Page 9

Max

Whipped .

“Shut up.”

The place looks like someone half-abandoned it a decade ago but never got around to tearing it down.

The kind of dusty rural structure you drive past without noticing—until Otto took one look and muttered, “Zis vill do.” Three hours and a thousand barks of German later, it looked like a professional agility course had dropped from the sky.

Perfect for keeping our little “engagement” under wraps until we’re ready to go public.

Morgan’s beat-up red truck pulls in at exactly 7:00. Spookie jumps out with more grace than a Broadway dancer, and Morgan… she looks like she’s already halfway through a mental checklist before her boots even hit the ground.

“You’re early,” she says, taking the coffee I hold out and giving the arena a slow once-over.

“And you’re surprised.”

“You bet I am. ‘Stanley’s trainer’ did magic.”

“Told you. You’ll meet Otto—he’s the third leg of our training team. Totally invisible to cameras. PR stuff, you know?”

“Oh right. For you, it’s all pretend. Just for the cameras. Got it.” Her voice is all teeth.

“Not—”

Before I can finish, Otto emerges from the barn like a German shadow. “Zere vill be no flirting during training.”

"We're not—" Morgan starts.

"Ja, ja. Save it for ze cameras." He checks his clipboard. "Today we start with basic mirror work."

For the next hour, he drills us on synchronized movements. Every time Morgan and I get too close, every time there's a hint of the electricity from that night, Otto's voice cuts through.

"Focus!"

"Distance!"

"Ze dogs are more professional zan you two!"

When Morgan's hand accidentally brushes mine during a cross-pattern, Otto sighs heavily. "Zat's too romantic."

"That wasn't—" I protest.

"Zat's too defensive."

Stanley and Spookie execute their moves perfectly, making us look like amateurs. When Spookie nails a particularly complex sequence, Stanley actually wags at him.

Traitor , I think.

"Again!" Otto barks. "Und this time, maybe try not to look at her like she's ze last piece of strudel."

"I wasn't—"

"Zat's too obvious."

But I can't help it. Morgan in training mode is... something else. The way she moves, the subtle commands, the total focus. When she runs the weave poles with Spookie, her form is perfect. Her competition outfit hugs every curve—

"DALTON!"

"Sorry!"

Morgan smirks. "That's too distracted."

Even Otto's mouth twitches at that one.

By noon, we're actually making progress. The dogs work together like they've been partners for years. Morgan and I... well, at least we haven't killed each other.

"Enough," Otto announces. "Tomorrow, same time. Und perhaps, Dalton, you will remember zis is dog training, not dating show."

"That's too harsh," I mutter.

Morgan actually laughs. "You know what? That's too funny."

Otto stares at us both. "Zat's too much." He turns and walks away, muttering in German.

"He's warming up to us," I tell Morgan as we gather our gear.

"That's what warming up looks like?"

"Trust me, this morning he only scowled twice when I arrived. Yesterday it was four times."

She tries not to smile. Fails.

"See? You're warming up to me too."

"That's too optimistic." But there's no ice in her voice now.

I watch her load Spookie into her truck, the way she checks his water, makes sure he's comfortable. The tender efficiency of it all.

Stanley bumps my leg. You're staring.

"Can't help it."

And that's the problem, isn't it? Because this was supposed to be just business. Six weeks, split the money, go our separate ways.

But watching Morgan with Spookie, seeing how she is when she lets her guard down...

Before she gets in the truck, she gives the arena one last look.

“Whatever I feel about you personally,” she says, giving the training setup a once-over, “this is damn impressive. Must’ve cost a fortune to pull together this fast.”

“Thanks,” I say, “but I won’t take the credit. It was mostly Otto. He’s the one with discretion over the budget—allocated by the Nighthawks. Sponsor money, promo stuff. He basically runs the whole behind-the-scenes machine.”

“So the team funds everything?”

“Yeah. Stanley’s a brand now. I’m just the accessory.”

She smirks. “Well, Spookie and I don’t mind being accessories too, if it gets us Otto and this much turf.”

She slips into a terrible German accent. “‘Zat’s too good.’”

We both laugh.

Then she pulls her door open. “Ready for tomorrow?”

"Born ready."

She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling as she drives away.

You're in trouble , Stanley's look says.

"Yeah." I scratch her ears. "That's too accurate."

Because I'm starting to think six weeks isn't going to be nearly enough.

And Otto's right—I really need to stop looking at her like she's the last piece of strudel.

But fuck if she isn’t sweeter.

And hotter.

And way more dangerous to my self-control.