservice to some of them by only giving them temporary fixes, much like he’d done to himself. Denial, masking, and bluffing were great for a short-term goal like an isolated speech, but it did nothing to combat a long-term fear like many of his clients had of public speaking or he had of dogs. Going forward, he should encourage them to seek counseling to address the root of the problem, not just encourage them to cope by covering it up.

“I’m good,” he managed to say. “I’m…” He looked up to find her deep brown eyes focused on his face. “I was surprised and scared,” he said. He’d never outright admitted that before. Something about it was liberating.

“You were shaking your hands,” she said. “I thought you were having a seizure or something.”

He imagined how silly he must have looked, flapping his hands wildly in the middle of the barnyard, and shook his head. “It was a visualization exercise that I now know doesn’t work for me.” In the future, he needed to talk to clients after he suggested this technique, to see if it worked for them. He hadn’t really cared because he hadn’t understood where they were coming from. Between the trip to the AKC Meet the Breeds and this experience, he totally got it now.

“You up for this?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath and stared at the dogs who were sniffing around right inside the wide barn opening. Little flecks of dust flitted around them in the shaft of sunlight slanting across the floor just inside the building. He focused on that rather than the dogs. “I’m good.”

She took his hand and gave it a squeeze before lacing her fingers through his. Side by side, they entered the barn, and the dogs milling about didn’t alarm him as much.

Both sides of the barn were lined with pens containing dogs. Some of them housed multiple dogs, some singles, and it seemed to Jake that all of them were barking at once. It didn’t cause him the stress he’d expected, though. Maybe because Fiona was still holding his hand.

Addison stopped next to a plastic folding table in front of a pen housing a big gold dog surrounded by multicolored puppies whose feet looked way too big for their bodies as they toddled around their mom. “Four weeks, we think,” Addison said.

“Daddy must’ve been huge. Look at those legs.” Fiona dropped Jake’s hand, set her bag on the table, and pulled some supplies out.

“Figure there’s something like Great Dane in there,” Addison said. “She was found at a landfill with the pups hidden behind an old crate, so no telling. She’s a good mama and has a sweet temperament. We should be able to home these babies easily. Big dogs are popular here with all the horse farms around.”

Jake marveled at Fiona’s efficiency as she made quick work of checking and immunizing the six wiggly puppies and examining their mom. Next came kittens so small they wouldn’t even rank big enough to qualify as city rats, followed by a really pissed-off chicken who was placed in a plastic tub with a few inches of Epsom salts dissolved in warm water. The lid had a four-inch hole in it, and the bird’s head was poking out like a submarine periscope, delivering a death stare to anyone brave enough to glance over.

“It’s a pretty small abscess,” Fiona said. “It should be easy to remove after a good soaking.” As if the chicken knew they were talking about it, it made a weird noise like a creaky door hinge and shook its head, making the red things on its head and under its chin wiggle.

“You said there were three pups for an eight-week check? I only recorded two.”

Addison strode to the last pen on the right. “Saved the best for last.” She returned to the makeshift exam table holding a familiar face.

“Brutus!” Fiona cried, taking the puppy in her arms and pulling it to her chest. After a thorough hug, she held the wiggly puppy at arm’s length. “You look great.”

Jake studied Fiona as she examined Brutus and found himself mesmerized. She was amazing, not only with animals but in general. Her capacity for caring seemed infinite. She was tender and loving toward every creature she treated, and as he watched her give Brutus a final hug and kiss before passing her off to Addison, he realized he wanted to be included in the things she loved. He’d endure dogs, cats, whatever. Hell, he’d even learn to love them, too, if it meant he could be a part of her life.

An image of her naked last night flashed through his head, and he smiled. Yeah, he’d totally become a dog guy if it meant he could be Fiona’s guy.

…

Fiona secured the wrapping on Henrietta Hen’s foot and took off her gloves, pitching them in the trash can under the table. She’d been surprised when Jake had offered to serve as vet tech for the abscess debridement. Evidently his discomfort didn’t extend to poultry.

“I’ll release her,” Fiona said, taking the bundle from Jake. She placed it on the ground and unfolded the towel Henrietta had been bound in like a burrito. As expected, the pullet gave an indignant squawk, flapped her wings, shook herself head to tail like a dog, then hustled out of the barn, oblivious to the bandage between her toes and around the ball of her foot. “You caught it early, Addison. Only stage two. Be sure to wear gloves when you treat her. I’m leaving you some antibiotics. I know you’ve dealt with pododermatitis before, so do the usual. Soak, disinfect, wrap. She should be fine.”

“Thanks, Dr. Nichol. I really appreciate you coming out here,” Addison said as they stepped out into the sunshine.

Fiona shielded her eyes from the sun and blinked, intensely aware of Jake’s big body behind her. “I’m grateful for all you and your family do for our homeless pet charity and for your work with unwanted and mistreated animals. I’m happy to come out any time.”

Dang. It was like her body had some little imbedded Jacob Ward compass, because it felt like her cells completely rearranged themselves to focus solely on him as he stepped up beside her, and she had a sudden urge to run her hands under his shirt and over his chest. She thought about that group session where Jake’s clients reenacted things they had resisted doing in public. Her fingers curled and straightened as she imagined the surprised look on Addison’s face as she ripped Jake’s shirt off, sending buttons flying across the hay-strewn floor.

With a sigh, she slid her hands into her pockets instead of his shirt, a secret smile tugging the corners of her mouth. When she glanced over, Jacob was studying her, one eyebrow raised in question and an answering, smoldering look on his face.

Oblivious to the private heat wave passing between her guests, Addison asked, “I know Dr. Nichol has seen it, but do you want a tour of the farm, Jacob?”

He opened his mouth, but Fiona cut him off before he could answer. “We really need to wash up and get back to the city.”

Fast. Like really fast.

Side by side, Jake and Fiona washed up to the elbows with disinfectant at a utility sink on the outside wall of the barn. It was as if she were a radio tuned to his frequency, static flying when his elbow brushed hers repeatedly, no doubt on purpose.

