5. Emily
CHAPTER 5
EMILY
W ell, I got it. My miracle. A blessing falling out of the sky. That is, if I don’t screw up this first meeting.
And what a first meeting it is. This is Isaac Lennox on the other end of this drive — billionaire heir to Lennox Realty and notoriously attractive by any standard. My hands suddenly feel slippery on the steering wheel, and I swallow the fluttering nerves that seem to fill the car like uninvited butterflies.
I realized who he was the second he told me his name on the phone. The knowledge left a strange impression within me, part excitement for my fledgling business and part trepidation because, well, he’s hot and stupidly rich. And not just any kind of hot, but the kind that makes any person with a pulse stop and turn their head.
The park looms into view, a happy place where I often bring the shelter dogs to do some work. I park and spot him immediately: Isaac Lennox standing in a pool of sunlight that seems to adore him just as much as the cameras do. His hair glints with hints of gold, and his posture is relaxed, yet there’s an undeniable authority in the way he occupies space.
Next to him, Baxter, a golden retriever, tugs on his leash. My pulse stutters, skips a beat, then resumes at double pace. I can’t afford to stumble today, not when each new connection means the difference between helping the dogs I love and having to stand by helpless.
I step out of the car, smoothing down my shirt as if to iron out my own insecurities. Drawing a deep breath, I try to anchor myself in the present moment, banishing thoughts of past failures and future worries. Business . This is business, Emily. And you’ve got this.
“Isaac?” I call out tentatively as I approach.
He turns, and for a moment, it’s as if everything else fades into soft focus. The park, the sounds of distant laughter, even Baxter — all inconsequential. Up close, Isaac’s eyes are a startling shade of blue, like the ocean on a clear day, and they fix on me with an intensity that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. The corners of his mouth lift in a brief, polite smile that doesn’t quite reach those striking eyes.
“Emily,” he acknowledges, his voice more resonant in person.
“Nice to meet you,” I manage, though it sounds more like a question than a statement.
And just like that, the spell is broken. Baxter whines, tugging at the leash, and Isaac’s attention shifts back to him, his lips turning into a frown.
“Thanks for coming,” Isaac says. “Baxter… uh, he’s a lot. A lot to handle.”
“He looks friendly, though.”
Baxter seems to know I’m talking about him, because he starts barking and pulls even harder. The sudden burst of energy catches both me and Isaac off guard. The leash slips from Isaac’s grasp, and the golden retriever bolts across the grass with a joyful abandon that only a dog at a park on a sunny day can possess.
“Baxter!” Isaac shouts in fury. The dog just keeps running.
Isaac drops his arms, red blooming across his face. “I’m sorry.”
Instead of answering, I take off after the dog, my feet pounding against the earth, heartbeat syncing with each stride. It’s not the first time I’ve chased after a runaway pup, but it never fails to spike my adrenaline.
“Come on, Baxter! Good boy!” My voice is bright, encouraging, designed to capture his attention without scolding.
He slows, then turns toward me with a look that says this is all just a grand game. Tail wagging, he trots back in my direction, allowing me to scoop up the leash once more. “Gotcha.”
I call his name again and pull a tug toy out of my bag. It catches his attention right away, and he grabs hold of one end while I shake the other.
“Sorry about that,” Isaac says as he walks up to us. “As I said, he’s a lot.”
“It’s okay.” I smile. “It’s not abnormal at all. Has he had any training before?”
“Uh, I don’t think so. He was… I didn’t expect to adopt him. He belonged to my dad. Baxter just came to live with me yesterday.”
Belonged? Where is Isaac’s dad now? There’s a hint of something else in his voice now, a depth that wasn’t there a moment ago.
“That’s a big change,” I say, handing Baxter’s leash back to him. “Stressful. Dogs need time to adjust, just like we do.”
Isaac studies me for a moment, then nods. “You have a real knack for this,” he says, and there’s a glint of respect in his eyes that wasn’t present when I arrived. “Would you consider taking the job right away? I can pay extra to cover it being last-minute. And I know you’re probably booked for the week, but if you could fit me in, I would really appreciate it.”
The offer hangs in the air, heavy with opportunity. It’s nice of him to assume that I’m booked with clients, when really it’s anything but the case. And the promise of extra money is so tempting. I need it, and the shelter dogs need it.
And yet… I hesitate. Not because I doubt my ability, but because I’m unsure of him. Something tells me the dog will be the easy challenge, but the man… the man is infinitely more complicated, probably in need of more teaching than Baxter when it comes to coexisting with another species. The way he reacted when Baxter ran off, you’d think he had been personally victimized.
Yet, the promise of financial stability tugs at me more strongly than any misgiving. This could be the break I’ve been hoping for, the chance to grow my business and, in turn, help more animals in need.
“I’d love to,” I tell him. “Count me in.”
“Great,” he says, a genuine smile appearing for the first time. “Baxter seems to like you already.”
Isaac checks his watch, the lines on his forehead deepening with urgency. “I’m sorry this was short, but I need to get back to the office. Can we schedule our first session? Tomorrow morning work for you? And where is best?”
“Your home would be great… It helps to see how the dogs respond to their living situation,” I quickly add, before he thinks that I want to come over to his house for some other reason.
Which, I then realize, is silly. My crushing on this man doesn’t mean he would even give me so much as a second glance.
“I’ll text you the address. Eight a.m.?”
“Sure,” I respond, tucking a stray hair behind my ear as I try to ignore the quickening of my pulse. “Bright and early, then?”
“Perfect.” He seems to want to say something else, but the pause is quickly replaced by another smile. “Baxter will be waiting.”
I watch Isaac walk away, his silhouette shrinking in the distance, Baxter trotting beside him until they turn a corner and disappear from view, and then I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and make my way to the car.
Slipping behind the wheel, I pause, my hand hovering over the ignition. A sudden urge to understand this man who has come into my life so unexpectedly prompts me to pull out my phone instead. With a few taps, Isaac Lennox’s world unfolds before me. The articles paint a picture of a man both revered and scrutinized, a son of a tycoon who commands with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue.
And then, I see it — a headline that stops my heart for a moment:
Real Estate Mogul Robert Lennox Passes Away Unexpectedly.
The date stamps the news at less than two weeks ago. The article says little about the cause, but the impact is clear — Isaac has recently lost his father, the anchor of Lennox Realty, the empire now resting on his lone shoulders.
A pang of sorrow grips me, mingling with a familiar ache. It’s an echo of the void that’s been part of my own life for years, ever since I stepped away from my parents’ volatile shadows. Even though not talking to my parents on the regular is a choice, not having a loving presence in my life feels like a curse.
I wonder about the last time Isaac saw his father. Did they part on good terms, or was their last conversation a disagreement about something trivial? Did they even say goodbye to each other?
Sympathy warms the edges of my initial impression of Isaac. Maybe his brusqueness wasn’t entitlement, but a shield against a loss too fresh to touch.
Either way, he’s not my assignment. Baxter is.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. I already know, though, that it’s not enough to teach a dog. You have to teach the human too. And I suspect that Isaac Lennox could be carrying even more baggage than Baxter and Finn combined, and sooner or later, in one way or another, it will become my problem.