Page 18

I step inside, the leash looped around my wrist. I stop to yank off a shoe.

Before I can, the dog bolts.

I trip each step as he drags me across the floor, up the stairs.

“Stop. Licorice! Costas! Siegfried! Roy! Bowie!”

He hesitates at the last word, and I manage to suck in a breath before he lunges again, nearly knocking me flat on my face.

He galumphs down the hall with me stumbling behind. The door at the end is cracked, and he sticks his nose in before shoving it wide and barreling into the room.

I barely notice the wood furniture and sunny orange walls of an office.

Especially when my gaze lands on the man on the phone, seated on the edge of the desk.

“Unacceptable. We had this solved last week.” Harrison King is impeccable in dress slacks and a blue shirt that matches his eyes. Eyes that widen when the dog launches himself onto the man.

“That was the whole point of the deal,” he bites out into the phone. “We invested in the renovations expecting a return. This is a multibillion-dollar business, not fucking child’s play.”

I stop in the middle of the room, the leash still taut.

“That’s your job,” he goes on. “I suggest you do it.” Harrison stabs a finger at his phone, ending the call.

“Down, Bowie,” I say belatedly. I don’t know what Harrison King is doing here, but seeing the dog put his paws all over the expensive clothes is oddly satisfying.

Harrison’s gaze drags up my body from my running shoes, a slow study. Judging from his drawn brows, it seems to leave him with no more answers than when he started.

“Bowie?” He shifts off the desk and crosses to me.

“I don’t know his name. But he seems pretty rock and roll.”

Harrison loosens the leash from around my wrist. The Rolex on his wrist glints in the light from the open windows.

“It’s Barney,” he says as he releases me. “And he’s my dog.”

Surprise slams into me.

“You and your dog are staying at my villa.” I look around the office again, needing somewhere to focus that’s not his unrelenting attention.

“No. You and your attitude are staying at my villa.”

Horror washes over me.

I slept at this man’s house last night? Walked his damned dog?

What kind of a controlling freak invites a contractor who hates him to live with him?

And skips the invitation, I might add.

“Why?” I blurt.

His gaze is chastising. “I decided it would be easier to keep an eye on you and ensure you complied with your contractual responsibilities. An impulsive decision I’m already regretting,” he adds, frowning as he searches my face.

I could scream, but my attention drags back to his watch. I could probably pawn the thing and solve all of my cousin’s financial problems.

Harrison King could snap his fingers and pay off the debt of a small country.

My mind spins as I concoct a plan that keeps me one step ahead. “About the contract?—”