“Houston, we have a problem,” she whispered when she and Jake finally settled into their train seats, dogs in their carriers underneath.

“We do?” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye she was beginning to recognize. He totally knew where her NASA reference was going.

“Yeah.” Suddenly a bit reticent, she took in the empty seats around them, then stared at her feet. It wasn’t shyness this time. It was simply an overwhelming rush of emotion. This man… “You did a great job with those dogs today. That was a trial by fire for sure, and you pulled right through.” She bit her lip, willing this weird fluttering in her chest to abate. Imagining herself behind the award podium, she wondered if she would have even half of his bravery when her own trial by fire came. She would. For him, she would.

“Okay, Mission Control,” he said, running a finger up and down her forearm. “You said there was a problem.”

She fought back a smile and coached her expression to one of seriousness. “Well, yes, there is.” She sat back in her seat and crossed her legs. “We are still at least T-minus ninety minutes before a possible liftoff, and I’m feeling a little anxious.”

He laughed and sat back in his seat, too. “I’m told the recent launches were successful and there’s a really spectacular payload on this one and it’ll be totally worth the wait.”

And it was.

Chapter Twenty-One

“I know you fired me,” Jake said several weeks and many rocket launches later, “but I can still help you out with the speech.”

Fiona looked up from her bowl of soup. “Wouldn’t that be some kind of breach where your company is concerned?”

He shrugged and shoved a fry into his mouth. He loved the fries at this restaurant, but not as much as he loved the woman across the table from him. Love. Yep. No doubt about it. He was in love with Fiona Nichol. His other relationships, including the one with Charise, had plateaued and moved to a kind of comfort or discomfort zone after only a short while. This thing with Fiona only intensified. He couldn’t get enough of her. “No. I wouldn’t be using office resources or doing it during regular business hours.”

There’d been no fallout at his job after he’d reported he’d been fired, except for some friendly taunting from Charise, and he planned to keep it that way.

She gave him a skeptical look. “You don’t have regular business hours. You work all the time. Either directly with clients or writing that blasted article.”

At least half a dozen times recently, he’d considered telling her about the article, but every time, he reconsidered. Not only was the study subject totally anonymous, the article had nothing to do with the two of them. It was simply an assignment he needed to complete.

She reached across the table and swiped one of his fries, then popped it into her mouth. That mouth. He found it hard to concentrate on anything else sometimes. The things she did with that mouth.

“The article is almost finished.” And he was beyond relieved at that. Once Charise had given him the Pygmalion angle, it had come easily. But now, he found he had other things he’d rather be doing…with Fiona’s mouth specifically.

“I’ve been practicing,” she said.

“Practice makes perfect,” he replied. She was already perfect. The speech, not so much, from what he’d heard from her practicing in the shower—when she took one alone—but the woman herself was 100 percent perfect. They’d been spending every non-working moment together. He even hung out at her clinic between clients just to be near her, which he found borderline ridiculous.

Marcus thought it was great. “You’ve found her,” he’d said. “Lucky bastard.”

And Jake was lucky. He couldn’t imagine a better fit than Fiona. She understood him, and he was trying to understand her. He certainly had a much clearer picture than he’d had when they first met. He was even growing to like Daisy and Otto.

“Let me help you with the speech,” he pressed again. “It’s less than two weeks away.”

She gave a long-suffering sigh.

“Please,” he said. “Why don’t you stay at my place tonight, and we’ll work through the speech?” He leaned close and whispered into her ear. “And we’ll work through your nervous energy in my bed. I think it’s a great exercise to loosen you up before and after practice.”

She sighed. “You know I can’t leave Daisy and Otto at night.”

It’s why they always stayed at her place. But he needed to change that. He had to change that if he wanted to be with her. “Bring them.”

Her smile lit her face like sunshine. “Really? You’ll let Daisy and Otto stay in your apartment?”

He wanted her. They were part of the package. “Yes.”

She leaned across the table and kissed him. “I’ll see you at your place after work.” She stood and pushed her chair in. “Thanks for lunch.”

He liked her ass in scrubs. A lot, he decided, as he watched her leave. He liked the rest of her, too, and he needed to talk to her about that. Let her know how much he liked her. He’d do that tonight. He’d finish that article today, make love to her in his bed, and then tell her he loved her. The perfect day.

…

“You’re distracted this afternoon,” Addison said, handing Fiona the chart for her next patient, an annual checkup for a large Persian cat with a love of hacking up hairballs on mommy’s antique Persian rug. Appropriate, probably.

She was distracted. Jake had invited the dogs to his apartment. He’d invited her to his apartment. A first. She was sure it was his fear of dogs that had made him reticent to invite her up. She, Otto, and Daisy were a package deal. He must have decided to accept the entire package.

“Earth to Dr. Nichol,” Addison said, and Fiona fought to not laugh at the space reference.

“Sorry. Yes, you’re right. I’ll try to focus.”

Addison plucked Sir Squash from the top of Fiona’s bag. “Hard to focus when you’re getting so much…?” She squeaked the toy several times.

“Oh, stop it.” Fiona snatched the toy and pitched it back into the bag, turning around to hide her flushed face.

“Jane says the thing between you and Jacob Ward is serious.”

Jane was right. “So is my job. Please bring the next patient in.”

With a chuckle, Addison left the room, and Fiona sagged against the wall. He’d invited them to his apartment. She almost bounced with excitement. Maybe she’d cut out early today. Yeah, she’d for sure cut out early. Hairball cat was the last scheduled appointment. No need to hang out until closing. Not today. She grinned. She had something much more important to do.

…

“Wait a minute,” Fiona said when Jake took her in his arms and kissed her silly before he even closed his apartment door. He didn’t want to wait. He’d finished his magazine article right before she’d called saying she was home from work, so he was ready for a celebration. He’d been waiting for her to arrive for half an hour, and it had been torture.

“I hate waiting,” he said, biting her earlobe.

