Daddy’s Naughty Dog Trainer (Naughty Girls Book Club #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

I 'm already five minutes late when I pull up to the address, a sleek modern house at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac in Oakbrook Estates, the fancy part of our small town where people with actual careers and retirement plans live. Not exactly my usual stomping grounds.

I check my reflection in the rearview mirror, fluffing up my bright pink hair. It's faded a bit since it was last colored, more cotton candy than neon now, but it is still a pretty pink color. In my line of work, I don’t have to stick to a strict dress code or societal norms. I am free to express my creativity and individuality anyway I choose.

I train dogs, not people. And I'm damn good at it.

My phone buzzes with a message from Christine in our Naughty Girls Book Club group chat.

Christine: Jess, have you met the new client yet? Is he as uptight as he sounded on the phone?

I grin before typing back.

Me: About to find out. Will report back with full daddy potential assessment.

I grab my training bag from the passenger seat and step out into the fresh spring air. I am excited to meet Lucky, the Golden Retriever, causing my new client havoc. There are many calm, sweet breeds of dogs that require minimal training. Dogs that look and act like potatoes. A golden retriever is not one of those. If ever there was a puppy breed that exudes ADHD energy, it would be them. I would know. I’m diagnosed and medicated. My brain is spicy and bounces from one thought to the next frequently.

I ring the doorbell and within seconds comes enthusiastic barking, followed by a man's deep voice, firm but strained: "Lucky, sit. Damn it! I said SIT!"

Good luck with that, buddy.

The door swings open, and?—

Oh.

OH.

Well, shit.

The man standing in the doorway is nothing like what I expected. When Sean Ferguson called me, his clipped, professional tone made me picture a middle-aged banker type with a receding hairline and a sweater vest.

But this? This is... something else entirely.

He's tall, like, unfairly tall, with broad shoulders that fill out his crisp button-down shirt in ways that should be illegal. His salt-and-pepper hair is thick and just slightly mussed, like he's been running his hands through it in frustration. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw with just the right amount of five o'clock shadow, and eyes so intensely blue they make my breath catch.

And he's older than me, maybe mid-fifties, but in that distinguished George Clooney way, that makes my stomach do a little flip.

"Lucky! Lucky, no!" He yells as Lucky comes rushing at me.

I drop to a crouch, expertly catching the bundle of energy before he can knock me over or escape past me into the road. "Well, hello there, handsome! Aren't you just the sweetest thing?" I coo, scratching behind Lucky's ears as he tries to lick every inch of my face.

"I am so sorry," Sean says to me, a look of exasperation on his face. "He's been impossible today. More impossible than usual, which I didn't think was physically possible."

I laugh, standing up with Lucky still wiggling in my arms. "No worries. This is exactly why you called me, right? I'm Jessica Wright, by the way. Most people call me Jess."

His eyes travel from my pink hair down to my ripped jeans and back up again, one eyebrow slightly raised. "You're... not what I expected."

I grin. I get this a lot. "Let me guess. You were expecting someone in khakis with a whistle around their neck?"

His lips twitch, almost a smile, but not quite. "Something like that."

"Sorry to disappoint. The pink hair throws people off, but I promise it doesn't affect my ability to train dogs." I shift Lucky to one arm, offering my free hand. "And don't worry, the color doesn't rub off."

He takes my hand, his grip firm and warm. "Sean Ferguson. And clearly, I'm the one who needs help, here."

Our eyes lock for a moment longer than strictly necessary, and something electric passes between us. I withdraw my hand first, suddenly very aware of how attractive he is and how inappropriate the thought is, given he's a client… and possibly old enough to be my father. If he had me young, that is.

"So," I say, clearing my throat and setting Lucky down. "Tell me about this little troublemaker."

Sean steps back, allowing me inside his home. It's exactly what I expected from the outside: sleek, expensive furniture, completely void of clutter, with a place for everything and everything in its place. It's beautiful, but feels more like a model showroom than a home where people actually live.

"He was my younger sister's dog," Sean says quietly as he closes the door behind us.

The change in his tone makes me turn. His face has shifted, a flash of pain crossing his features before he schools it back into neutrality.

"Was?" I prompt gently.

Sean runs a hand through his hair, confirming my earlier suspicion about why it's slightly mussed. "Diane bought him about four months ago. She always wanted a golden retriever; said they were the happiest dogs in the world." A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Then she was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. It was... aggressive. She didn't have time to train him properly."

My heart sinks. "I'm so sorry."

He nods, his jaw tight. "She passed away three weeks ago. Lucky came to live with me because there was nobody else. I promised her I'd take care of him, but—" He gestures helplessly as Lucky zooms past us, skidding on the hardwood floor before crashing into a side table.

