She's nervous we'll fire her.

  I took a deep breath and texted back. Thanks. Reassure Bonnie that accidents happen. I'm not planning to fire anyone over an accident.

  This incident could cost Puppy Love and me millions if it got out that my dog got away from one of our top-rated dog walkers. No matter what the cause. Our competitors would make hay out of it.

  Would you trust your dog to the care of a company where the CEO's dog walker let his dog get loose?

  A little thing like that could tank our stock. We were at a precarious stage.

  Megan and her crew were distracted by the dogs. I took a quick glance at the dossier. (See? I was still using pups to my advantage.)

  Shelby was single—excellent—and about my age. Had a degree in business and graphic design. Her house had recently been up for lease, but had been taken off the market a few weeks ago.

  A whole host of social media sites popped up—Instagram, Pinterest, Facebook, her website, a YouTube channel. I'd take more time to check them out later when I had time to analyze them. One thing stuck out—every one of them was about her work, not her. It made sense. She was selling products and services. But personal services like this usually played on the artist's fame and persona. People want to know who they're hiring.

  Her bio pages emphasized the point. Each of her profile pictures was either a picture of a quote or project she'd done, or a shot of her in an artistic style that showed very little of her face and what she actually looked like. Very enticing. But if this was all you saw, you'd never recognize her on the street. Safe business practices for a hot young woman?

  I frowned. No. My gut said otherwise. What's this woman hiding?

  I skimmed testimonials gushing about her. Shelby was one of the top wedding hand letterers in the city. She was so popular that she was booked almost a year out. Her clients loved her and her work. It only took a glance to see why. Her work was as beautiful and enticing as she was. I found it hard to look away from it.

  I skimmed her portfolio. I'm no art critic, but her work had magic. Even the uninitiated like me could see that. Passion, love, fun. Emotion leaped off the page. Her art evoked a primal emotional response in the viewer. Yeah, I could feel the love. That was saying something for a guy who'd never given his heart away. Now that was talent. That couldn't be taught. That was power.

  I had to have it. On my side.

  I glanced up. Megan and crew were still occupied. Gotta love dogs. Man's best friend was mine right now.

  I'd been to well over a dozen of the weddings Shelby had done. That must be how I know her.

  I flashed back to catching her and what she felt like in my arms.

  No. That's not it. I'd remember a woman as hot and enticing as she is. If I'd seen her before…

  Hell, had I become such a workaholic that I was becoming woman-blind? What had happened to my young, girl-chasing self?

  One of the brides must have gushed about her. Introduced us? No.

  I racked my brain and returned to the information Maryanne had dug up.

  Nothing on her Corgi's pedigree. Maryanne couldn't find who the breeder was. No pictures of the dog, either.

  As for Shelby, whoa. She'd just broken her engagement to some clown named Mitchell. How was that affecting business, I wondered? Broken hearts and weddings didn't mesh well.

  Broken engagement. Something stirred. A gossamer thread of a memory.

  I smiled to myself. It was coming to me. I'd get it eventually.

  I got another text from Maryanne. Just found this.

  She'd sent me a link.

  Naturally, I clicked on it. I nearly lost my shit. It was a video of a bride in a wedding gown running away from the camera. She was holding up her big, puffy skirt, sprinting away in a pair of ridiculously high, and totally hot, heels. I didn't know how she did it. That was a case of shin splints in the making.

  She headed into a patch of wet grass in a nearby lawn. And then—plop! She slipped. Flat on her ass in the mud.

  I couldn't help myself. I laughed. And replayed it. And laughed again. Down in the comments, someone had tagged Shelby. Do you want this jilter commemorating your special day?

  "Dex." Megan came over to me from down the balcony. "Dex? What's so funny?"

  I slipped my phone back in my pocket. "Nothing. Just an internet meme."

  Megan took my arm. "Let's get a picture of you and Charlie on the terrace. The women will love seeing two hot studs together—man and dog."