“Be a gracious host and lighten up for a minute,” she said, pushing him away. “I’m not even officially inside yet.”

“Neither am I,” he said with a grin, giving her a theatrical leer.

She crossed her arms over her ribs and rolled her eyes.

“Okay,” he said, palms raised in surrender. She was right; she was only halfway in the door, and the dogs were still in the hall. “Let me fix that.” He snapped his fingers, and both dogs entered, then he pointed at the rug, and they both sat, just like they did for Fiona. He arched a brow at her, and she chuckled.

“You are so powerful,” she said.

“Let me show you just how powerful.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Down, boy. I want to check out the lair of the all-powerful Jacob Ward.”

For some weird reason, his heart kicked up at that. He’d never been nervous to have someone in his place before, and it made no sense right now, considering how comfortable he was with her. Maybe it was because he liked her so much…no, he loved her. He wanted to impress her, and this place was not impressive. It was functional. He looked at the furniture. It was all nice, but not matchy-matchy like Fiona’s place.

He thought back on that time when she’d dropped that toy in the revolving door while hefting those bags of cat food. He had pictured her place decorated with green shag rugs and cats everywhere. So wrong. He’d been wrong about so much about her. He gestured to the apartment behind him. “I’m a lot more interesting than my apartment.”

“No doubt,” she said. “But I’ve seen you before.” She raked a gaze over him that made him instantly hard.

She walked by him into the kitchen. “I’ve never seen your place. Indulge me.”

He knew what she saw. A tiny, closed-off kitchen with a state-of-the-art espresso maker and a microwave that he used way more than the oven.

“You can see why I prefer to spend time in your apartment,” he said.

“With your schedule, I figure you’re hardly ever here. You have exactly what you need,” she said, emerging from the kitchen and wandering by the leather sectional and TV. After encouraging the dogs to settle down and relax on the soft rug in front of the coffee table, she went into his bedroom. He followed to find her in his closet, where she took a deep breath through her nose.

“You’re smelling my closet?”

“Smelling you.” She turned and smiled. “I love your smell.”

He loved her. Tell her. His palms started to sweat like when a big dog was nearby. What if it wasn’t reciprocal? He’d wait. He’d tell her when the time was right. Maybe after they’d visited his bed, which would be good right about now, as far as he was concerned.

She crossed the room and ran her fingers over his pillow. “I’ve imagined your bedroom many times.”

“Does it live up to expectations?”

She grinned. “Not yet.”

He took several steps closer, and she closed the distance between them. As always, the energy between them when they touched was off the charts. They were naked and living up to her expectations in no time. And then living up to them again.

Tell her, he ordered himself when they had fallen back, panting from exertion. Tell her now.

She rolled to her side and wrapped her leg over him.

“Fiona, there’s something I need to say.”

“Mmmph,” she said against his neck. He could tell from her rhythmic breathing she was about to drift off.

He needed to say it now. Sleepy or not.

“I really like spending time with you.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She snuggled in closer.

“Fiona, I—”

His phone rang, and it was so jarring he flinched. It startled Fiona, too, who sat up. He was tempted to ignore it, but he was on call for his clients twenty-four seven. With a groan, he grabbed it from his nightstand and turned it over. Yep. He had to take this one. The Tony nominations had been announced, and he had some nervous tech nominees who had called him. This was one of them.

“Sorry,” he said with a kiss on her forehead. “I have to take this.”

“No problem,” she mumbled, scraping her fingers through her tousled hair. “Happens to me, too, during big local competitions or when a pet goes home after surgery.”

He shot her a smile. Of course she understood. That was why they were perfect together.

From the living room, he saw her get out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom wearing nothing but her birthday suit. “Yes, yes, I understand, Ben. It’s perfectly normal to want regular input. Why don’t you come by the office tomorrow and we’ll discuss an accelerated schedule?” He heard the toilet flush and then the water run while Ben complained about his own schedule and lack of free time. “No problem,” Jake said. “I can come to you at the theater. What time are your breaks? I’ll make one of them.”

He could see most of the bed and knew she hadn’t returned to it yet. He’d get her back in it soon enough. “That’s okay. You can text me your schedule when you have time.”

What was she doing? She was naked in his room but not in his bed. Half listening to Ben, he wandered to the bedroom doorway and froze, stomach dropping to his feet as a prickly wave of dread crawled up his spine. “I’ve gotta go.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Fiona ran her fingers over the pages in the printer tray on the desk in Jake’s bedroom and smiled. He’d finished the magazine article he’d been working on for so long. No wonder he was horny. Well, he was always horny, but today he was in rare form.

She tipped her head to read the title page.

The Pygmalion Project: A Study in Increased Success and Self-Esteem

Based on the Cultivation of Improved Public Speaking Skills.

She snorted. Public speaking skills didn’t increase her success or self-esteem. Poor client, if their self-worth revolved around speaking in public. She shook her head and lifted the cover sheet to read the first page.

The subject in this study (Eliza) is an attractive female in her early thirties with an advanced degree, successful career, and debilitating social anxiety.

“No,” Fiona said, resisting the urge to rip the papers out of the printer. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t. He had lots of clients. Could be anyone.

She lifted a few pages and read another passage, but only a few words and phrases registered: award acceptance speech… refusal to attend group preparation sessions… limited preparation time… initial expectation of failure for this subject requires intense one-on-one interaction with the coach.

Intense one-on-one interaction? She glanced over her shoulder at the rumpled sheets and clothes strewn around like confetti. This time she did rip the pages from the printer and turned to the end to read the conclusion of the study. Her hands were shaking so hard, it was difficult to read.

It has been observed that Eliza has well-developed coping skills and perhaps chooses not to employ them in order to avoid low-interest activities, like public speaking. She is highly motivated by positive feedback and personal rewards, especially in the form of emotional returns. Subject is transforming nicely under direction and, like Eliza Doolittle from literature, is expected to pull off the performance without revealing her true nature.

