Chapter 5
5
Ainsley
T hat asshole! Who does he think he is?
I fume while leading Button on her leash. To be honest, at the moment I’m not even sure if the “asshole” I’m thinking of refers to my brother, Patrick, or the infuriating bodyguard from last night. What was his name again? That’s right, Karl.
Still, my insides go shivery and hot thinking about the alpha male because he’s gorgeous . He’s insanely tall, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Shoulders as wide as a tank, and he looked amazing in a dark suit too. I saw how the fit of his jacket hugged his broad torso, and how the white color of his button down emphasized his deep tan. I loved how my hand disappeared in his giant one, safe in his grasp.
But still, Karl is an asshole, sexy European accent or not. He’s a possessive, manipulative, grade A douche who thinks he can tell me what to do! Hell no. No one tells me what to do, and especially not him .
I give a curt shake of my head, still fuming. After our little tete-a-tete last night, I stormed off and sulked in my room. I spent hours pacing my bedroom, dreaming up witty retorts and saucy quips before reminding myself that I have no plans to speak with Karl Andersen again. Ever . So all this energy was being wasted, and I threw myself into bed, forcing myself to lie still and close my eyes.
But this morning, I woke up, still furious with my mind racing. What the hell? That guy doesn’t control me! Fortunately, Karl doesn’t have my contact info, and I didn’t brief him on my whereabouts either. Sure, he was able to find me at the La Bianca fashion show, but the fashion show was publicized for weeks leading up to the big day, so it couldn’t have been hard to figure out my location. But what I do in my own time is private, and I make a mental note to evade that controlling asshole.
That’s why I’m at Justin’s mansion now. My boyfriend lives on a giant estate on the outskirts of Vegas. It’s a three-story house befitting a rap mogul, and he pays a fortune for security. He also pays a fortune to keep the lawns a lush emerald green because this is the desert, and it takes gallons of water to bring vegetation to life. But Justin has money to spend and a verdant green lawn is what he wants, even if he’s been picketed once or twice for it.
“The protestors don’t bother me,” he said in a lofty tone as people literally marched by his front gate, signs over their shoulders.
“Really?” I asked, eyebrows rising. “The clanging bells and chants don’t bother you?”
Justin shrugged.
“I don’t talk to poor people,” he said in a flat tone. “But I’ll get my security to drive them off. Maybe I’ll even call law enforcement. A night in jail would do some of those fuckers good,” he said with satisfaction.
I was taken aback because sometimes, my boyfriend is a total asshole. I’m not an ardent environmentalist, but I can see why people would be opposed to a verdant green lawn in the middle of a desert! Still, my opinion fell on deaf ears, and soon enough, the picket line was disbanded and peace descended once again.
But Justin is irrepressible. Not only does he spend a fortune on water, but he’s also landscaped his property to within an inch of its life by putting in a swimming pool, erecting a private dog park, and constructing an artificial pond at the far end of his estate. Yes, all this in the middle of the desert, and again, it cost a fortune. Most people would be horrified by the fantasyland he’s created, but Justin simply doesn’t care. He’s a billionaire mogul who can buy anything and everything he wants, no matter the cost to our environment. Frankly, I don’t know what’s worse – the yes men who kowtow to his every whim, or my own cowardice for not taking a stand.
But my boyfriend also loves dogs, which makes me feel a tiny bit better because dogs need space to roam outdoors. Plus, Justin has twelve canines under his care, so he’s practically running a kennel at this point. It’s also how he justifies the size of his massive estate.
“Dogs can develop personality problems if they don’t get out enough,” he explained in a serious tone while we were in the initial stages of dating. “They need to be walked, talked to, and entertained, just like a human child. They need space to run, and to express themselves through movement. You like dogs, don’t you, Ainsley?”
I nodded.
“Yes, of course. We had the cutest terrier when I was growing up—”
“Perfect,” Justin said, cutting me off. “Maybe you’d like to walk my dogs every now and then. They adore beautiful women,” he winked. “They’ll love you, Ainsley.”
Thus, I became a member of Justin’s rotating cast of daily dog-walkers. Of course, he uses professionals, but he says that the dogs have a special bond with me, and prefer my “light touch” to the other handlers’ jerky and abrupt movements. That’s going a little far because I’ve observed many of our dog-walkers at work, and they’re neither jerky nor abrupt. If anything, Janice, Brenda, and Tom are gentle souls whose ability to manage a dozen playful canines at once is awe-inspiring.
But I do enjoy walking Justin’s dogs, and I enjoy strolling the property too. It’s expansive and green, and the opportunity to commune with the lushness of nature is relatively rare in Nevada. As a result, I sometimes take the canines out early in the morning, before the desert sun gets too hot. Button is my favorite of the bunch. She’s a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel with a silky white and brown coat, and large, emotive eyes. She can be jumpy at times, and responds well to quality one-on-one time with her handler, which in this case is me. So I took an Uber bright and early to the estate before letting myself in quietly without waking anyone. Now, Button and I are enjoying our time together.
