Boss On A Leash: A Single Dad Billionaire Romance, Kara Hart [free ebook reader for iphone .TXT] 📗

the handle. Instead, she knocks harder, three more times. “Dr. Berman? It’s Ali Greenwald. You told me to show up today for the job.”

Ali Greenwald.

It’s a pretty name, far more decent than Marc Wylan.

Sensing something is off with me, Dr. Berman shares a worried glance. “Ali, yes. You’re a little late.”

I watch her shadow thin out as she bounces on the balls of her feet. “I’m really sorry. I’m not used to the traffic yet,” she says.

A fake apology shows how nervous she is. She really wants this job. I don’t blame her. It’s a good school. Great location. If you teach here, you’re pretty much a shoe in for the community. There’s a nature of competition between us, but I admire that type of boldness in a woman. It’s attractive.

“Oh, that’s all right,” he says, eying me. “Just give me two-seconds to finish this report up, and I’ll be right with you.”

“Don’t mind me. I’ll just be sitting on the bench in the hall,” she says.

He turns to me, shaking his head. “Do you know the woman out there, or something?”

Last night, I thought there may be something magical about that girl. It was a split second happening, a feeling and a flash of insight. Some experiences turn a man’s brain to mush, but Ali electrified me, inside and out.

Well, it lasted for a second. And then that dog tried humping her. Now, that was pretty funny.

The question is, how do I get out of this room without her seeing me?

Before he opens the door, I see an old hat on the coat rack. Pushing Sammy behind me, I take it and put it on as Dr. Berman shows me out. I mask my voice by making it an octave deeper. “Rest assured, we will be talking about this again.”

Befuddled, Dr. Berman calls out, “Mr. Wylan! Mr. Wylan?”

I almost forget I’m still holding Sammy’s hand tight. “Daddy, where are we going?”

“We’re going to find you a new school, baby.”

But just as we get to the door, I hear her voice. “Mr. Ragamuffin?”

I stop.

She follows up. “Is that you?”

Crap.

Ali

I don’t believe it. Three chance meetings in a row.

What are the odds?

Dr. Berman sighs. “You two know each other?”

Slowly, I nod. My lips form a tickled smile. This run-in is totally crazy, but it also feels natural. We’ve got a feud. That’s our connection. It’s… cute.

“A little bit, yeah,” I say.

Third time’s a charm.

As I narrow my eyes at him, he grows flustered. The businessman shuffles his fingers around his tie like he’s suffocating under pressure. “I’ve never met this woman before in my life,” he says.

Liar. Liar.

His daughter seems to think otherwise. She tugs on his suit jacket to get his attention. “Yes, we have, daddy. We saw her getting Ragamuffin.”

I kneel down and wink, pushing my fist out for a small bump to anger the pops. To my satisfaction, she enthusiastically pounds my knuckles and makes a big explosion noise.

“That’s right,” I say, angling my eyes up at her big-wig father. “How is she, by the way?”

The man’s lip flares. “How’s Rowdy?”

Over the last two days, my St. Bernard has eaten through one of my middle school photo albums, urinated on three of my pillows, and torn up my dream diary. Rowdy acts like a tyrant. That’s how he is. But he’s learning because I’m a great teacher.

“He has never been better,” I lie.

“That’s great,” he says, smile glowing.

We laugh, pretending to be excited for each other when, in reality, this is all out war. I thought the battle was over. Turns out, it’s just beginning.

Dr. Berman’s shoulders hunch as he pathetically twists and turns to keep up with our conversation. After a while, he gives up to slouch in the doorway of his office.

“What are you doing in Sammamish?” I ask. “I thought you lived in Ballard?”

Marc nods and purses his lips. Lowering his voice, he hisses, “Now who’s the one following who?”

I blink a few times. “Excuse me?”

“This is my school. You’re following me,” he says, furrowing his brow before glancing awkwardly at his kid. “And my daughter, Sammy.”

His school. Right.

“Oh jeez. And why do you think I’m doing that?” I ask.

His eyes shift. “I don’t know. Probably has something to do with that dog,” he says.

Sammy moans, “Dad, you’re being a weirdo again. I thought we were going home.”

“Home?” I ask, checking my watch. “But there’s still so much school left in your day.”

He runs taps his heel. “You done? I have an appointment I need to get to.”

I picture Ragamuffin’s sweet face. I see her small tongue lick across her wet nose and soft mouth, sliding away with a yawn. But then I remember which dog I ended up with, Mr. Slobberbutt, and wince. “Almost,” I say.

“Great,” he groans.

I take a step forward, facing him. Lowering my voice to a whisper, I say, “You know what I think?”

He takes a step, too. “I’d love to hear your thoughts.”

“I think you’re desperate for my number,” I say.

A look of hilarity pushes his lips open, and a hearty laugh follows. “Do you know who I am?”

I don’t know the man’s identity yet. From what I can gather, he’s rich, and he wants to use it to his advantage. Well, he’s seen the cobwebs on the inside of my purse. He knows I’ve got bills to pay.

Who cares if people know him? Certainly not me.

“I think we’ve got a pretty good idea of one another,” I say.

We’re standing so close to each other, I can smell his cologne again. It’s something foreign and alluring. Like a mixture of spice and fresh saltwater air. It takes me back to my youth, to days without worry or pain. For a brief moment, I imagine myself falling into his arms. What would that feel like? Probably pretty good...

“I don’t need your number,” he says.

I swallow. My lips are only an inch or so away from his, and I can feel his heartbeat send ripples through the air. “Yeah? Prove