Chapter 2Phoebe
2
Phoebe
T he next day, I rush through my morning shift at Cafecito Dreams, barely avoiding Juanita’s wrath as I juggle orders and bounce between tables. By the time my shift ends, I’m exhausted but keep moving.
I hurry home, changing into a fresh T-shirt and jeans. I gather my dog-walking supplies, catching sight of myself in the mirror. My auburn hair is frizzing in the Miami humidity, and there are dark circles under my green eyes. “You can do this,” I tell my reflection, tucking a wayward strand behind my ear. “All the sleep you want after walking the new pupper.”
About twenty minutes later, the Uber drops me off in front of a gleaming high-rise in Brickell. I crane my neck, trying to see the top of the building. My palms are sweaty when I approach the doorman. This isn’t my usual neighborhood or clientele, for sure. “I’m here to see Mr. Sokolov,” I say, hoping my voice sounds more confident than I feel. “I’m the dog walker.”
The doorman nods, speaking quietly into his earpiece. Moments later, a stern-faced man in a suit appears.
“Miss MacKenzie? Follow me.”
We ride the elevator in silence, my stomach dropping when we ascend to dizzying heights. When the doors open, I step into a marble-floored foyer that probably costs more than I’ll make in a lifetime.
“Wait here,” says the security guard, disappearing through an ornate door.
I fidget with the strap of my bag, feeling incredibly out of place. The door opens again, and my breath catches.
Mikhail Sokolov is even more striking in person. He fills the doorway, his tailored suit accentuating his broad shoulders. He stares at me intently, like he’s sizing me up and learning all my secrets. For a moment, I forget how to speak.
“Miss MacKenzie,” he says in a deep baritone with a hint of a Russian accent. “Thank you for coming. Please, come in.”
I follow him into the stunning penthouse apartment, glancing around to take in the luxurious furnishings and breathtaking views of Biscayne Bay. “Your home is beautiful,” I say, wincing at how small my voice sounds.
His lips quirk in a small smile. “Thank you. Let me introduce you to Masha.”
He whistles softly, and I hear the click of nails on hardwood. A brindle pitbull appears, her tail wagging hesitantly. My heart melts at the sight of her, especially when I notice the scars crisscrossing her body.
“Oh, sweet girl,” I say gently, crouching down and holding out my hand. “What happened to you?”
Mikhail’s expression darkens. “She was rescued from a dog fighting ring. It’s taken time, but she’s learning to trust again.”
Masha approaches cautiously, sniffing my outstretched hand. After a moment, she bumps her head against my palm. I gently scratch behind her ears, and her whole body wiggles with joy. “She’s the definition of a couch hippo,” I say with a laugh when she licks my cheek.
“She likes you,” he says, something like approval in his voice.
I look up at him, still petting Masha. “I’m so glad you rescued her. Dog fighting is horrific.”
A shadow passes over Mikhail’s face. “Yes, it is. The men responsible have been... dealt with.”
There’s an edge to his voice that feels a bit ominous. I focus on Masha, not wanting to dwell on what “dealt with” might mean. I can’t find sympathy for people who exploit innocent creatures for such brutal entertainment and money.
“So, what’s your usual routine with her?” I ask, standing up.
Mikhail crouches down, running his hand over Masha’s brindle coat. The tough exterior he’s maintained throughout our meeting melts away as he speaks to her in soft Russian. Masha’s tail wags furiously, her whole body wiggling with excitement.
“Be good for Miss MacKenzie,” he says, switching back to English. He looks up at me. “A walk around the block, then to the dog park on Eighth Street. No more than an hour of play because she tires easily.”
I nod, trying to focus on his instructions rather than how his accent makes my name sound exotic. “Got it. Block, then park, home in two hours max.”
Mikhail stands, smoothing down his impeccable suit. Even that simple motion exudes power and grace. “Excellent. I’ll see you both at three.”
We head for the door, Masha trotting happily at my side. I steal one last glance at Mikhail. The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminates his strong profile, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw. My cheeks warm as I realize I’m staring. “Um, see you later, Mr. Sokolov,” I manage to say, cursing my suddenly dry mouth.
He gives me a small nod and a ghost of a smile. “Until then, Miss MacKenzie.”
The elevator ride down is a blur. My mind keeps replaying every moment of our interaction, analyzing Mikhail’s words and expressions. I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Don’t lose your mind, Phoebe,” I mutter to myself. “He’s just another client.”
As Masha and I step out into the Miami sunshine, I can’t ignore the flutter of excitement in my stomach. I hope this will become a regular gig, and not just for the generous pay rate.
We set off down the sidewalk, Masha’s nails clicking against the pavement. The streets of Brickell buzz with energy. Sleek cars zip by, and well-dressed professionals hurry along with phones pressed to their ears. It’s a far cry from the cozy Scottish village I dream of, but there’s an undeniable allure to this world of luxury and power.