Her true nature? Her breaths were coming in quick gasps as she dropped the pages to the floor.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jake in the doorway to the bedroom. “I’ve gotta go, Ben,” he said into his phone.

No, she had to go. Right now. She snatched her shirt off the floor and pulled it on over her head, then stepped into her pants, yanking them up and ripping the zipper closed. She glanced down at her shirt that read, “I let the dogs out.” No wonder he didn’t take her seriously.

No, no. He did take her seriously. He took her for a serious fool.

She pointed at the papers scattered on the floor. “This is about me.”

It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t respond. Simply stood frozen in the doorway.

“Motivated by emotional returns?” she asked. She’d give him an emotional return.

“Fiona—”

“Eliza, you mean?” She grabbed her bra and underwear off the floor and shoved them in her back jeans pocket. “You know, Eliza Doolittle, the wretch from the gutter, plucked out of obscurity by the almighty Professor Henry Higgins and transformed from a lowly caterpillar into a butterfly.”

Jake remained silent and still. Clearly, he recognized explosive anger when he saw it and was making the wise choice to keep his mouth shut. Good. Because she wasn’t done yet. All those years of being forced into nightmare situations by her psychiatrist parents, of being studied like that very butterfly with her wings pinned to a board, came rushing back.

“My parents wrote study after study on me, just like that one. And just like that one, they were wrong.”

She stomped into her sneakers, not bothering to tie the laces.

His eyes were wide with horror. “Fiona. I didn’t know… Your parents… I had no idea. I would never—”

She held up her hand to cut him off. True, he hadn’t known she’d been the subject of studies in psych magazines before, but that wasn’t the only issue here. Not even close. “So, what precisely is the emotional return I respond to, Professor Higgins?” She pointed at the bed. “Is it sex?”

He opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it wordlessly.

That was the worst part about this whole mess. He’d used her. She blinked back her tears. “Of course it is. Sleep with the poor, wretched, shy woman with… What was it? Oh, yeah! Sleep with the wretched, shy woman with debilitating social anxiety in order to give her confidence to make a speech so that you look good.”

She shoved by him and snapped her fingers. Both dogs abruptly stood and came to heel, clearly sensing her mood.

“Here’s the thing, Higgins,” she said, spinning to face him. “I told you from the start that I don’t need fixing. I told you I’m not Cinderella, and I’m sure as hell not Eliza Doolittle.” She stomped to the door and wrenched it open. “Have you read the play Pygmalion, Jacob?”

“I have.”

She swallowed hard, chest aching to the point she thought her ribs were shattering. “She falls in love with him. Like a total fool, she completely falls for the asshole.”

He appeared to be holding his breath as she wiped away a tear that had escaped despite her best efforts.

She stepped into the hallway with her dogs, then turned to face him. “How does it end, Jacob? Not the musical—the source play. The original. Tell me how Pygmalion ends.”

He blinked rapidly several times before saying, “She leaves him.”

And at that, she slammed shut both the door to his apartment and the door to her tattered, broken heart.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Dude. You’re a mess,” Marcus said, taking a bite of his second slice of pizza. Jake stared unseeing at the game on the TV, holding his untouched, warm beer.

“I’m worried about you,” his friend said, reaching for the remote and turning off the game.

Jake put his beer on the coffee table and shrugged. “I’m okay.”

Marcus touched his arm to get his attention. “See, here’s the deal. You’re not okay. You’re totally fucked up.”

Yeah. That about summed it up. He was totally fucked up because he was a total fuck-up.

A knock came on the door, and Marcus jumped to his feet. “Good. They’re here.”

“Who’s here?” Jacob asked, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin.

The answer came immediately when Charise and Elaine descended on his sofa like a swarm of colorful, fragrant locusts.

“This is an intervention,” Charise announced, brushing away an imaginary crease in her skirt. Elaine sat next to her, hands on knees, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Jake stared at them, trying to figure out exactly what needed intervening. Him? “What do you want?” he asked Charise.

“You’ve been MIA for almost two weeks. I want Jake back in the office.”

“What are you talking about? I come into the office almost every day.”

“Yeah, but you’re not really there, and you’ve declined new clients.” She held up her perfectly manicured hands. “I’m not complaining about that, necessarily, since they are my clients, now, but come on.”

“You look like shit,” Elaine said.

He felt like shit. He’d hurt Fiona. It wasn’t intentional, but it might as well have been. He should never have written it. Hell, he wouldn’t have, had he known that her parents had written articles about her. God. No wonder she was so angry.

He ran a hand over his face, several days’ worth of whiskers rasping his palm. The parents weren’t the real problem, though. He was. Writing the article showed a callous disregard for her feelings. She thought he’d used her as some kind of experiment, which was laughably far from the truth, but there was nothing here to laugh about. He’d hurt her, regardless of his intentions or feelings for her. She’d never forgive him for this, and he didn’t blame her. He’d never forgive himself.

“I’m good,” Jake lied.

“Tell us all about it,” Elaine said, leaning forward.

“Nothing to tell.”

“Bullshit,” Marcus said. “You were spending every day and night with the vet, and then, poof, the thing just ended.”

“Poof!” Jacob repeated, opening his fingers like fireworks.

“What happened?” Charise asked. “Maybe we can help.”

“You’ve helped plenty,” he said, not trying to disguise the bitterness in his voice.

Charise straightened her spine. “You say that like I had something to do with this.”

“It was your suggestion I write up Fiona’s story as a Pygmalion analogy.”

“And?”

“And she read it and was furious.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I should have known.”

“You can’t pin this on me, Jake. I had no idea you were dating her when I suggested it. I would never advise you to do something that stupid. And speaking of stupid—why would you leave it somewhere she could see it?”

They hadn’t been dating at the time he’d decided to do it, but that was irrelevant. They were dating when he turned it in. “Stupid is right,” he mumbled. He should have known better.

