Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
" A bsolutely not."
I stare at Sean, who's standing in his living room with his arms crossed over his broad chest. We're twenty minutes into our next training session, and we've hit our first real impasse.
"It's just a treat puzzle toy," I explain for the second time, holding up the colorful contraption. "All the best trainers use them. It stimulates Lucky's mind and teaches him problem-solving skills."
Sean eyes the toy like it might be harboring a bomb. "It's bright orange, has moving parts, and will make a mess on my floor."
"That's kind of the point," I say, trying not to roll my eyes. "He has to work to get the treats out. It keeps him occupied when you're busy."
"I don't want him 'occupied' with making a mess. I want him to learn to behave."
I take a slow, deep breath. This is our third session, and until now, things have been fine. I felt I’d overstepped at the previous session, so the following session had been strictly professional. Things had gone smoothly. Too smoothly, maybe. I’d felt tension between Sean and me, but I kept everything between us the way it should be, even if my fantasies said otherwise. Today, the tension between us is so thick, I feel like you could cut it with a knife.
Lucky's been making incredible progress with his basic commands, and Sean's been following my training plan to the letter. But now we've hit the Sean Ferguson Wall of Control, and it's as immovable as I feared it to be. Some days, I don’t even like this man. Other days, I think about him all day long.
"Part of behavior training is mental stimulation," I explain, using my patient, professional voice. "Dogs get destructive when they're bored. Give Lucky appropriate outlets for his energy and curiosity, and he'll be less likely to chew your expensive Italian loafers. He’s less likely to make a mess with this toy than when he’s bored, waiting for you to finish working."
Sean's eyebrow twitches. I hit a nerve, I'd noticed the mangled remains of what were once very nice shoes tucked away in the trash during our last session. The one where we were super polite to each other. During the last one, he told me more stories of his childhood, how he got into this career field and I’d opened up, too. In fact, I’d stayed almost an hour longer than my session, sitting and talking with him. Nothing about this situation was normal for me. Nothing.
"There has to be another option." At this point, I feel like he’s being difficult just to be difficult. Surely, he wasn’t this irritated over a toy.
I sigh. "Look, I get it. You like things neat and orderly. But dogs, especially puppies, are messy. You can't expect Lucky to just lie quietly in the corner like a furry paperweight. I mean, there are breeds that are more tame and couch potatoes. Golden Retrievers are not." I remind myself that Sean hadn’t chosen Lucky or the breed.
"I don't expect him to lie in a corner quietly," he says defensively. "I just prefer methods that don't involve scattering treats all over my floors."
Lucky, sensing the tension, sits between us with his head cocked to one side, looking from me to Sean and back again with those soulful brown eyes.
"Fine," I concede, tucking the toy back into my bag. "We'll try something else. But you need to trust me on some of this, Sean. I am the expert you're paying, after all."
His jaw tightens at the subtle challenge in my tone. "I trust expertise when it makes sense. When it doesn't, I question it."
"You question everything," I mutter.
"I heard that."
"You were meant to." I’m not sure what has gotten into me. I’m not the type to talk back to a client or argue with them. I half expect him to fire me. We glare at each other for a moment, the air between us charged with something that's definitely not just professional disagreement. Ever since our moment at the end of the session before this one, that delicious moment when he called me out on testing his boundaries, there's been a shift between us. A current of awareness that makes every interaction feel like we're playing with fire. This is ridiculous. There’s nothing about this man that makes him a good fit for me. I like impulsive, free spirited and light hearted men. Do I dream of an alpha male who is all man? Sure. But, I want an easy going one. A cinnamon roll Daddy. Not, a stick up his behind, Daddy. Not Sean. He’s too serious. Too old. Too bossy. Too hot.
Fuck.
"Let's move on," I say finally, breaking the stalemate. "I want to see how he's doing with the 'stay' command when there are distractions."
We spend the next forty-five minutes having Lucky practice staying in place while I bounce a ball, squeak a toy, and even hide behind furniture. He does remarkably well, another testament to Sean's dedication to their daily practice sessions.I have to give him that. He has done every assignment I’ve asked. Lucky is coming along well.
"He's really getting it," I say, genuinely impressed. "Most dogs his age would be breaking the stay constantly, but he's holding it for almost a full minute now."
Sean's expression softens with pride. "He's smart. Just needs the right direction."
"Don't we all," I say lightly, and our eyes meet for a beat too long.
I clear my throat and look away first, busying myself with my training notes. Sean Ferguson may be pushing all my buttons in the best possible ways, but he's still a client. Professional boundaries exist for a reason.
Even if I can't stop thinking about crossing them.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket, undoubtedly one of the girls from the book club. They've been relentless with their texts since I told them about the training session when things got tense. I'd been very well behaved during the last session and they were not happy with my actions. I adored these girls but they were definitely not good influences. I ignore my phone, but not thirty seconds later, it buzzes again.
And again.
I normally put the phone on do not disturb during training sessions. I can’t believe I forgot to do it today. Was it intentional? No. I am trying to be good. Today was a scheduled group chat, but we’d had to reschedule our training session due to another hiccup in Sean’s schedule. Once I’m done working through this command with Lucky, I’ll turn the phone to silence.
Sean notices.
Of course he does.
His eyes narrow slightly as I shift, trying to silence the phone without being obvious about it.
"Do you need to get that?" he asks, his tone deceptively casual.
"No, it's fine. Just group text stuff from a few of my friends. It can wait."
Another buzz. I wince.
"It seems urgent," he says, that edge creeping into his voice; the one that makes my skin tingle.