"You're not exactly a dog person," I finish for him.

"I like dogs fine," he says defensively. "From a distance. Or when they're well-behaved. I'm just not..." He sighs. "My job requires order. Structure. Predictability."

"And Lucky is none of those things." And neither am I.

"He's a furry tornado with separation anxiety and a penchant for destroying anything I leave within reach. Which, as it turns out, is everything in my house. Including my expensive wooden blinds." He nods to the back window where a set of blinds is hanging haphazardly on the window. Clearly, Lucky had used them as a chew toy.

I can't help the laugh that escapes me. "Well, you've come to the right place. Or, more accurately, I've come to the right place." I set my training bag down. "What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I work in cybersecurity for the government," he says. "I specialize in preventing hostile breaches in our defense systems."

"So, you protect us from bad guys trying to hack our nukes?"

He winces at my simplification. "Something like that."

"And yet, you can't control one little puppy," I tease him, enjoying the way his eyes narrow slightly.

"Hence why I called you," he says dryly.

"Fair enough. Would you mind giving me a tour? I like to see where the dog spends most of his time, what kind of environment we're working with."

Sean nods, gesturing for me to follow him. "This is the main living area. Kitchen's through there. I've tried to puppy-proof as much as possible, but he keeps finding new things to destroy."

As if on cue, Lucky gallops past us, something dangling from his mouth.

"Is that—" I start.

"My tie? Yes. Yes, it is." Sean's voice is so resigned I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing again. “I’ve bought him hundreds of dollars’ worth of toys, but the damn thing prefers my ties, my shoes, and especially pillows.”

We move through the house, with Sean pointing out various areas where Lucky has caused destruction. The house is beautiful but has minimal decoration. There’s nothing personal except a small silver frame on a shelf containing a picture of who I assume is Sean and his sister, arms around each other, both smiling.

Finally, we end up back in the living room, where Lucky is doing zoomies from one end of the room to the other.

"Lucky, come here," Sean commands. "Come," he repeats, more firmly. Lucky pauses and tilts his head as if contemplating whether or not to obey and then zooms right on by. I hear the string of curse words coming from Sean’s mouth and bite back a laugh.

I train dogs, not men. But if I did? Sean Ferguson would be my most difficult case yet.

Not that I should be thinking about my client like that. I should be focused on assessing his golden retriever puppy. But instead, I'm watching Sean, all six-foot-something of him, standing rigidly by his spotless leather couch, hands clenched into fists at his sides like he's barely holding himself together.

Not because of me. Because of the dog.

“Lucky, no!” His deep command fills the space around us, but Lucky, bless his chaos-loving heart, does not give a single damn. He leaps onto the couch, paws skidding against the smooth surface, and then, oh, here we go, latches onto one of the decorative pillows and gives it a good shake.

Sean’s jaw tightens, and I bite back a laugh. “You said on the phone he had impulse control issues, but you didn’t say it was this bad.”

Sean drags a hand down his face. “I underestimated him. I mean, the damn dog doesn’t care that we are standing right here watching him. Doesn’t even try to hide his naughtiness.”

“No kidding.”

I click my tongue and squat down, patting my thighs. “Lucky, here!” I give the no nonsense command, leaving no room for Lucky to doubt who is in charge. Lucky hesitates for half a second before bounding toward me, pillow still clutched between his teeth. I scratch behind his ears, murmuring praise, then gently guide him into a sit. He obeys, tail wagging. I click the clicker and open my fist, showing Lucky the small treat. He takes it, wagging his tail the entire time. Lucky is very much like an intelligent toddler. Full of energy, curious but also will respond well to consistency and boundaries.

Sean exhales, looking both impressed and deeply skeptical. “How the hell did you do that?”

I grin. “A lot of experience, a little patience, and positive reinforcement, and we’ll have him trained in no time.” I replace the pillow with one of the Kong toys I’ve brought with me. It’ll take a lot for Lucky to chew through it.

Sean folds his arms over his broad chest. “Forgive me if I don’t share your optimism.”

That's when I really take him in. He's a walking contradiction. He's dark, brooding, and a man who clearly thrives on control, and yet… he's completely at the mercy of a thirty-pound puppy. His navy button-up is crisp, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, hinting at strong, capable hands. His slacks? Perfectly pressed. His black-framed glasses? Unsmudged, despite the chaos around him.

And that jawline? Lord, have mercy.

If I met him under different circumstances, I’d peg him as someone who probably alphabetizes his bookshelves and color codes his closet. He’s the kind of man who has rules, strict ones, and expects everyone around him to follow them. Like the heroes in my favorite Daddy Dom romance novels. I love to lust after them, knowing they’d meet their match with me.

