Chapter II Dog Tired （Brady） #2
Charlie stands with a disinterested yawn. Yeah, he’s got the right idea.
“The tech told me their kennels were filled to capacity.”
“And that’s your problem why, exactly?” His brows descend in a stormy expression I recognize too well. “If you won’t get serious with your career, you will get serious about your relationship with Miss Loomer.”
“Alec,” Mom says again. “You can’t be mad at Brady for looking out for this little guy. He’s sweet.” She strokes Charlie under the chin as he stands up to her knee height, the entire back half of his body swaying as his tail wags.
“I’ve already told you.” It’s an effort to keep my voice down, but I try. “I’m not participating in an arranged marriage from the last century. If that’s what you think I want for a public face, no thanks.”
“Arranged marriage? Stop being childish and—” He pauses for a brief coughing fit.
They’ve been getting worse lately, and I see Freddy eyeballing the oxygen tank on the back of his chair with concern. Dad wipes his mouth angrily and points at me.
“Like it or not, you’ve inherited this legacy. You’re the public face of our family and our business. When people think Pruitt Agriculture, they see your face first, especially when you plaster yourself over social media.”
Shit, I wish he didn’t have a point.
Having a public-facing figurehead is important for any big business like ours, especially the boring ones that mostly run in the background.
We’ve always sold ourselves as a family business going back generations—only now that means half the world ogling at you online, never mind the institutional media.
Dad knows this too well, and so do I. Not that it stops him from throwing it in my face whenever he thinks he needs to grind me into shape.
He folds his arms until he looks like a muffin, all chest exploding out of his suit.
“We’ve put up with a lot from you, son. We’ve even indulged your costly little sideshow with dog food, built on our resources and supply network.”
“You have, and I’m grateful,” I bite off, trying to keep a lid on my temper.
Dad holds up a finger. “But I’ve warned you—if any of your online fluff causes even a whiff of bad press, I won’t stand for it. None of it, Brady. You’ll find your own damn farmers and specialists, right after you shut down your social accounts.”
Mom winces before I can say a word.
“Your father has a point,” she urges gently. “You just need to be more careful.”
“Careful. What the hell does that mean?” I demand.
In answer, she holds up her tablet with a thin smile. The Instagram Reel I posted last night plays. I walk over, take it, and scroll through the comments.
Adorable dog! one comment says.
Love the way he’s helping out, another says.
Holy pissy missy! Look at that mad bish staring him down, someone else says. Several people agree, making it the top comment.
A few more make jokes about my next hookup with the girl shooting daggers out her big brown eyes.
Like I was trying to be anything else than charitable.
Like I ever do anything else with my account these days.
Even so, the sight of the vet tech’s glower makes me smile. The camera caught her when she wasn’t paying attention.
Lena, wasn’t it?
The brunette was pretty in that soft, demure way I’ve started to prefer because it’s more authentic. Little to no makeup and surgical enhancements. No flashy tattoos done by a guy with an art degree, and no lip filler slowly turning her face into a plastic doll’s.
Her amber brown eyes look bright here and narrowed, right above a soft mouth that curves at the corners when she’s pissed.
Under other circumstances, she might be more used to smiling than scowling.
Definitely not here.
At the time, I thought it was Nancy’s stupidity winning us the stink eye, but playing the video back, it’s clear the girl’s rage is aimed at me.
Damn.
So maybe I didn’t make the best impression.
I just wanted to make sure Charlie got checked, but I guess I didn’t go about it as well as I should have. I could’ve waited to show him off to the world, after I had him back at my parent’s place for the night.
Not cool when the clinic went out of its way to help us.
I should’ve been more apologetic about barging in there after hours too. Hell, maybe I should’ve even tipped them.
Dad sighs roughly, sinking down into his wheelchair.
“We need you to start turning your life around, son. Wake up. Be more aware.” His frown looks tired this time, like my antics have aged him. “No one’s getting any younger.”
For a fraught second, we lock eyes and I see vulnerability behind his usual incoherent anger. He’s not the same man he was a few years ago before his brush with death, before the heart attack left him hollowed out.
“Understood.” I swipe away from the video and hand it back to Mom.
“I don’t need to tell you large brands are more online than ever,” Dad growls, his humanity vanishing. “We can’t have an unmarried thirty-year-old son playing tabloid prince that fucks everything that moves.”
“Alec!” Mother gasps, shaking her head.
Whatever flicker of sympathy I had for him a second ago dies.
The rush of anger is explosive.
I should’ve known it would come down to this—I should’ve fucking known—but it doesn’t make his words cut any less.
All this high-and-mighty hand-wringing over my organic pet food brand, and this is his real problem.
My sex life.
No, not even that—the public’s perception of my sex life.
The fact that I wasn’t a damn Boy Scout in my past life.
Bullshit.
And I’ve smelled it enough for today.
I snap my fingers, and Charlie’s ears perk up. He follows my silent instruction to come join me, then sits.
“You’re supposed to be retired. Find a better hobby than my damn dating life,” I snarl. “It’s beneath you, old man.”
I snap my fingers again for the corgi, and we’re already moving. I barely remember to grab Charlie’s leash before I slam the door.
“Now look what you’ve done . . .” Mom says miserably as I leave the room.