  Chapter 5

  Inside the Gilded Cage

  "Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back."—Plato

  Shelby (Woman hiding something. Woman who's just eaten a hundred-dollar lunch. Woman still cursing fate. Woman about to bolt. This time not in a wedding dress.)

  "I love absolutely everything you've shown me." Courtney studied the comps I'd made for her and took a last bite of our decadent shared chocolate dessert.

  We were surrounded by empty plastic plates and food cartons. I hadn't eaten this well in ages. I hadn't even had an appetite in weeks. Welcome home, chocolate. I took a sip of coffee.

  "So many fabulous ideas. How am I going to choose?" She looked to me for help.

  "Don't look to me to make the decision," I said. "My job is to give you options. Somehow you'll manage."

  "You're too cruel."

  I laughed.

  Courtney's watch buzzed. "Shoot." She crumpled her napkin and tossed it in the wastebasket. "I didn't realize it was so late already. The time just flew. I have a meeting. I have to run."

  "Go. Take the comps with you. We have plenty of time before you have to make a decision."

  "The good news is there are no bad choices. I can't make a mistake. I'll be happy with any of them." She brushed crumbs off her lap and stood to collect her things.

  I'd been distracted by the normalcy of talking about weddings and art. It was business as usual. But now that she was leaving, my pulse raced at the thought of Dex coming back. "Before you go, any last words on how to deal with your boss?"

  "You mean Dex?"

  I nodded. Dex. In a flash of inspiration, I saw how his name should look on the page. The style and font I would use. Bold. Masculine. Hot. I could make him a signature that would be his brand. His statement of who he was.

  "I haven't had many direct dealings with him," she said. "He's way above me on the org chart." She grinned. "Just be yourself. He's logical and fair. Tell him what you want. Let him know what reparations you expect from him." She grabbed her purse and reached to start clearing our lunch away.

  "Get to your meeting. I'll clean up." I stood and gave her a parting hug. "Courtney, don't tell anyone what we talked about in here, okay?"

  "My lips are sealed."

  What did I want? What would make this right for Bella? And me.

  I didn't have time to think about it. Courtney crossed paths with Dex as she left.

  As he came in, he surveyed the conference table and spotted the Broiler bag I was going to throw out as soon as Courtney left. "Damn. She did it. Courtney got me back and got her IPO meal." He laughed and closed the door behind him. "You enjoyed your lunch?" His eyes danced.

  My pulse fluttered. A man with a sense of humor was my personal catnip. Damn him.

  "It was delicious." I took a calming breath. He flustered me in a way no guy had before. Certainly not Mitch.

  I picked up my fork, licked it clean of the last crumbs of chocolate to make my point, and tossed it in the garbage. Where it clattered to the bottom of the wastebasket. A satisfying period to my statement. "I would have enjoyed it more, except for the nagging feeling I should be home douching your dog's sperm out of my dam."

  He raised an eyebrow and leveled his gaze on mine. There was still no sign he recognized me. The corners of his mouth twitched. "Sounds like a fun task. It works?"

  I rolled my eyes. "I wasn't being literal. I was making a point. Every minute I delay your dog's sperm is fighting its way toward impregnating my bitch."

  "You're making an assumption it was my dog who got yours in trouble. We don't even know for sure that there is trouble yet. Even if it was Charlie you saw, and I'm not saying it was, your dog was apparently out loose, too. It takes two to tango."

  "True. But there was no consent."

  He was momentarily speechless. Score one for me.

  "Dogs don't consent." And yet there was admiration in his eyes. He must like a woman who sparred with him. This guy enjoyed a challenge.

  "I mean my consent." I tapped my chest. "My Corgi is a beautiful purebred. She has a perfect Corgi peach of a butt. Show dogs would kill for it. Other Corgis fan themselves when she struts by. Do you know how many people want her puppies? You can't get a Corgi puppy in this city without waiting over a year."

  "Then your little bitch enticed Charlie, or whoever, with her peach-butt wiggle. Hard to resist a female who knows how to strut her stuff." Was he talking to me? Was he issuing a challenge?