And as for leaving it where she could find it, that hadn’t even crossed his mind. In fact, he’d completely forgotten it existed when he’d invited her over. Somehow, he’d had it in his head it was time to declare himself and prove to her he was all in by inviting her and the dogs to spend the night at his place. All he’d managed to do was prove to her he was an inconsiderate ass. He covered his face with his hands.

“Have you talked to her?” Marcus asked.

Jake lowered his hands from his face and met his friend’s concerned eyes. “What would I say? I was wrong. There is no excuse.”

“How about telling her that?” Marcus said, reaching for his pizza.

Elaine helped herself to a slice and looked from one of them to the other as if it were an entertaining soap opera instead of his life in a blender.

“You didn’t see her. When she left, she left. Discussion closed.” Again, he buried his face in his hands. “It’s hopeless.”

Charise patted his knee. “Nothing is hopeless, Jake. Not even you.” She winked when he looked at her. “I saw on the progress board that she was a referral from Claire Anderson. Any hope of getting a temperature from Claire?”

“No. It was a courtesy for Jane, one of Fiona’s coworkers at Animal Attraction. Claire isn’t close friends with Fiona. She may never have even met her.”

Charise stood. “Elaine, schedule a phone call for me with Claire Anderson and get the number of her friend Jane at Fiona’s place of business.” She pointed to Marcus. “Marc, get him some real food, not pizza, and help him get this place in order.” She gave Jake a once-over. “You need to shower, shave, and get yourself together. You’re hurting yourself, and you’re hurting us.”

Jake stood. “Charise, don’t meddle in this. Fiona needs to be left alone. I’ve done enough damage already.”

Charise strode over and got right in his face, and for a second, he marveled at how tall she was. He’d gotten so used to being around petite Fiona. Of course, Charise’s high heels helped, but he still had to look up slightly to meet her eyes—

Uh-oh. He’d seen that look before. She meant business.

“Listen to me, Jacob Ward. I screwed you over when we broke up. I feel bad about it to this day. I’m going to work to make that right, and you are going to likewise work to make it right with Fiona. I tell you from personal experience that the guilt is only going to get worse. I’m not a heartless bitch, and neither are you. I’m going to prove that to you, and you are going to prove it to Fiona.”

“How?” God, he sounded pitiful, but at this point, he didn’t care.

She took his face in her hands. “Figure it out. The damage was done by an article she read. Fix it, Jacob, so you can move on and so can she.”

He recalled the look on Fiona’s face in his apartment. The absolute hurt and betrayal rolling off of her in waves. It wasn’t the article that had hurt her. He had hurt her. Move on? She’d moved on the second that door closed. Him, not so much.

He wasn’t sure it could be fixed. “Calling her friends is probably a mistake. Please don’t make it worse, Charise.”

“Could it really be worse?” Marcus asked. “Think about it.”

No. Probably not.

When he didn’t answer, Charise and Elaine swept to the door.

“It’ll work out, Jacob. You’re a good guy. Act like one,” Charise said. “I’ll see you in the office tomorrow. Bring your personality this time. You’ve kind of sucked lately.”

Jake and Marcus relaxed back on the sofa after the whirlwind of estrogen left and sat in silence for a while.

“You really think I can untangle this mess?” Jake asked.

“Don’t know. You can’t if you don’t try, that’s for sure. When is her speech?”

He sighed. “This Saturday.”

“And when does the article release?”

“The following Monday.” Jake shook his head. He was totally screwed.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Fiona fidgeted in her chair at the round, linen-draped table. Jane had loaned her a gorgeous beaded black evening gown and had taken her to the salon for an up-do and a mani/pedi. Even looking her best, she felt like a sack of dog poop.

She’d expected to be nervous to the point of nausea, but instead, she just felt sad. She’d practiced the speech using all of the techniques Jake had taught her, and she knew it so well, it was a part of her now. Sadly, he was a part of her now, too, coaching her in his voice inside her head during the day. Touching her body in her dreams at night.

The anger she’d felt at his apartment had been replaced with a dull, empty ache that seemed to bleed into every aspect of her life. Even the animals she treated didn’t bring as much joy. Charise, the gorgeous woman from his office, had texted her, which was weird. She’d told her that the idea for the article was her fault and that Jake jumped on it simply out of desperation. It didn’t matter, though—he had made the decision thinking only of himself.

Charise also had said Jake wasn’t doing so great. A week ago, knowing he was miserable would have been gratifying. Now, it only compounded her own misery. She hadn’t corresponded with the woman other than the simple response, “Thanks for letting me know.”

Fiona took a deep breath and studied the flower arrangement in the center of the table while the emcee of the awards ceremony blathered on. Claire Anderson was on the opposite side from her, blocked, mercifully, by the huge centerpiece. When they’d been introduced before the ceremony began, the woman had gone on and on, extoling the virtues and talents of Jacob Ward. It was like his own personal infomercial. The most pathetic part was that Claire had been right about Jacob, and Fiona found herself agreeing, much to the woman’s delight.

Next to her, Jane fiddled with her diamond bracelet. Like Claire, she’d been full of compliments for Jacob Ward, repeating all the good things she’d heard about him. Almost like he’d put them up to it, but that was impossible. He’d never even met Jane.

Fiona shifted again, and Jane leaned close. “You don’t have to give the speech, Fee,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

Not long ago, she’d have jumped on that like a kitten on yarn, but now, she knew that wasn’t an option. She needed to give this speech. Hell, part of her wanted to give the speech.

What she’d discovered was that Jacob had been right in some regards in that article she’d skimmed. She was uncomfortable in forced social settings but would sometimes use that shyness as a cloak to protect herself from situations exactly like this one. She didn’t like giving speeches, so she didn’t, and she used her social anxiety as justification.

She’d always been shy, but she’d never let it hold her back with something that really mattered. Like being a vet, which sometimes forced social interaction. She’d found a work-around with everything that was important to her.

Well, now, this speech was important to her.

Jane elbowed her in the ribs, and she pulled her brain back to the moment. The emcee was talking about Animal Attraction and specifically her work with pets of the homeless. It was almost time.

