CARSON
Bubbles rests her head on my foot, sleeping while I dick around on my guitar. I took her for a three-mile run this morning, hoping to buy myself some time before the dog walker turned up. Sandra made the arrangements, and when I asked if she seemed nice on the phone, all she said was: “Adorable.” Whatever that means.
I pluck out my favorite Tim McGraw song, singing to Bubbles, who seems to like the music. Closing my eyes, I let the song carry me away, my fingers moving over the frets purely on muscle memory. But something in the air shifts. My skin buzzes, a jolt of heat zips up my spine, making my hair tingle.
Bubbles stirs, and my fingers stumble over the strings. I turn to look around, wondering if my assistant is back with the dog walker. But the woman behind me, staring with wide, hazel eyes, is an angel. Bubbles jumps up, tail wagging and ready to tackle, but I grab her collar, holding her back as I stand to greet the woman.
I’m lost for words. If this is the dog walker, she’snothinglike I expected. Note to self: when a gay man tells you his dog walker is ‘sweet’, remember that he’s wildly understating things.
Her skin is golden from days in the sun. Long brown hair shimmers over her shoulders. I catch my gaze drifting down her body; over the curves of her hips to long, toned legs that suddenly have me grateful my guitar is in front of me. Otherwise, she’d catch the way my dick twitches at just the sight of her. Goddamn if she isn’t temptation personified.
Mentally, I kick myself. This woman came here for a job, not to be stared at. That’s not the kind of guy I am. “Hey, you must be Aria.” I hold out a hand for her to shake, but she just stares at me, letting out a nervous… laugh? I think it’s a laugh. Either way she slaps a hand over her mouth, clearly embarrassed.
I should be used to strange reactions when people meet me, but it never ceases to catch me off guard. Being famous is weird.
“I am so sorry, I wasn’t expecting… you.” Her voice is tight, but the way she says ‘you’, on a breathless exhale makes me grin. Sandra was right: she’s fucking adorable.
“You aren’t quite what I expected either, but it’s great to meet you. Aaron says you’re an animal whisperer.”
“That’s generous praise, but I’m good with them. Especially dogs.” Her eyes dart to Bubbles, who is wiggling so hard she’s threatening to take my arm off. “Who’s that?”
“This,” I grit out, “Is Bubbles. She’s a troublemaker, but she’s not aggressive.”
“What happens if you let her go? She’s not going to take my head off is she?”
“Hardly,” I laugh, loving the way Aria’s eyes search my face. “But I hope you like getting licked.” Aria’s eyes widen, her pupils dilating as a blush starts at her chest, rising all the way up to her hairline. Well, shit. That came out wrong. “She’s just overly affectionate, I mean.”
Aria clears her throat and nods, avoiding my eyes. “Gotcha. You can let her go.”
“You’re sure?” I don’t mean to second guess this lady’s profession, but I really don’t want my dog to crack her head open on the marble.
Aria lifts those hazel eyes, meeting my gaze and holding it. She raises an eyebrow. “It’s why you had me summoned, isn’t it?” There’s a hint of humor in her voice, a smile tugging at her rosy lips.
“Fair enough,” I chuckle and pray she’s right.Please don’t be an asshole, Bubbles.Letting go of her goes against every rational thought in my head, but I do it. As I predicted, Bubbles springs over the back of the couch, launching herself at Aria and breaking a tall, ceramic lamp in the process.
Aria blocks the tackle, bringing up a knee so Bubbles only bumps her shin. Bubbles takes that as an invitation to sprint around the room, bouncing off the side tables and rocketing over chairs and couches.
“Jeez, someone has the zoomies,” Aria laughs. “I get the ‘difficult’ part now,” she says to Sandra who nods back, her lips pursed. My assistant isn’t what I’d refer to as a dog person. Or a people person. But she’s frighteningly organized.
Aria lets out a sharp whistle and Bubbles freezes, cocking her head to the side curiously. “Bubbles, come.” Amazingly, the dog follows her command, walking in our direction. “Sit.” Again, Bubbles does as she’s told, only her tail gives her away as it wags psychotically. Aria holds out a hand, says ‘stay’ and steps back. Bubbles stays. She. Fucking. Stays.
“Holy shit,” Sandra whispers from the doorway. Holy shit is right. I’ve never once heard her swear in the six years she’s worked for me, but she couldn’t have picked a better moment to start.
Aria calls Bubbles, and the dang dog trots right over to her, sitting by her feet and smiling her big, goofy smile. Aria beams at me, scratching Bubbles behind the ears. “She’s awesome. What do you need from me?”
“Well…” I hedge. I should have thought about how to phrase this. “Daily training and walks…”
Henrietta chooses the worst possible moment to stroll through the living room. My wine seems to have agreed with her, because she’s back in uniform and feisty as fuck. “Live-in help,” she announces. “ He needs someone to babysit the demon dog around the clock or I quit.” She shoots me a look, clearly conveying that it’s not an empty threat, and then heads toward the kitchen.
I rub the back of my neck. “That wasn’t how I’d have phrased it.” Aria frowns softly, her lips squashing into an adorable little pout. “But yeah. That’s what I need.”
“It’s—" she bites her lip and exhales. “It’s a long way out here for me, and I have a job. I have clients.”
“How much do you make?” I’m not above outbidding her current employer.
“Ten bucks an hour, minus taxes.” She doesn’t sound thrilled, and no fucking wonder. Holy hell. How does someone even live in Cali on that? I do some speedy math and give her a counteroffer.
“I’ll pay you triple. Thirty dollars an hour, and I’ll pay you for 24 hours a day, plus housing and food and anything else you need.”