Page 17 of Shopping for an Heir
“Pardon me,” she said apologetically, reaching into her purse.
“Comes with the territory. I understand. But you’ll turn it off when the leash comes out, of course?”
She was immersed in the text from Letitia and wasn’t quite sure she’d heard that right. She flashed him a polite smile. “Of course.” Maybe he had a strict policy about silencing his phone while walking his dog.
After typing back a quick reply for Letitia to manage a glitch in a probate court issue, Suzanne took a bite of her salmon. Perfect.
The next few minutes were all about eating, sipping wine, and getting used to being silent in snippets around a new guy.
Promising. This was looking promising, though the lack of reciprocal interest had her on edge.
Maybe DoggieDate wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Kari had told her about it—the mystery shopping company she worked for had lost the account to a competitor—and Suzanne had made a profile there just last week.
Chandler’s quick response and request for a lunch date had been a welcome break from all the dick pics and requests for hookups that came with most sites.
But he was only talking about the dogs now, and that made her wonder.
“How do you handle elimination?” he asked smoothly, as if they were talking about retirement account investment allocations.
“Elimination?”
“Yes. Do you glove up? Bag the waste?” He leaned in, his Patek Philippe watch glittering as a skylight ushered in rays of sunshine after clouds parted. Funny how that status symbol followed quirky guys. “Or do you use dog diapers?” He whispered the last two words with reverence, then licked his lower lip.
She recoiled, the bite of salmon in her mouth suddenly tasting like mulch.
“You—I—well, I use a glove and bags. Always,” she added. Was this some kind of purity test to see if she was a responsible dog owner?
“And a muzzle?”
“No. Never! Why would I do that?”
His face fell.
“Sometimes it’s necessary, especially when a puppy is being very, very bad.” His eyes widened and he took a big swig of his wine.
The way he said bad made her spine tingle, and not in an arousing way.
The date just went from promising to rescue text in three minutes.
A new record.
“Do you have a picture of Joe?” she asked suddenly, eager for any option that took them out of this disturbing discussion.
“No. Why would I carry a picture of my dog in my wallet?” The look he gave her said she was the crazy one. Disarmingly charming and decidedly manipulative, Chandler’s ability to make her feel an array of emotions set off alarms.
It was one thing to be attracted to a guy and lose internal control.
It was another to have him keep the ground beneath her emotional feet shifting constantly.
“Let’s get down to business,” he said, as Suzanne put her knife and fork down, stomach in rebellion, all hope of salvaging the date long gone. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the conversation had turned in such a way that she was done.
“Yes?”
Business? Was he another networker like Steve? Regrouping, she put on her badass hat and made a mental note to reach out to Kari for another ice cream run tonight. Sheesh.
“You have something I want. I have something you want. We could have a fine relationship meeting each other’s needs.”
Blunt. She had to give him credit for being blunt.
“Other than the muzzle issue, I like your style, Suzanne.” He reached for her hand, his thumb caressing the broad line into the wrist. “I like a woman who knows how to control her puppy.”
He kept calling Smoochy a puppy. Strange.
“I don’t really need to control dogs. As long as they behave, it’s easy,” she said, using a casual tone but measuring her words carefully.
“And if they don’t behave?” The stroking turned warm, his hand heating up. The pulse at the base of his throat started throbbing so hard she could see a blue bulge of vein. He swallowed. Was he starting to sweat?
“I don’t know. I’d put them in their crate.”
“Yes,” he answered, the word like a hiss. Chandler shifted in his seat, pupils dilating.
The guy was getting aroused talking about dogs?
“And then what, Suzanne? What if you had a puppy who wouldn’t stop sniffing your crotch?”
She stood so fast her napkin went flying up and knocked over her partially-full glass of wine, which tipped toward him. A drop rolled across the table, like a line of blood, soaked into the cloth before it could hit the edge on his side.
“What are you talking about?” she snapped. People turned to stare at the commotion. Chandler’s eyes went flinty cold, his nostrils flaring.
He did not stand.
“Sit. Now.”