"It's really not." I pull out my phone to silence it completely and can't help glancing at the screen.
Maya: OMG tell us what Daddy Dom Dog Owner did today!!! Did he lay down the law yet? And I don’t mean with the dog.
Christine: If he hasn't, what are you wearing? Your red top always gets attention…
Jackie: What are you waiting for? He’s perfect for you!
Maya: Is he training you or are you training him?
Mortification floods me as I frantically lock the screen, praying Sean didn't see any of it. But when I look up, he's right there, standing much closer than he was a moment ago.
"Your friends seem very invested in our training sessions," he says, his voice dangerously soft.
My heart hammers against my ribs. "What? No, they're just... it's not..."
"You're blushing, Jessica." The way he says my full name makes my stomach flip. "What exactly are you telling them about me?"
"Nothing! I mean, just that you're a client, and Lucky's doing well, and…"
"And what else?" His eyes are locked on mine, intense and unrelenting.
I swallow hard. "Nothing inappropriate, if that's what you're worried about. They don’t know any identifying information about you or anything."
"Nothing inappropriate?" His gaze drops to the phone in my hand. "Because it seems very inappropriate and unprofessional."
"That's not true," I protest, heat rising to my cheeks. "I'm completely professional during our sessions."
His laugh is short and without humor. "Professional? Is that what you call showing up late, constantly checking your phone, and deliberately pushing every button I have?"
Busted.
Completely and utterly busted.
I lift my chin defiantly. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I think you do." He takes a step closer, and suddenly the air between us feels too thick to breathe. "I think you've been testing me from the moment we met, trying to see how far you can push before I snap."
My mouth goes dry. "And why would I do that?"
"That," he says softly, "is what I'm trying to figure out. And why I haven’t fired you. You can’t tell me you don’t feel this."
My phone buzzes again in my hand, breaking the tension. I glance down reflexively.
Maya: Did he take your phone away yet? That would be SO hot
Jackie: Maybe you’ll earn yourself a spanking…
Sean's eyes flick to the screen, and I know he's seen it. I quickly lock the screen and groan. His expression shifts, something flashing across his face too quickly for me to interpret.
"Give me the phone, Jessica."
My heart nearly stops. "What?"
"You heard me." He holds out his hand, palm up. "The phone. Now."
I clutch it tighter, heat flooding my body. "You can't be serious."
"Do I look like I'm joking?" His expression is deadly serious, his outstretched hand unwavering.
"You're not taking my phone," I say, trying to sound firm despite the tremor in my voice. "You're my client, not my keeper."
"No? Then maybe we need to reconsider our professional relationship." His voice is cool, controlled, but there's an undercurrent of something else—something that makes my pulse race. "Because from where I'm standing, you've been anything but professional."
"That's not fair," I protest, even though it kind of is.
"Isn't it? You are obviously talking about me to your friends. You deliberately provoke me. You want me to make a move? I’m making it."
I feel my face flush hot with embarrassment, and something else, something that feels dangerously like arousal. "I'm a good trainer. Lucky's making progress."
"Lucky is. You and I still have some work to do." His hand remains extended. "The phone, Jessica. Last chance. Give me the phone or I’ll find another trainer."
I don't know what possesses me to say it.
Maybe it's the way he's looking at me, all commanding authority and barely contained frustration. Maybe it's the fact that I've been fantasizing about exactly this kind of confrontation ever since I met him. Whatever the reason, the words slip out before I can stop them:
"Oh yeah, Daddy? Why don’t you take it?"
The moment the words leave my mouth, the world seems to freeze. Sean goes absolutely still, his eyes darkening to a shade of blue that's almost black. I see the exact moment the words register, the exact second something shifts in his expression.
For one terrifying, exhilarating moment, I think he might actually do it, he might actually take my phone, might actually show me what happens to naughty girls who don't listen.
Instead, he drops his hand slowly, his expression closing off.
"I think we're done for today," he says, his voice so controlled it's almost robotic. "Same time next week?"
The dismissal stings more than I expected. I nod mutely, gathering my things in a hurry, embarrassment and disappointment warring for dominance.
"Next week we'll start working on leash training at the park," I say, trying to sound normal. "If that works for you."
"Fine." His response is clipped, distant.
I give Lucky a final pat and head for the door, acutely aware of Sean watching me go. It's only when I reach for the handle that he speaks again.
"Jessica?"
I turn, hope fluttering stupidly in my chest. "Yes?"
"Next week, leave the phone in your car." His eyes meet mine, and there's something in them that makes my breath catch. "Or I really will take it from you. And you won't like what happens next."
The threat—or is it a promise?—hangs in the air between us.
I should say something professional. Something about respecting boundaries, or clarifying expectations. Instead, I hear myself say, voice barely above a whisper, "Maybe I would."
Like a coward, I slip out the door before he can respond, my heart pounding so loudly I'm sure he can hear it even as I flee to my car.
What the hell am I doing?
Sean Ferguson is a client. A client who already thinks I'm unprofessional, who just threatened to end our business relationship, who clearly has no interest in whatever game I've been playing.
Except... that look in his eyes. The way his voice dropped when he issued that final warning. It wasn't just an annoyance. It was... something else. Something that matched the heat pooling low in my belly.
I start my car with shaking hands, resisting the urge to bang my head against the steering wheel.
Next week, I tell myself firmly, I'm going to be completely professional. No phone. No testing boundaries. No calling him "Daddy" for heaven's sake. Just a normal, professional dog training session.
But as I drive away, I can't help wondering what would have happened if I'd pushed just a little bit harder.
And I can't deny that I'm tempted to find out.