  "It was Charlie—the red leather collar, the eyes. I stared right into those distinctive eyes. You don't forget eyes like those." In dog or man.

  "The expensive dog cologne." I held out my arm. "Take a sniff. It's all over me. It was all over Bella after your dog did his thing."

  "I'll forgo the sniffing. I'm not a dog myself." He was baiting me, and enjoying it. And trying not to crack a smile.

  "Well, Charlie sure smelled Bella all over me. You have a potential bloodhound on your hands. Why do you think he enjoyed his time with my leg so much? Happy memories of morning mating, maybe?"

  "Charlie is a purebred Aussie with impeccable pedigree. He comes from a line of champs. I've studded him out for exorbitant fees. I could stud him out tomorrow for a king's ransom if I wanted. You have firsthand knowledge—he's built for it. A true stud."

  I rolled my eyes.

  "If Charlie did get Bella pregnant, your bitch, and you, should consider yourselves lucky. You'll have the cutest litter of Auggies the world has ever seen. Free of charge. I'll wave my stud fee. You'll be able to sell those puppies for a fortune. If you can bear to part with them."

  "I don't want Auggies. I want Corgis." I blew out an upward breath that ruffled my bangs.

  Oh, bad idea, exposing my forehead. It made me look just a little too familiar, a little bit more like my Vegas self.

  His eyes narrowed. There was that look again, as if he was still trying to place me. "Your loss. If that's the way you feel, there's a morning-after pill for dogs. It's available at the vet. Much easier, and more effective, than douching. If that's even a thing."

  "Morning-after pills have side effects." Yes, I had worried about unplanned doggy pregnancy. Like any responsible owner would. "Not all vets will even administer them." I crossed my arms.

  "I know plenty who will." He kept an open stance. "Good vets. Good reputations. I'll give you a referral."

  "No." I shook my head. "Absolutely not. That's your solution? Just get rid of any potential puppies." I felt huffy about that. "That's such a guy thing. I'm not putting Bella through that torture. She's my baby. Uh-uh."

  He frowned. He clearly hadn't expected me to refuse. "It's your choice. You can take the chance she isn't pregnant. There's a good chance she isn't. If all you saw was him humping her from behind—"

  "They were tied."

  "Oh." He drummed his fingers along his thigh. "Then there's a good chance she is." He studied me again with that trying-to-place me look.

  Which made me feel both a little better and a little scared. Recognition could work either way for me. Yet I hated to think a guy could forget a woman he'd rescued from a life on the run down the Strip, and given twenty-five hundred dollars to so easily. But then, he was a billionaire. Money was nothing to him. And I had changed my appearance. Bangs and a new hair color can make a woman look very different. But what would happen if he did recognize me?

  "We have another option," he said. "We can wait three weeks and send her to the vet for a pregnancy test. Look. I give up. Whether Charlie is guilty or not, I'll pay for the test. I'll pay for an abortion if you don't want the puppies. Though, to be honest, having the puppies will probably be easier on her."

  "No." I blew out a breath.

  He frowned. "No?"

  "I'm out of time. Bella has an appointment with a Corgi stud in the morning."

  "Then it's up to you. You can keep the appointment and hope for the best—a single-paternity Corgi litter. Or take your chance with a mixed-paternity litter. Or cancel and wait to mate her with a Corgi in her next cycle. A good breeder should understand your concerns."

  But Mitch won't.

  "Whatever you decide to do, I'll pay the stud fee. Now or later. I'll pay the cancellation fee. I'll even help you reschedule." He grinned. "I have some clout in the industry. I'm the dog guy. Though some people prefer to call me a dog. Period."

  I put my head down on the table and closed my eyes. I was overwhelmed. I couldn't stand for another thing to go wrong. I couldn't make another decision.

  I heard his chair slide around close to mine. I felt his warm hand on my shoulder.

  "I know. We love our dogs like they're our own flesh and blood. Making the right choice for them can be overwhelming, especially when they can't give us an opinion. I shouldn't admit this, but there's a credible chance Charlie's guilty as charged."