For some reason, she felt compelled to check out the room—something she would never ordinarily do, as it compounded her discomfort with crowds. Deep inside, she knew she was looking for him. Hoping he was there.

Which made absolutely no logical sense. She shouldn’t want to see him. Ever.

“So, we are pleased to present this award to Dr. Fiona Nichol of Animal Attraction.”

Fiona took a deep breath, and Jane squeezed her hand. “You sure?” she whispered under her breath. “I’ll do it.”

“I’m sure.” Fiona rose to her feet as the attendees applauded. As she strode to the podium, she tuned out the clapping and focused on breathing. Breathe in four counts, hold seven, exhale eight. She could do this.

She stood behind the podium and again found herself looking for Jake’s familiar face, but she only saw a sea of strangers. She had not brought a paper version of her speech, as she shook when nervous and it only made things worse. Instead, she closed her eyes and imagined the pizza-stained pages of the draft Jake had given her in the break room what felt like years ago and found herself relaxing.

She leaned close to the microphone. “Thank you,” she said, and the microphone made a horrifying, high-pitched squeal.

So much for relaxing. She glanced at Jane, who was clutching the edge of the table like it was a life raft. That didn’t help, either.

Closing her eyes, she imagined the pages, then pictured her little dogs. This time she didn’t lean as close to the microphone, and mercifully it didn’t screech. “Very few things worth doing are easy,” she started, “and worthy accomplishments are rarely the result of a single person’s actions.” Picturing Daisy and Otto wasn’t working. Her skin had become itchy, and her ears had begun to ring.

She shifted her mind’s eye to her stuffed bear from childhood. That had helped during book reports in grade school. She’d placed him in the back of the classroom and delivered her reports directly to Beau-Beau.

“I am honored to accept this award, and even though I am the only one standing at this microphone tonight, there are many other people who made this project possible.” She could hear the tremor in her own voice as she listed off the names of people involved with her project. Beau-Beau had failed her, dammit.

She paused a moment, placed her hands flat on the podium, like she had done so often on Jake’s chest, and pictured his face. Seeing him, even in her head, still hurt, but it also reminded her of how he’d helped, sometimes with just his presence. It was a last resort to deliberately think about the person who’d made public speaking possible for her…and then broke her heart. But it was working.

As she delivered more of the speech, her voice grew stronger. She even ventured a glance at Jane, who was beaming with pride. That just buoyed her confidence even more. The words flowed out of her as easily as they had in the restaurant with Jake that night, and before she knew it, she’d entered the final stretch of the speech.

“When I was preparing this speech, a, uh…” What was Jake to her back then? “A dear friend asked me why I do this work. And the answer is I do it because people and animals should not be discarded like garbage—like the little puppy, Brutus, that I mentioned earlier was. Like my dogs Otto and Daisy were.”

Sort of like Jake had been when she’d slammed the door in his face at his own apartment. She hadn’t even given him a chance to speak. She’d slammed the door and discarded him. She’d been rash and wrong.

Focusing on the finish line, she drew a deep breath. “Why do I do it? How could I not?”

The applause was immediate, and so was her relief. After a moment, she was steady enough to look up. At the very back of the room, movement caught her eye. It was dark, and she didn’t see the man’s face, but she was close to certain that Jacob Ward had been leaving through the far-left door to the lobby.

She wasn’t sure if he’d come to support her or see if his experiment had been the success his article had predicted. It didn’t matter. She’d done it. She’d managed her fear and delivered the speech. And with that thought, she did something she’d never imagined doing in her lifetime. Facing a crowd of strangers who were all staring at her, she smiled.

…

Jake had never realized how many dogs there were in Manhattan. He’d always tuned them out. Now, he didn’t. In fact, he looked for them and even tried to identify them when he got home, based on the AKC guidebook to dogs that Fiona had given him.

She had a book for everything. He shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled. Truly, everything. Even now, he could hear her reading to him from one of her romance novels. She’d never gotten to read for long, though, because he’d distract her by acting out the part of the hero. He especially liked the ones set in Scotland. A bath towel made a great kilt and always caused her to laugh.

He shook the memories off and picked up his pace as a light, drizzling rain started.

She’d been brilliant tonight. She’d gotten off to a rough start, but once she hit her stride, Dr. Fiona Nichol delivered that speech like she’d been doing public speaking her whole life.

His phone rang. Charise. “Hey,” he said.

“How’d it go?”

“She was fantastic,” he said. “Were she a client, I’d give it a top score.”

“Congratulations,” Charise said.

Phone to his ear, he walked along in silence. What else was there to say?

“So, I spoke with Claire Anderson, and you’re right—she didn’t know Fiona. She said she’d put in a good word for you, though.”

Like good words would undo all the bad ones in that article. “Thanks.”

“I talked to her friend, Jane, as well. That was productive.”

Jake’s heart rate picked up a notch. “In what way?”

“Well, Fiona was evidently gaga over you and is having a tough time with this breakup. Her friend is worried.”

“How is that productive?”

“My God, you are such a guy, Jake. It means you have a chance. You need to do something to win her back while she’s still missing you, you know?”

He stepped to the side to let a pinch-faced woman and her lumbering dog pass. It looked like the pictures of English bulldogs from Fiona’s book, but it was wearing a hot pink raincoat and matching hat, of all things. Ridiculous.

Instead of taking a left and going to his apartment, he headed right.

“You still there?” Charise asked.

“Yeah.” He stopped at the gate to the dog park, then walked to the far end and entered the side for big dogs, picking the bench closest to where three dogs frolicked and played in the drizzle. One was a Lab, very similar to the one that had knocked him down as a little boy. Gooseflesh rose on his arms as it neared, tail wagging and tongue lolling out of its mouth, but he remained calm and seated on the bench.

Fiona had said it was guilt that had caused his mother to freak out. He certainly understood that now. His guilt over hurting Fiona was like a living thing that grew and stretched and woke him up at night.

“What are you going to do, Jake?” Charise asked through the phone he’d forgotten he had to his ear.

