The words it’s not you, it’s me threaten to leave my mouth, but I manage to reel them back. Also, Barrett has already pushed his chair in and left, so it doesn’t really matter what I say at this point. After a failed attempt to eat my dinner, which I’ve already ruined with the ice cream, I go to my bedroom.
The calendar on the writing desk indicates I have a little over four more weeks as Barrett’s fake girlfriend. I’m not even halfway through this exhausting agreement, and I don’t know how it could get much worse.
That’s when it hits me.
We’ll be spending the weekend in the Hamptons with Fred and Frankie.
They’ll expect us to stay in the same room.
The same bed.
Fuck.
Barrett
When I arrive to dinner, Chloe is already seated at the table. She’s typing something out on her phone but when she sees me, she moves to place it on the counter. I immediately take notice of the way her shorts hug the curve of her ass. They’re not the skimpy silk ones she wore last night when I made a fool of myself at dinner, so it’s determined it doesn’t matter what Chloe wears, I’m going to be turned on.
I run my hand through my hair, something I’ve been doing a lot of lately and drop into my chair.
“Hi.” Chloe gives me a small smile.
“Listen, Chloe—"
My words are interrupted by the doorbell.
“I’ll get it!” Chloe jumps up excitedly and sprints from the kitchen.
I’m not expecting anyone so I stand and follow her out to the foyer.
Chloe’s already there, door open, talking to a woman.
When Chloe turns around, she’s got a dog in her arms.
“What—”
“Good evening, Mr. St. Clair.” The woman extends her hand out to me. “Jillian Massey from Goldendoodle Foster Program of NYC. Thank you so much for your generous donation at The Top Dog Gala. The proceeds that go to Animal Medical Center also sponsor free vet care for our rescues and the foster program, as you know.”
“No.” I shake my head, looking at the mass of sandy curls in Chloe’s arms. “I didn’t know.”
“Well, let me tell you about Baxter. He’s a neutered, four-year-old, small Standard Goldendoodle. He’s been with us for six weeks. He’s a bit of a lounger. Not as active as some of the other young dogs, but he will play fetch with a tennis ball. I will warn you, while most dogs get anxious about storms, Baxter gets overly so. He’s a cuddler and likes to be near people.”
“He’s so sweet.” Chloe laughs when Baxter licks her mouth.
“Well, I’ll let you get acquainted with Baxter here, and I’ll go grab the rest of his stuff from the car.”
As Jillian descends the steps it dawns on me that this ball of fur intends to stay here. In my house.
“What the hell, Chloe? You adopted a dog?”
“No. I’m fostering a dog.” She buries her face into his curly mane. “Don’t worry. Baxter’s temporary, just like me.”
She lifts her eyes to mine and I see the challenge there.
“No. No way. No dogs. We had this conversation last week in the car.”
“You said dogs were messy. Baxter is fully house-trained and he’s hypoallergenic. No shedding.”
“I don’t have time for a dog.”
“Baxter isn’t for you. He’s for me. I’ll be taking care of him.” She nuzzles his nose and a ripple of jealousy settles into my gut. It’s ridiculous. I’m not jealous of a dog.
Jillian returns with a bag full of supplies.
“Everything is in here. Even a small supply of food. He prefers a vegan diet, all-natural ingredients made from scratch.”
I shoot Chloe a death glare, but she just smiles.
“I’ll take care of it.” Shifting Baxter to one side, she accepts the bag from Jillian. “Thank you.”
“What’s the return policy?” I ask. Both women’s heads jerk in my direction.
Jillian gives me a small smile. “If this pairing doesn’t work out, you’re free to bring him back to the rescue shelter, but ideally we’d love for Baxter to stay here until he matches with his forever home.”
“And how long will that be?” I ask.
“It could be next week; it could be a few months.”
“Thank you, Jillian.” Chloe sees her to the door.
When she returns, I stare at the ball of fur in her arms.
“You can keep him for a day,” I say.
“What?”
“It’ll be like a dog for a day. Then he needs to go back.”