“I’m not a dog you can order around!” she protested, reaching down for her purse and resuming eye contact. Instinct kicked in. Not flight, though she was about to leave.
Fight.
Don’t back down. Call him out. Override the fear.
He flushed. Not from embarrassment, but damn—he was turned on.
“Please sit down.”
“No. I’m done.” She turned on her heel, not even certain why this was over, but absolutely convinced that leaving was the right choice.
He followed. She no longer cared about the bill, or the scene they were making, or anything else. Escape was paramount. The guy was off.
“Suzanne, I believe there’s been a mistake,” he said from behind her, and then he made a mistake.
A big mistake.
He grabbed her arm.
Her elbow met his solar plexus with the kind of artistic grace and perfect timing that made the split-second connection an object of beauty, its own entity independent of time and space.
The sound Chandler made echoed through the bowels of hell.
“Wha?” he gasped as Suzanne unlocked her knees, spinning around, ready to take him down.
Even in heels.
He held his palms toward her in supplication even as he tried to fold at the waist.
“Not hurting you! Not! Not!” he barked.
Literally barked.
Chandler said those words, then barked.
“Arf. Woof,” he said under his breath, eyes widening as if he were signaling Suzanne.
But it was all just noise.
“You’re crazy,” she said.
“Why are you acting like you don’t understand what I’m saying?”
“Because I don’t speak Bark, Chandler.”
“You’re a puppy trainer.”
Suzanne stared at him.
“A what?”
“Your profile. It said you were into puppy dates.”
“So?”
He looked at her like she was stupid. “So...that’s code.”
“Code?”
A ripple of uncertainty filled his eyes. “You know. The code. The code for puppy play.”
“Puppy play?”
“You signed on to be a puppy trainer.”
“I don’t have those skills. I’ve never worked with dogs before. I’m a trust and estate lawyer, Chandler. Not someone who breeds dogs or runs obedience classes.” What a strange mix up. Her profile was clear about being a lawyer.
He shivered, one corner of his mouth going up.
“Wait a minute.” She started to put the pieces together. Obedience. Bad dog. The, uh...questions about elimination. “What, exactly, do you mean by the term ‘puppy play’?”
That grin.
“Oh, Suzanne. You’re quite the commanding woman. I can tell you know how to make a disobedient puppy turn into a good, well-trained dog.”
She just blinked.
“And I’ll pay handsomely for it.”
“You want to pretend you’re a dog and that I’m your owner?”
“Trainer, owner...” His voice dropped. “Name your price.”
Oh, God.
“I thought we were here on a date because we both love dogs!” she protested.
He gave her a lascivious grin. “We are.”
“OUT! I’m out,” she shouted, right in the middle of the food court, blindly stumbling toward the brightest bank of windows she could find. Heart racing, brain scrambled, Suzanne walked quickly to the main doors, relieved by the petroleum-filled air that the streets of downtown Boston pumped steadily through the city.
Horns and shouts, people and engines, all the sounds mingled into background noise that was preferable to being asked about—
She shuddered.
DoggieDate, huh?
She was done.
Absolutely done with online dating.
Bzzz.
Her cell phone.
Reminder: 1 p.m. meeting with James McCormick.
Reminder: 2 p.m. meeting with Gerald Wright.
The clock read 12:30 p.m. Just enough time to get to McCormick’s house for whatever was going on. James McCormick hadn’t specified why he wanted to meet with her, but she assumed it had to do with his late wife’s family trust.
Then back to the office for this roller coaster of a day.
Somehow, Chandler Hopkins managed to make her date last night with Steve Raleigh look like a damn romancefest.
Kari was going to die laughing over this one. Die.
Someday this would be funny.
Right now, though, she just needed a shower, a large coffee, and to delete her DoggieDate profile.
Permanently.
Chapter 9
“Morning, Mr. McCormick,” Gerald said, opening the door to the SUV limo.
James glared at the black beast of a car. “Andrew has some of the strangest ideas about luxury,” he grumbled as he climbed in, settling in the middle seat, reaching for the coffee Gerald had procured for the old man.