The Lab walked right up to him and put its chin on his knee. Jake set the phone down next to his leg and reached a tentative hand over its head, then lowered it to stroke the slick, smooth hair.

“I’m so sorry,” a woman said, rushing from the other side of the dog park. “Bert loves people.”

Jake continued to stroke Bert’s broad head. “No. It’s fine.” He gave a ragged laugh. “It’s wonderful.”

“Jake?” Charise’s voice called from his phone on the bench. “You okay?”

Still stroking the dog’s head, he sniffed, then wiped his eyes on his sleeve. With one hand still on the dog, he picked up his phone. “I’m great. Really great. I’m… I… I think I know what to do now. I think I know how to make this right.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Mondays sucked. Well, this one did, anyway. Someone, probably Jane, had left a copy of a magazine article on Fiona’s exam table: an article titled, “The Pygmalion Project: A Study in Increased Success and Self-Esteem Based on the Cultivation of Improved Public Speaking Skills.”

Without a second glance, she picked it up and pitched it in the trash can. Hell, she should have put it in the biohazard bin. She wasn’t mad anymore, but she was hurt, regardless of whose idea it was or how hard it was for him to come up with a topic—it hurt. When her parents retired, she had never expected to be the subject of a research essay again. In fairness, she’d never talked about her parents other than in passing, and Jake had no way to know they’d published articles and even a parenting book based on her behavior.

She sighed and eyed the magazine in the trash. She’d only read bits and pieces. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it seemed on a cursory skim.

Maybe it was worse.

Addison stuck her head in without knocking. “Good morning. Ready for your first one?”

“I am. Thanks, Addison.”

While she waited, she checked the stock in the cabinet and opened the wall dispenser to install a fresh box of exam gloves.

Behind her, the door opened, and she didn’t bother turning around, knowing Addison would get the animal prepared while she closed up the dispenser. She snapped the latch and froze. It didn’t smell like Addison. It smelled like expensive perfume.

She spun to find Charise, the gorgeous woman from Jake’s office. Why on earth would she be here?

“Good morning, Dr. Nichol,” she said. “I know you’re busy, but Jane said I could come on in.”

Jane. “I predict donuts in my future,” Fiona said.

“Pardon?”

She smiled. “Good morning. How can I help you?”

The exam room was an awkward place to visit with someone because there was only room for one chair, which meant Fiona was standing over the seated person. She considered suggesting they move to the break room, but in all honesty, she wasn’t really in the mood for a chat, especially since it was the article’s drop day or whatever it was called in magazine lingo. No doubt that was why Charise was here. Jacob had probably sent her as his emissary.

Charise had noticed the article in the trash and gestured to it. “Have you read it?”

Fiona leaned back against the exam table and heaved a sigh. “No need. I read it the day it was written.”

“Oh, so you read it last night?” she asked, voice chipper. “Good. Just wanted to be sure you read the most recent version. Great to see you,” she said, grabbing the doorknob. “Hope to see you again soon.” With a wave of her perfectly manicured fingers, she slipped out the door with a grin.

“I’m pretty sure I just got played,” Fiona muttered as she pulled up today’s schedule on the monitor in the corner. Brow furrowed, she studied the screen, then reloaded it.

“Two? I only have two patients today?”

That had never happened. Even slow days had a dozen or so.

The first slot was Boris for a follow-up on his skin, even though she’d told his owner it wasn’t necessary. The second was a new puppy check.

“Addison?” she called. Maybe there was some kind of glitch with the scheduling software. Didn’t matter, really. She’d see whoever walked in, as usual.

Addison entered with Boris in her arms. He was licking her while she struggled to keep her face turned away. Picking up a male bulldog was no easy feat, and Addison placed him on the stainless steel table with a grunt.

Fiona checked Boris’s ears, eyes, and vitals while Mrs. Krenshaw settled into the chair. “How’s your itchy face going, my friend?” she asked the dog.

“Much better,” Mrs. K said. “His breathing seems better, too.”

Fiona glanced up, then returned her attention to Boris. After a deep breath, she met the woman’s eyes directly and said, “Maybe allergy season is over for Mr. Boris this year, Mrs. Krenshaw.”

Behind her, Addison gasped.

Fiona pulled off her gloves and dropped them into the trash can on top of the magazine, hesitating for a moment as she stared at the first sentence of Jake’s article.

Sometimes, no matter how much experience someone has in an area of expertise, they are wrong in most or all of their initial assumptions. This is the dissection of such a case. It is also a heartfelt apology to the wronged party.

Fiona’s throat closed as she stared at the words. She looked up at Boris, whose head was cocked as he studied her from the exam table, then looked at Mrs. Krenshaw, who was preparing to drape poor Boris in yellow roses this time, and last, she glanced over her shoulder at Addison, who looked like she’d just seen a flock of flying pigs.

She wanted to snatch the article out of the trash but knew that would look beyond strange, so instead she picked up the chart, made notes on Boris’s visit, and handed it to Addison.

“No charge today, of course, Mrs. Krenshaw. It was a follow-up for the skin fold pyoderma.”

“Thank you, doctor. I appreciate it.” She slipped the blue cape covered in yellow roses over Boris’s back, snapped on his leash, and left the room.

Addison moved to the doorway and stopped. “You talked to the human.” Her freckled face stretched in a grin as she grabbed the doorknob.

Addison was right. She hadn’t hidden behind Boris. She’d spoken directly to someone who was not a close friend. And it was because of Jake. Her heart expanded and felt like it might hammer right out of her rib cage as she returned Addison’s grin.

The minute the door closed, Fiona practically dove for the article, pulling it out from under her exam gloves. Like food for a starving woman, she gobbled up the words. As she read, her knees got weak and her vision blurred.

That man. That beautiful, kind man had not only apologized, he’d done it publicly. Far more public than her speech. She read the last sentences again.

