Subject: re: Dog Walking
But who can resist Bruce’s sloppy kisses?
Lainey Taylor, Second Assistant to Brogan Starr, Starr Media
Walker of a very kissable dog
To: Lainey Taylor
From: Brogan Starr
Subject: re: Dog Walking
Is it okay to be jealous of a dog?
Brogan Starr, CEO Starr Media.
Owner of a lady-stealing dog
…
Brogan was standing in the kitchen stirring a saucepan when I returned with Bruce to the apartment at seven. I’d done the usual trek to the park downtown, and I made sure to put his doggy bag in the dumpster outside the building two blocks away. While Brogan’s eccentricities had bothered me the first few weeks, they’d become something cute, something that made him stand out. What was it in a young CEO’s mind that made him tick a little differently than the men I was used to? And had he really bent all his rules for me from day one because he wanted me? I didn’t know how to feel about that—except that I didn’t like the thought of having special privileges because of his attraction to me.
After I unhooked the leash, Bruce padded to his doggy bed in the living room and flopped down with a huff, rolling around on his back, doing his pig snort deal. I shook my head and smiled. A nice alliance had formed, one where he didn’t eat my clothes, and I let him sniff eighty percent of the hydrants and bike racks along the city blocks. I drew the line at dry humping the neighbor’s poodle, who was way out of his league, because it was no use getting the poor guy’s hopes up.
The savory aroma of homemade marinara sauce floated through the apartment, and my mouth watered. I only had a chance to scarf down a granola bar on my way out of work, and anything that was warm and didn’t come from a box sounded particularly mind-blowing.
“That smells amazing.” I dropped my purse and keys on the counter and sidled up next to Brogan at the stove. Just being near him, the warmth of his body washing over me, was enough to frazzle my mind like ten too many tabs open on my internet browser.
“My grandmother’s recipe. She lives in Italy, and I gain about ten pounds every time I visit her.”
“Does she adopt?” Because my Top Ramen diet wouldn’t cut it for much longer. I could pull that off when I lived in the dorms in college, but eleven-hour work days left me needing more sustenance than broth and noodles. Every penny of the two paychecks I’d earned, except for my portion of the rent and a bare minimum in food, had been sent to my mom’s crap insurance that didn’t even begin to cover half her treatments. Sure, Mom wasn’t happy that I was spending my hard-earned cash on her, but what was I supposed to do? Indulge my purse and leggings addiction while she was too sick to work and the bills piled up? Nope. Not a chance. She tried sending my checks back a few times, and I ended up getting around that by directly depositing the money in the online billing account. Besides, blowing it on luxuries like silk scarves, Italian leather handbags, or steaks and chicken meant more that she’d have to pay off later down the road. I couldn’t let that happen. So Ramen and off-brand mac and cheese were it for the unforeseeable future.
He laughed and continued stirring the sauce. I unwound my scarf, and Brogan took his attention off the cooking, his jaw going slack for a moment as his gaze worked over my low-cut top. “I’m glad you came.” The formality we’d used with each other during office hours fell away as he ran his fingers along the curve of my spine, pulling me in for a long, slow kiss that simmered my insides. His lips had this uncanny ability to take me down to seven brain cells—just enough to keep my mouth functioning and air coming to my lungs. When he pulled away to continue stirring the sauce, I was left with swollen lips and an early onset heart arrhythmia.
He ran his thumb over my lower lip. “Best part of my day, by far.” Both his hands found their way to my hips, and he tugged me in for another kiss. This one held the urgency of someone who knew what he wanted, someone who always got what he wanted. And when it came to Brogan, I was willing to give just that.
The sauce simmering on the stove picked up to a roaring boil, and Brogan broke away from the kiss to turn down the heat. In that split second of reprieve, I was able to remember my mission for tonight: figure out what the hell this was. As soon as I found the right moment.
I looked around the kitchen, unsure of what to do with my hands…besides manhandle Brogan, obviously. “Can I help you with anything?” I asked. The whole workplace fling was new to me, and I didn’t really know how it worked in terms of hook-up etiquette. Did we just get to the good stuff, or did I help out like a girlfriend would? Shove my hands in the butt pockets of his very well-fitting dress pants? Or remove his collared shirt, one button at a time? Decisions, decisions.