Dog Walking in Heels

MISSY

Logan gave me the grand tour of his mansion after that, which I hoped meant he was seriously considering me for the position.

I tuned him out after a while just because he had so much to say about this and that.

There were things I could and couldn’t use, along with all the fancy, high-tech control features of the house itself, which were extensive.

There were a few exotic plants I was to tend if I got the job, and he also had a long list of people who would be entering the premises at specific times throughout the week.

This was all carefully marked down and documented. He hadn’t been kidding about his dedication to keeping a tight schedule.

“Reddington is allowed out in the front yard, as well as given free rein on the beach because he doesn’t wander or bother anyone, but I do want you to monitor him at all times, of course.”

I nodded along, only half-listening as we moved through his personal library. It was my favorite room of the house so far.

That was really saying something, considering he had a huge home theater, an indoor spa and pool room, a gym, of course, and also a fully-stocked bar and gaming room.

“Reddington likes to be read to for at least an hour every night. You’ll find some of his favorites on the shelf by the fireplace. I’ve been reading him Tolstoy lately, but he likes poetry the most.”

I pretended not to think that this was ridiculous in the slightest. I had other clients who liked to have their pets read to as well.

Personally, I thought they were all bonkers, but I always indulged them no matter how insipid the request.

I wished that Watson cared to be read to, but he seemed to prefer lying on his back on the couch watching reality TV. Sometimes I think I raised him wrong.

“You can have your pick of the guest rooms when you stay here, though I suggest you take mine because Reddington is accustomed to sleeping at the end of my bed.

“That’s another thing, I never allow him on the bed or on any of the furniture, for that matter…”

The rest of what he said might as well have been “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah,” however, because I was still solidly stuck on the fact that he wanted me to sleep in his bed.

Sometimes my clients only have one bed, so I would usually take the couch or even bring a blow-up mattress; I have this thing about not sleeping in strangers’ beds.

The idea of sleeping in Logan Rourke’s bed was enough to make me miss a step as we walked back down the grand staircase together.

He reached out smoothly and caught me by the elbow. He even refrained from making some snide comment about how clumsy I was.

I smiled sheepishly and murmured, “Thank you.”

He didn’t reply, but I could feel him continue to watch me as we descended the stairs. I could only imagine what he really thought of me.

Finally the tour ended in the garage, of all places.

I had one wild moment where I thought that he had perhaps brought me in here to murder me or something. I watched way too many thrillers, apparently.

I was gazing listlessly at his collection of expensive foreign cars—I didn’t care much about cars—when he turned back to me with a set of keys in his hands.

My eyes widened at the sight of them. “What’s this?”

“The keys to the side entrance in the fence, the front door, and the Mercedes-Benz,” he said blandly.

My eyes widened even further. “So…does this mean I’m hired?”

His lips twitched and he pressed the keys into my hand. “Yes, Missy Tempton, I should say so.”

“You really trust me to drive your Mercedes?” I said, turning to gaze at the gorgeous black car. I had never driven a car this nice before and even though I had my license, I hardly felt qualified.

Logan chuckled ruefully. “Sure. Shouldn’t I trust you?”

I turned back to gaze up at him. He was so tall that I had to tilt my head back almost all the way to meet his eyes when we were standing this close.

I tried to swallow the dust in my throat, but I simply couldn’t speak.

He took pity on me, flashing me a hint of white teeth. “If Reddington trusts you, then that’s enough for me. Besides, this is my least favorite car.”

***

“I will be needing your services as soon as this weekend. Will that be a problem?” Logan asked me.

He had finally finished showing me all the codes to the security system of his mansion and we were back in the kitchen, finishing our respective cups of coffee.

“S-sure!” I stuttered. So soon…

I was pretty sure that my best friend, Isabell, was throwing a big Memorial Day party this coming weekend, but I would just have to cancel.

“Excellent.” He finished his coffee and took the mug to the sink, which struck me as odd. Didn’t he have cleaning staff?

Logan turned back to me and I rearranged the polite smile on my face.

“One last thing, Missy. Do you have a boyfriend?”

I was so flustered that I couldn’t even speak for a few moments. I simply blinked at him with owlish innocence.

“Excuse me?” I was finally able to say. “I-I’m sorry, I just don’t see what that has to do with anything—?”

“I apologize. That came out wrong. I’m simply concerned about protecting my privacy.

“While you don’t strike me as the type to use your clients’ homes to throw parties, I know that the temptation to have a boyfriend over is much more compelling.

“I want it to go on record that I do not grant you permission to have anyone over while you are staying here. Any violation of this will result in an immediate termination of your position.

“Do you understand?”

I was seized by conflicting emotions for a moment.

On the one hand, I wanted to primly inform him that I would certainly never have any guests over—I never did that, it was a matter of professional pride to me.

But I was also severely offended by his attitude toward women in general. He certainly had a lot of opinions about what women might or might not do.

I opened my mouth to valiantly defend myself, but all that came out was, “I don’t have a boyfriend!”

Logan gave me a small smile, as if this pleased him.

Before I could launch into my other valid points, however, his phone started ringing in his pocket.

He had one of those old-fashioned ring tones that transported you instantly back to Grandma’s house.

He slid his iPhone out of his jeans pocket and checked the caller ID. “Excuse me, I need to take this. So we’re good here, yes?”

“Um…”

“I’ll text you with more details later concerning Reddington’s care.

“I would appreciate it if you could come over on Friday to walk him and move in a few of your things so he can adjust to you being here while I’m away.”

“Of course!”

He had silenced his ringing phone to replace it in his pocket as he gave me his undivided attention. Apparently, he was going to have to call whoever it was back.

“Excellent. It was nice to re-meet you, Miss—I mean, Missy.” He smiled ruefully—at himself, perhaps—and extended his hand to me.

I don’t know what was wrong with me, I guess I’m just a hopeless hugger, but instead of reaching out to shake his hand, I stepped up to him and wrapped my arms briefly around his middle.

This surprised him. I could tell by the way his whole body flinched when I touched him, but he couldn’t possibly be any more surprised than I was.

I swear I hadn’t meant to hug him, he just had me so flustered and discombobulated that I didn’t even know what to do with myself anymore.

He hesitated a single instant and then slid his arms around me to gently embrace me in return.

I couldn’t be quite sure, because my heart was pulsing so loudly, but I think he might have chuckled softly.

Perhaps I was flattering myself, but I don’t think that he had ever met anyone quite like me before.

I stepped back from him, smiling sheepishly. “Okay, well, I’ll see ya later then.”

He was already pulling his phone back out, ringing back whoever he had missed. “Can you show yourself out?” he said to me absently.

I bit my lip because he was already turning away from me, dismissing me. “Of course,” I murmured.

I flushed when I realized I was just ogling the muscles in his back, and those broad shoulders, and made myself turn away as well.