So, unlike Professor Higgins, who maintained his rigid position until the end, resulting in the loss of possibly the only woman he had ever loved or ever would, I am admitting I was wrong. I saw a shy woman and was convinced I could change her and mold her into something she was not and had no desire to be, when, in truth, I was the one who needed to change. I was the one with obstacles that were holding me back from success—maybe not as a speech coach but as a human being. Eliza turned the mirror I had held up to her and showed me my own flaws, and I am grateful.

A knock came on the door, but instead of dropping the magazine in the trash can this time, she put it in the top drawer of the cabinet.

“Your next patient is here,” Addison said.

Fiona made a show of washing her hands, hoping her face was clear of any evidence of crying by the time she turned around.

“Great. What do we have?” she asked, back still to Addison.

“Eleven-week-old canine female in for a post-adoption wellness check.”

Fiona turned around to find a familiar pup tugging at the neckline of Addison’s shirt with her tiny, needle-sharp milk teeth.

“Brutus!” Fiona said in delight. She held out her arms, and Addison handed over the wiggly puppy. Fiona buried her face in the soft fur, reveling in the puppy smell that was universal to dogs. “Hi there, sweet girl,” Fiona cooed. “You’ve grown!”

“She was adopted last night.” Addison held the chart out, flashing that grin again.

They put the names of the pets and the owners not only on the side tabs but in block letters, including breed, across the front of the chart.

ELIZA

Pomeranian Mix

H. Higgins

Fiona’s breaths came in short puffs, and her heart raced. “Where’s the owner?” she whispered.

Addison’s only answer was a grin.

“Where is the owner?” Fiona said louder, suddenly feeling frantic.

Jane stuck her head in. “Everything okay in here?”

A tear rolled down Fiona’s cheek. “It won’t be if someone doesn’t tell me who brought this dog in.” She held the pup even tighter against her chest, hoping, praying this wasn’t some twisted coincidence.

Jane shrugged, smiling ear to ear.

“When this is over, you owe me donuts for life, Jane,” Fiona said, shaking a finger at her.

And then, wearing a T-shirt that said “The Dogfather” in the same distinctive font as the famous movie, Jake appeared in the hallway, just outside the exam room door. “I’ll give you donuts for life. I’ll give you anything as long as ‘for life’ is a part of the deal,” he said.

Jane grabbed Addison, who was openly gawking, and yanked her from the room, forcing Jake to take a step back to let them pass.

Fiona froze, holding Eliza to her chest like a life vest. She wanted to say a million things at once but couldn’t articulate even one. He was here, and right now, that was enough, standing tall in the doorway, freckle and all.

“You changed your article.”

That wasn’t what she’d wanted to say at all. What she’d wanted to say was thank you and I love you and holy hell, you adopted a dog.

He opened his mouth, then shut it and opened it again. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Begin by kissing me,” she said.

Yes. Much better words that time.

He sighed in relief, then took her—and Eliza—in his arms. “That’s a really good idea,” he said, lowering his lips to hers.

“I have a lot of good ideas,” she said.

“I know.”

Their lips met, and for a long time, Fiona blanked out all thought, including good ideas, and simply enjoyed the kiss. His lips were warm and gentle as his hand traveled up her spine and back down again. She needed this—his closeness. She wanted to press the length of her body to his, but the puppy was in the way, so she settled for running her free hand under his T-shirt and over the smooth skin of his back. She needed him close. So much, her entire body ached.

He pulled away and met her eyes. “I love you, Fiona. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

The puppy squirmed between them, and she shifted her in her arms. “I love you, too, Jake. And I’m sorry I wasn’t more open with you. You shared what happened to you, and if I’d done the same, maybe…”

“I know now; that’s all that matters,” he said. “I’d like to keep getting to know you, too. And I’ll need help with the puppy, so you’re stuck with me as a client, if nothing else.”

She stroked Eliza’s head. “You don’t have to bribe me with a dog to spend time with you, Jake.”

“It’ll help, though, won’t it?”

She grinned. “Absolutely.” She brushed her lips to his. “You’re pretty special, Jacob Ward.”

“I don’t hold a candle to you, Dr. Nichol.”

This time, when he lowered his mouth to hers, there was a sizzling heat to the kiss that hadn’t been there before. Remembering just in how many ways she had missed him, Fiona matched it. Kissing around a sleeping puppy in her arms was difficult but not impossible, and Fiona was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last time it happened.

From somewhere in the hallway, Jane theatrically cleared her throat. “Okay, you two. I blocked out the vet schedule for the rest of the day, so you guys need to take this show on the road.”

Fiona pulled away from Jake at the unmistakable sound of Sir Squashalot. Daisy and Otto charged into the room, clearly freed from the doggy playroom by Addison, who followed them to the exam room door. Again, Jane pulled Addison away, leaving the five of them alone.

Otto and Daisy were going wild, jumping up on Jake, torn between their excitement at seeing him and their curiosity over the puppy.

“They seem happy to see me,” he said, scratching their heads.

“Not nearly as happy as I am,” Fiona said.

“Yeah?” He smiled, and Fiona leaned over to kiss that little freckle on his bottom lip.

“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s go to my apartment, and I’ll show you just how much.”

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Acknowledgments

Heartfelt thanks to wise, witty, ever-patient Lydia Sharp and the incredibly talented Molly Majumder. As always, I am grateful to Liz Pelletier, Jessica Turner, and the entire team at Entangled Publishing for the hard work that makes my books shine.

Most of all, I thank my family and readers who make it possible for me to do what I love most.

About the Author

Marissa Clarke is a multi-award-winning, RITA nominated author of romance for adults and teens. She lives on the Texas Gulf Coast with her ever-patient husband, two cantankerous Cairn Terriers, and an abundance of bossy chickens.

For sneak peeks at upcoming projects and chances to win prizes, join her Facebook street team group, Camp Clarke or subscribe to her newsletter.

Marissa loves to connect with readers, so follow her on Facebook (Mary Lindsey-Marissa Clarke), Instagram (maryl_marissac), and Twitter (MaryL_MarissaC).

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