I ignore them both and take the long, winding staircase two at a time to the entryway, waiting for Charlie to catch up on his stubby legs.
Luis, my assistant, is walking in through a side door. And Luis being Luis, he immediately notices the look on my face.
“Again?” he whispers.
“Yes. Selfish fuck.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath.
The truth is, Dad’s an old-school jackass, but he’s not entirely wrong. That almost makes it worse.
“What was it this time?”
“The usual lecture I’ve heard a thousand times. I need to get my shit together and stop fucking everything that moves.” I snort.
Luis rolls his eyes.
“You’d think they’d find better things to get on your back about.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. Assistant or not, there are days when Luis doubles as my best friend. We’ve known each other for years, though Dad likes to call him my “handler.”
Because he’s such a comedian.
“I should’ve kept hooking up with that model last year just to throw it in his face,” I say.
“Can’t argue with that. She was a baddie,” Luis says with a laugh.
“To you, horny asshole.”
“You said it first.”
I blow out a long breath. The fact is, I know I’ve fucked up, and I don’t get the luxury of living down my mistakes.
At the time, I was doing well. I hadn’t partied for years or flaunted actresses and models hanging on my arm.
I thought it was casual enough. No big deal, a couple nights without consequence, but she misread the situation.
Then she went nuclear on social media after I said I wasn’t interested in anything more serious. I became the techbro YouTuber heartbreaker king of assholery every young woman in America loved to despise overnight.
It was the usual social media flash in the pan, sure, instantly forgotten once the next drama bomb exploded. But it was enough.
Bye, reputation.
My parents were livid.
“Nothing wrong with a little fun,” Luis says. “But you should probably vet their history first. Background checks, NDAs . . . that chick was slamming her exes like a psycho since she was seventeen. Did you know?”
“No, Luis. Didn’t think I’d need to get a shrink’s assessment for a damn hookup.”
He chuckles and shrugs. “Man, that’s what you get for being rich and famous. Everything has a cost.”
He mimes fishing.
“Goddamn, remind me to never let you moonlight as my wingman.”
“Since when do you need it? Is there a raise for protecting you from crazy chicks?”
“Oh, fuck off.” I laugh, though, because he’s not wrong.
Fallout aside, I’ve never struggled with finding dates, hookups, whatever I please.
Money makes up for whatever I might lack in the common sense department. The second a girl hears my name is Pruitt, they’re interested.
I could have a face like a vampire bat, and they’d still queue up around the block for their crack at landing a ring from Prince Charming.
Sometimes, it’s depressing.
Mostly, it’s just a distraction. A biological urge like scratching dry skin so I can get the hell back to work.
Luis claps me on the shoulder. “All set to take the best boy home? I’ve got the car waiting.”
I nod, following him outside and helping Charlie into the back seat next to me.
“Image management doesn’t have to be pure torture, you know,” he says, glancing at me as he adjusts the rearview mirror.
I shake my head. “Tell me you haven’t spent time with Nancy Loomer without telling me you haven’t spent time with Nancy Loomer.”
He wags his eyebrows. “You think I’d mind? She’s hot enough.”
“Dude, if you knew her personality was hot trash, you’d reconsider.” For all his joking, I know he likes girls with more substance.
Nancy wouldn’t know substance if it beaned her on the nose like a softball. She’d care more about having to fix her makeup.
“I might,” he agrees.
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one under the gun to propose to her.”
“Jesus, is she really that bad?”
“Worse,” I say flatly. “It’s not like I didn’t give her a fair shake. Hell, the last four or five times we went out, I gave her every chance to prove me wrong. Show me there could ever be a spark.”
Instead, all she proved was that she was spoiled rotten.
Everything had to be just so, or she’d freak.
Tapas and wine menus. The cloud cover on a chartered day cruise out of Lake Union. No greyhounds at the dog rescue event I sponsored from a local shelter because they “freak her out”—and you’d best believe I vetoed that one.
Greyhounds were half my world as a kid.
Every time, the same. No grace, no humility, and no respect for people or animals. I also never missed the way she’d check herself out in every mirror we passed.
One time when I didn’t immediately compliment her dress, she sulked through dinner.
I don’t have the time or patience to deal with an overgrown teenager.
I’m definitely not putting up with that shit for the rest of my life.
I’m not stunting whatever progress I’ve made escaping the black hole of ego and entitlement just to settle for someone who thrives in it.
“Yeah, man.” Luis winces in sympathy. “Gotta say, I’m glad I’m not stuck in the billionaire dating pool. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Too bad you can’t find a decent girl to buy yourself some time so they’d get off your ass.”
I laugh, but then—
An idea.
A wild, wicked, workable idea.
What if I could buy a little time to derail my parents’ marriage-from-hell train? What if I broadened my options to include a girl who’s actually palatable—even if it’s just for appearances? Even if it’s only fake and temporary?
“What now? What’s with that look?” Luis says, staring at me in the mirror. “Why are you smiling?”
“Your fault.” I grin, scratching Charlie’s shoulders as he licks my face. “Thanks for the inspiration.”
“Oh no.”
“You might’ve just saved my life, Luis.”
He groans nervously. “I don’t know what that means, but I know you, boss. Whatever you’re scheming, it won’t be good.”