Because, I’ve never been good with rules.

I shake myself, tearing my gaze away before Sean catches me staring at him.

Focus, Jess. You’re here to train his dog, not drool over your client.

I clear my throat. "Tell me about Lucky's routine."

Sean moves to the sleek kitchen, setting the abused pillow on the counter like he's contemplating throwing it away. "I take him out at six a.m. sharp. He eats at seven. We do some training exercises after, but he loses focus fast. I work from home mostly, so he stays in my office while I'm in meetings."

I arch a brow. "And how does that usually go?"

He lets out a slow breath. "Not well."

I stifle a smile. "And what do you do when he acts up?"

"Tell him no." His tone is exasperated, like it should be obvious.

I nod, schooling my expression. "And does he listen?"

Sean's silence is answer enough.

I press my lips together to keep from laughing outright. Oh, this is going to be fun.

I glance toward Lucky, who's now sprawled out happily on the floor, chewing the corner of a rug. "You're letting him rule the house."

Sean drags a hand through his thick, dark hair. "Yeah, thanks for pointing that out."

I grin. "That's what I'm here for."

My eyes drift to the silver-framed photo of him and his sister that I'd noticed earlier. They're at what looks like a baseball game, arms slung around each other's shoulders, both laughing. The contrast between that smiling man and the tightly wound one before me now makes my heart ache a little.

"She would have enjoyed this," Sean says quietly, following my gaze. "Diane would have laughed her ass off watching me struggle with him."

I offer a gentle smile. "Sounds like she had a good sense of humor."

"The best." His voice softens. "She was my little sister, but always taking care of me. Making sure I didn't take life too seriously." He straightens a stack of papers on the counter. "She'd love you and your pink hair. She was always telling me I needed more color in my life."

The moment feels suddenly vulnerable, intimate in a way I wasn't expecting. I stand, clap my hands twice, getting Lucky's attention. "Alright, big guy. Let's get to work."

I spend the next half-hour walking Sean through basic training exercises and teaching him how to use the clicker and positive reinforcement. Lucky is smart, eager to please, and despite his chaos, responds quickly when given the right kind of direction.

Sean, however? He's a different story.

"You're too stiff," I tell him after Lucky blatantly ignores one of his commands. "He can feel your frustration."

Sean sighs through his nose. "I'm not frustrated."

"Oh, please. You're about two seconds away from popping a blood vessel."

His glare could melt steel. Is that the look? The one the heroes in the Daddy books give their women before threatening to spank them? I’m pretty sure it is. "Are you always this difficult?"

"Yep," I chirp, tossing Lucky a treat.

Sean mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like another curse. Lucky barks, tail wagging, as if agreeing.

I cross my arms. "You have control issues, don't you?"

Sean straightens, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

I try to backpedal slightly. "Sorry, not the best wording. What I mean is, you like order. Structure. Everything in its place." I gesture around his house. "And Lucky? He's a walking, barking, drooling disaster. It’s essentially like a friend’s toddler coming over and you haven’t had the opportunity to childproof your house ahead of time."

Sean's jaw flexes. "You're not wrong."

I smile, knowing I've won this round. "You’ll have to meet him in the middle. Work with him, not against him. He needs to be exercised and challenged, if he’s bored, he will be destructive. Some of the puppy energy will die down with age. But, you need to recognize that the two of you are in a pack and you have to be the leader of the pack. He can sense your frustration and energy. Be clear, firm and consistent."

Sean exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders like he's releasing some of the tension he's been holding. "Alright. Let's try this again."

I watch as he kneels, softens his tone, and gives Lucky the command one more time. And this time? Lucky listens, sitting obediently at Sean's feet, looking up with adoring brown eyes.

The pride that flickers across Sean's face is unmistakable.

"Well, look at that," I say, nudging him playfully. "You can learn."

Sean cuts me a sharp look, but there's something else in his eyes now. Something warm, amused, interested.

And I should absolutely, definitely not be enjoying it as much as I am.

I think about the texts waiting for me from the Naughty Girls Book Club. If they could see Sean right now, they'd be flooding the chat with fire emojis and demands for details. How am I supposed to tell them that my newest client is basically the walking embodiment of every Daddy Dom fantasy I've ever had?

Simple. I'm not.

This is strictly professional. I'm here to train Lucky, not indulge in inappropriate fantasies about his ridiculously attractive owner.

But as I stand there, watching this sexy, tightly wound man start to let go, just a little? Watch him pat Lucky’s head and call him a good boy?

I can't help but wonder what would happen if I pushed him even further.