  I heaved a deep breath.

  "Cheer up. I won't let you go through this alone. We'll handle this potential pregnancy together." He squeezed my shoulder.

  I lifted my head and turned to stare at him. "We will?"

  His gaze held mine. "I know who you are."

  My heart stopped.

  "You're the runaway bride."

  "I—"

  "There's no use denying it," he said. "I saw the video of you on YouTube."

  "The video?" I was momentarily stunned and confused. There hadn't been any video—

  Oh. He was talking about the video of the dress fitting runaway. Not, you know, my actual runaway bride moment where he helped me escape. Where he was a co-conspirator and runaway bride financial backer. There was failed wedding blood on his hands, too.

  "Where you slip and fall on your butt?" He was trying so hard not to laugh.

  "You think it's funny." I pointed at him.

  "No." He shook his head.

  "Liar. You do too."

  "Maybe a little."

  "If you don't, you're not normal. You have no sense of humor. It went viral. Thousands and thousands of people think it's hysterical." I sat up. "It's been a PR nightmare for me and my business."

  "I know," he said, suddenly serious and sympathetic. "I read some of the comments. People are crazy. They get funny ideas. Any little thing can blossom into a PR problem. Even your personal life. You've been losing clients since calling off your wedding?"

  I nodded. Running away from love had not done me any favors.

  "There's only one way to handle a PR problem—take charge. Turn it around. Use it to your advantage. Go into crisis management. I have a whole team for that. I sic them on the major catastrophes that pop up."

  "That's all fine and good. But how?" I wasn't being defeatist. I really wanted help.

  "By being completely diabolical." He tapped his forehead. "And smart about it." He leaned forward. "For example, I have a confession—Charlie was in West Seattle this morning. At a new groomer. Which is why he smells so nice."

  I narrowed my eyes.

  He grinned. "His leash snapped when my dog walker, one of my best, top-rated walkers, was loading him in the car to bring him back to the office. I didn't admit that upfront. FYI, I'm still not admitting guilt. Any dog could have gotten to yours. But, given the circumstances, my dog walker, a true dog person, is worried I'm going to fire her—"

  "You can't. You can't fire her." This was not what I wanted.

  "I'm not going to fire her," he said. "What kind of a message would that send to my employees? What kind of an evil boss do you think I am?"

  I swallowed hard.

  He shook his head. "I stand behind my people. But if this gets out, my competition will try to spin it against me. Try to say it was negligence. That my dog walkers are inferior, incompetent, untrustworthy. Convince our customers their beloved pets aren't safe with us. Trust is everything in this business. If that happens, our stock will take a big hit—"

  "Stop. I don't want to tank your company." I owed him too much. Even if he didn't remember. I'd never do that to Courtney and all the innocent people working at Puppy Love, anyway.

  "I'm not that kind of person. I'm not going to release any video of it. I don't have any. But even if I did, I wouldn't." I took a deep breath. "Despite my behavior earlier, you don't have to worry. I'm not going to trash you all over the interwebs. I won't even trash-talk you to my neighbors." I tried to smile, just a little.

  He studied me a moment. "Thanks."

  "But I can't guarantee someone else won't talk. I'm sorry I made a scene out there. I made things worse for you. I was upset. But that's not a good excuse."

  I huffed out another bang-ruffling breath. "So what are you going to do?"

  "Get out in front of it," he said. "I'm going to turn a potential smear campaign into a PR boon."

  "Again, how?" I was genuinely curious. And quite a bit skeptical.

  "By taking you as my plus-one to a wedding this weekend."

  "What? Wait." Not what I was expecting. I was almost too stunned to speak. "Are you asking me out?"

  "No." He paused, studying me intently. "I'm proposing a mutually beneficial business arrangement. I'd like you to be my fake girlfriend for the weekend. If that works out, maybe longer. Possibly until we have puppies together. If we have puppies together. Basically, as long we're both getting something out of the fake relationship."