ARIA
Oh, jeez. When he puts it that way, how can I turn the offer down? I can’t. A million dollars, just for working with one dog. I could probably work my whole life and not make that much money. And, oh my god, the business I could run. Even if you forget other celebrities, people would be fighting to hire me if they knew I trained Carson Jones’ dog.
“What about the NDA?” I ask. “I can’t very well use you as a reference if I’m not allowed to disclose anything.”
Carson nods thoughtfully. “Come on.” He turns around, calling Sandra’s name. She appears a second later, staring at us archly. “Let me see her NDA.” Carson’s voice is firm, but Sandra hesitates.
“Sir—"
“Now.” The power in his voice sends a tingle up my spine. Oh, lord is he sexy.Not the time, not the place,I remind myself as she hands him the paperwork, frowning. Carson glances at it, flipping through the pages before holding it in both hands and ripping it in half.
“Just don’t burn me on this.” Carson’s voice is wry, but he hands me the pieces. I stare up at him, wide-eyed.
“You don’t even know me,” I whisper. “I could be a total psycho.”
Carson grins, those devastating dimples calling to me. “Are you?”
“No.” I shake my head, losing myself in his eyes. I don’t consider myself a fangirl, but holy hell does he do something to me.
“Good, because Bubbles likes you, and I trust her judgment.” Carson shrugs like this is just a walk in the park. Like handing his dog, his house, and a million dollars over to a woman he only met four minutes ago is a totally casual Sunday activity. I usually make pancakes, but I think we’ve established that our lives are wildly different.
“Okay…” My mind starts racing with all the things I’ll have to take care of, but then he smiles. It’s a dimples-sinking, teeth-showing, light-up-the-eyes kind of smile. You’d think I promised him the world from the way he’s looking at me, instead of the other way around.
Although, in a sense, I guess I kind of did. I’ll keep my bed at the bungalow, but moving out of my first and only stable home in almost a decade is… nerve wracking. I can’t bear to go back to couch surfing and sleeping in my car. Not that I’ll have to, if he keeps his end of the bargain.
I will have to quit my job. That alone is enough to make my throat tight. Not because it afforded some great kind of lifestyle, but because I’ll miss my regulars. Clancy in his carrier, tippy little Cara with her red bow, even Loki’s obsessive need to herd all the other dogs.
But lord. A million dollars. The chance at a whole new life. A month, maybe more, living under the same roof as Carson freaking Jones. Sure, I’m just the help, but the help gets to look, and I’ll just have to memorize every second I’m near him to remember when I’m old and gray.
“Okay?” Carson repeats cautiously. He searches my face as if not sure he heard me right. I nod, not totally trusting my voice at the moment. “Okay!” He exhales excitedly, taking my hand and shaking it, like if he doesn’t seal the moment, I might back out. But seriously, how could I?
“You need me to start soon,” I guess.
“Today, if possible. Sandra can make arrangements. We’ll send a truck to pick up your things—"
“No!” I interject. God, the very idea of people packing up my life in the bungalow has me scrambling. “I mean, no thank you. I have roommates. If a bunch of people turn up and empty my stuff out, what are they going to think?”
I can tell you exactly what they’re going to think. They’re going to think I got swept into the witness protection program and planned to leave them on the hook for my share of the rent. They’re going to think my bed is fair game for another renter, and I’m not willing to give up my home, even if it is a shit hole compared to Carson’s life.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you lived with other people…” Carson’s smile dims. “Do you have someone you’d need to bring with you? Like a… significant other or a pet?”
Is he asking if I have a boyfriend?The very idea is laughable. Carson Jones, Hollywood A-lister, Grammy-award-winning musician—asking if I’m single.That is some serious wishful thinking, Aria.
“No, just me,” I shrug. Carson nods and the tiny hopeless romantic inside of me wonders if she really caught that little flash of pleasure in his eyes.Wishful thinking.
“Sandra can still arrange for the truck—"
“That’s seriously overkill. I can just drive my car back down.” I wince when I remember my gas gauge is sitting somewhere in the negative range at the moment. “But…” I close my eyes. I’ll never get over the humility required to ask for gas money. It’s awful whether I’m asking a roommate who still owes me for the internet bill, or a multimillionaire who just promised me a million dollars for a month of work.
“But what?” Carson’s voice is concerned, solicitous. Like nothing in the world would make him happier than helping me.
“But… I need gas money. Bills came out last week and—"
“Oh! Sandra will get going on the wire transfer. In the meantime, my driver can take you. That’s kind of middle ground, right?”
“It’s going to be really hard for me to think of that as middle ground,” I laugh. “But sure. Let’s go with that.”
The afternoon is a whirlwind of papers to sign and things to move. Carson gets pulled away on a phone call and takes Bubbles outside to play while he talks, but Sandra shows me my ‘room’. That’s what she calls it, but it’s a freaking palace.