Page 22 of Men or Paws

“It’s the same thing!” I said. “Lips are touching, tongues are—”

Beth held up her hand. “I’m familiar with the mechanics of a kiss, thank you very much. And it’s not the same thing. Your contract is basically saying that everything is A-OK if you initiate it.”

I shook my head. “That’s not what it says at all.”

“Well, I guess you didn’t spell it out as well as you thought you had. You have a loophole as big as a crater and I plan to protect myself.”

“Protect yourself from what?” I asked, pressing my index finger to my chest. “Me?”

“Sure.” Beth crossed her arms. “Why not?”

I analyzed Miss Bonkers. “Let me get this straight . . . you think I’d want to kiss you?”

“Well, maybe not right now at this very moment, but you never know.” She shrugged. “You’re a man and men can be impulsive.”

“Not me,” I said. “I’m very calculated and know how to control my impulses. Just because I find you beautiful, objectively, doesn’t mean I’m attracted to you.”

Beth’s eyes squinted suspiciously, then she pointed at me. “See? That’s what I’m talking about right there. You say no flirting, but then you go ahead and do it yourself.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“You said I was beautiful.”

I sighed. “A fact is not a flirt. I’m sharing information. You’re a very attractive woman, but it doesn’t mean anything more than that.”

What was I supposed to do, lie? Besides, it was fun screwing with her no-nonsense attitude.

Still, truth be told, Beth was a knockout.

She was the complete opposite of the women I knew in Hollywood who have been nipped, tucked, enhanced, contoured, lifted, shifted, and botoxed. The women I knew spent six hours in the bathroom doing themselves up before leaving the house to go on a hike. They also used enough hair product to choke a herd of elephants.

Beth, on the other hand, didn’t even dress to impress when she showed up at my house, which is rare for someone meeting me for the first time. Typically, women were decked out to the nines, but Beth looked comfortable in her faded jeans, circa 1980s George Michael “Faith” T-shirt, and tennis shoes. That confidence in not caring what other people thought, especially me, upped her sexiness factor ten-fold and left all the Hollywood actresses in the rearview mirror, wheezing on her exhaust. Not that any of that mattered, because all I wanted was for her to watch Houdini, so I could get to work.

Now, where were we?

That’s right, she thought I wanted to kiss her.

“I have no interest in kissing you, now or ever,” I said. “Here, I’ll prove it to you.” I plucked the pen from the table. “I will sign your silly little addendum right here and right now.”

“Hold on a second . . .” Beth shook her head. “Didn’t your lawyer teach you anything? Don’t ever sign something like this without reading the entire document. I need to know we’re on the same page.”

I blew out a frustrated breath. “It’s a copy of my contract. You just swapped the names.”

“It’s not the same. I changed the dog sitting fee from fifteen thousand to fifteen million. That will hold up in court if you sign it, you know.”

I laughed, but then lost my smile when Beth wasn’t laughing with me.

I glanced down at her addendum, scanning it for the part that mentions money, but I couldn’t find it.

She was lying.

I glanced back up at Beth, and wouldn’t you know it, she had a smirk on her face.

“Gotcha,” she said.

Maybe the woman had a sense of humor after all.

I nodded, appreciating the effort. “Funny, but I didn’t think you would do something like that anyway.”