Walking, I notice people give us a wide berth. A few even cross the street to avoid us. I frown, looking down at Masha. Her scarred body and muscular build must be intimidating to those who don’t know her sweet nature. “Don’t worry, girl,” I say, reaching down to scratch behind her floppy ear that must have been broken and never healed properly, because it doesn’t perk like the other one. “I know you’re a softie underneath all that tough exterior.”
We turn the corner, and I spot our destination. It’s a small, fenced-in dog park nestled between two towering skyscrapers. A handful of other dogs are already there, most of them pristine purebreds that probably cost more than my yearly salary at the café.
I open the gate, unclipping Masha’s leash. “Go on and have some fun.”
She hesitates for a moment, looking up at me with those soulful eyes. I give her an encouraging nod, and she trots off to investigate a nearby bush.
I settle onto a bench, keeping a watchful eye on Masha. The other dog owners give me curious looks, no doubt wondering what someone like me is doing in their exclusive neighborhood.
A woman with perfectly coiffed blonde hair approaches, her tiny Pomeranian yapping at her heels. “I haven’t seen you here before,” she says, her tone more accusatory than friendly.
“Oh, I’m just dog-sitting,” I say, gesturing to Masha.
“For whom?” she snaps.
I wrinkle my nose a bit. “Mr. Sokolov.”
The woman’s eyes widen. “Mikhail Sokolov? The Russian businessman?”
I nod, surprised by her reaction. “Do you know him?”
She lets out a breathy laugh. “Everyone knows of him. He’s quite the mysterious figure in our little community. Moved here a few months ago and caused quite a stir.”
I shift slightly, curious. “What kind of stir?”
The woman glances around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before continuing in a hushed tone. “There are all sorts of rumors. Some say he’s old money from Russia, others think he’s involved in less... savory business dealings, but one thing’s for certain, he’s not someone you want to cross.”
That’s a little worrisome. I open my mouth to ask more, but a commotion from the other side of the park interrupts us. Masha is surrounded by a group of smaller dogs, their hackles raised. A chorus of growls fills the air. My pulse is erratic when I jump up, rushing toward them. “Masha,” I call out, fear making my voice crack. “Come here, girl.”
To my surprise, Masha doesn’t cower or run. Instead, she stands her ground, meeting the other dogs’ aggressive posturing with calm assurance. One by one, the other dogs back down, tails tucked between their legs.
I reach Masha’s side, my hand shaking slightly as I clip on her leash. “Good girl,” I whisper, impressed by her composure. We leave the park quickly after that, and I can’t resist drawing parallels between Masha and her owner. Both carry themselves with an air of quiet strength, commanding respect without seeking it out.
We make our way back to Mikhail’s building, my mind racing with questions that probably won’t be answered. Who is this man, really? What kind of business is he involved in? And why am I so intrigued by him?
The doorman nods to us when we enter the lobby. This time, I don’t need an escort. Masha knows exactly where she’s going, leading me straight to the private elevator.
We ascend to the penthouse while I smooth down my hair and straighten my shirt. It’s silly, but I want to look my best when I see Mikhail again. I get goosebumps just thinking about his eyes on me.
The elevator doors slide open, revealing him standing in the foyer. He’s shed his suit jacket, and the crisp white shirt underneath emphasizes his broad shoulders. My mouth goes dry at the sight, and there’s an electrifying crackle of anxiety through my body.
Or is it excitement? They’re awfully similar.
“Welcome back,” he says, his deep voice making my thighs clench. “How did it go?”
I clear my throat, willing my voice to sound normal. “Great. Masha was a perfect lady. There was a bit of excitement at the dog park, but she handled it like a pro.”
Mikhail raises an eyebrow. “Excitement?”
I recount the incident with the other dogs as his expression shifts from concern to pride.
“That’s my girl,” he says, crouching down to stroke Masha’s ears. He looks up at me, a genuine smile softening his features. “Thank you for taking such good care of her, Miss MacKenzie.”
“Please, call me Phoebe,” I say, returning his smile.
He nods, standing back up. “Phoebe, then, and you must call me Mikhail.”
We stand there for a moment, the air between us charged with something I can’t quite name. Masha breaks the spell, bumping her head against Mikhail’s leg.
He chuckles, reaching into his pocket. “Right, your payment.” He hands me two crisp hundred-dollar bills. “For your time and excellent service. Will you be available to walk Masha again tomorrow?”
My heart leaps at the prospect, and the money is the least of the reason I’m excited. I try convincing myself it’s because Masha is so adorable, but it’s not entirely the dog either. “Absolutely. Same time?”
He nods with a small smile. “Perfect. Until tomorrow, Phoebe.”
As I step back into the elevator with an awkward wave that I can’t decide if I meant for Masha or Mikhail, I blush even as a grin spreads across my face.