“What a gorgeous day,” I murmur to the spaniel, savoring the rays of pink and yellow peeping over the horizon. “It’s nice to be alone, just the two of us, don’t you think? It’s me and you, Butts. Do you mind if I call you that?”
Button turns her head and snuffles at me. I know what she wants, and unsnap her leash so that she can explore with freedom. Immediately, the dog darts off to investigate something in the bushes, and I smile.
“Feels good to be off-leash, doesn’t it?” I ask. “If only my brother hadn’t put a human leash on me.”
Of course, Button doesn’t reply. But then the aggrieved squawk of a bird makes me jolt, and then there’s a loud rustling from the bushes. A bird bursts free from the leaves, soaring into the sky as Button follows, barking desperately.
“Ruff ruff!” she snaps. “Ruff!”
“Button, stop!” I scold. “It’s early and you’re going to wake people up! Besides, the bird is long gone.”
But the spaniel continues to follow her imaginary bird, her head lifted towards the sky as she darts along the landscaped lawn.
“Button,” I yell, my eyes widening. “Watch out!”
Her short legs continue to churn as she races at light speed, her eyes still fixed on the sky. Then, the poor cocker spaniel plunges headfirst into the artificial pond with a loud splash. Yes, most dogs have spatial awareness and know where they are in relation to obvious geographic markers. Most dogs can also swim, but it’s clear that Button can’t. She barks once before her head goes underwater, her paws thrashing furiously.
“Button! Button!” I scream while running to the pond. “Oh my god, Button!”
I don’t hesitate. I run to the lake and jump in fully-clothed, intent on saving the dog.
“Button!” I scream. “Oh my god, Button!”
The water is icy and freezing. Fortunately, the lake isn’t too deep and I’m able to stand, although I’m already on my tippy-toes as I reach for the flailing cocker spaniel. I grab onto her wet fur with both hands and literally drag her into my arms, hauling twenty pounds of soaked dog.
“Oh my god, Button!” I scold while trying to catch my breath. The water feels sub-zero, and I’m drenched from head to toe, teeth already chattering. “What were you thinking?”
But my words are cut off because just as I’m about to step out of the pond, a giant hand grabs me by the scruff of the neck. Literally, it attaches to the back of my shirt and hauls me from the cold, dark water, only to be faced with two tons of angry man.
Him again .
“Hi Karl,” I greet through chattering teeth while simultaneously shooting him a dirty look. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” he rages. “What the fuck are you doing, taking a cold plunge this time of day?”
I stare at him.
“I was saving a drowning dog, in case you couldn’t tell.”
I bend to let Button down, and she leaps out of my arms, barking cheerfully like her life wasn’t just in danger.
“You were saving a dog ?” Karl curses. “Jesus Christ! What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” I say in a prim voice while crossing my arms over my chest. I feel like I’m frozen solid at the moment, and the rivulets of icy water running down my curves don’t help. My oversize white t-shirt is stuck to my big breasts, and my pink sweatpants are clinging to my thighs like saran wrap. “Button is a show dog,” I say in a haughty tone. “Her real name isn’t even Button. Her competition name is Champion Castlemark’s Perl Du Sahel, which for your information, means Pearl of the Sahel Desert. The Sahel is a region in Africa,” I snark.
Karl is so angry now that he looks ready to erupt. His face is red, his eyes bulge from their sockets, and his shoulders seem to have gotten wider and broader as he bristles. Is that even possible? Then, without further ado, the big man grabs me and tosses me head over heels onto his shoulder like a sack of flour.
“Hey, wait a minute!” I cry, beating at his broad back with my fists. But he doesn’t even seem to feel it. Instead, the alpha male strides along the property, his long legs eating up the distance. “Where are you taking me? I can’t leave Button, she’s off leash!”
“I don’t give a fuck about your dog, and I definitely don’t give a fuck about what you want,” he growls, heading for a nondescript black car. “Get in!”
He opens the door and literally tosses me into the passenger seat before reaching around and strapping the seatbelt viciously around my curves. I swear, if Karl could bind me with a rope, I think he’d do it. But the seatbelt is all there is, and his big hands work quickly. Within seconds, I’ve been restrained, and he’s in the driver’s seat as we take off with a rush.
“Oh my god!” I shriek. “You’re kidnapping me! I’m going to tell—”
“Tell who?” he barks, his hands gripping the wheel as he stares straight ahead. “Your brother? The police? Who?” he demands roughly.
My mouth snaps shut because there’s no one to call. Instead, my over-protective bodyguard has me where he wants, and against all odds, a thrill of excitement runs down my spine ... because I can’t wait to see what he does with my wet curves next.