The sound Chandler made echoed through the bowels of hell.
“Wha?” he gasped as Suzanne unlocked her knees, spinning around, ready to take him down.
Even in heels.
He held his palms toward her in supplication even as he tried to fold at the waist.
“Not hurting you! Not! Not!” he barked.
Literally barked.
Chandler said those words, then barked.
“Arf. Woof,” he said under his breath, eyes widening as if he were signaling Suzanne.
But it was all just noise.
“You’re crazy,” she said.
“Why are you acting like you don’t understand what I’m saying?”
“Because I don’t speak Bark, Chandler.”
“You’re a puppy trainer.”
Suzanne stared at him.
“A what?”
“Your profile. It said you were into puppy dates.”
“So?”
He looked at her like she was stupid. “So...that’s code.”
“Code?”
A ripple of uncertainty filled his eyes. “You know. The code. The code for puppy play.”
“Puppy play?”
“You signed on to be a puppy trainer.”
“I don’t have those skills. I’ve never worked with dogs before. I’m a trust and estate lawyer, Chandler. Not someone who breeds dogs or runs obedience classes.” What a strange mix up. Her profile was clear about being a lawyer.
He shivered, one corner of his mouth going up.
“Wait a minute.” She started to put the pieces together. Obedience. Bad dog. The, uh...questions about elimination. “What, exactly, do you mean by the term ‘puppy play’?”
That grin.
“Oh, Suzanne. You’re quite the commanding woman. I can tell you know how to make a disobedient puppy turn into a good, well-trained dog.”
She just blinked.
“And I’ll pay handsomely for it.”
“You want to pretend you’re a dog and that I’m your owner?”
“Trainer, owner...” His voice dropped. “Name your price.”
Oh, God.
“I thought we were here on a date because we both love dogs!” she protested.
He gave her a lascivious grin. “We are.”
“OUT! I’m out,” she shouted, right in the middle of the food court, blindly stumbling toward the brightest bank of windows she could find. Heart racing, brain scrambled, Suzanne walked quickly to the main doors, relieved by the petroleum-filled air that the streets of downtown Boston pumped steadily through the city.
Horns and shouts, people and engines, all the sounds mingled into background noise that was preferable to being asked about—
She shuddered.
DoggieDate, huh?
She was done.
Absolutely done with online dating.
Bzzz.
Her cell phone.
Reminder: 1 p.m. meeting with James McCormick.
Reminder: 2 p.m. meeting with Gerald Wright.
The clock read 12:30 p.m. Just enough time to get to McCormick’s house for whatever was going on. James McCormick hadn’t specified why he wanted to meet with her, but she assumed it had to do with his late wife’s family trust.
Then back to the office for this roller coaster of a day.
Somehow, Chandler Hopkins managed to make her date last night with Steve Raleigh look like a damn romancefest.
Kari was going to die laughing over this one. Die.
Someday this would be funny.
Right now, though, she just needed a shower, a large coffee, and to delete her DoggieDate profile.
Permanently.
Chapter 9
“Morning, Mr. McCormick,” Gerald said, opening the door to the SUV limo.
James glared at the black beast of a car. “Andrew has some of the strangest ideas about luxury,” he grumbled as he climbed in, settling in the middle seat, reaching for the coffee Gerald had procured for the old man.
“Sir?”
“Gerald, do you like driving these SUVs?”
Gerald knew James McCormick was not actually soliciting his opinion. Recently, Anterdec’s CEO and James McCormick’s son, Andrew, had phased out the older limousines and replaced them with SUVs. The elder McCormick hated the change.
Then again, the man hated any change, unless it involved an increase in profits.
“I do, sir, but I also enjoy driving anything but a tank, and asphalt is a luxury.”
James laughed, the sound genuine.
“I would imagine anyone who served our fine country in a combat zone would feel that way, Gerald.”
Gerald liked the old guy, even if he was an arrogant, pompous jerk sometimes. People were complex. No one was perfect. And as a character study, Gerald found him fascinating. Most of the people he saw the elder McCormick interact with either loved him, hated him, or tried to get something from him.
“Yes, sir. You said Dana Farber?” The famous cancer center in Boston was the location for the last two months of appointments.
The brown eyes that met his in the rearview mirror were filled with anger. “Yes,” he said, as if the word itself meant admitting defeat.
“Yes, sir.” Gerald moved the enormous SUV down the street like it was a sedan, enjoying the power of the V8 engine. Andrew McCormick had swapped out all of Anterdec’s traditional limousines just last month, finally getting rid of the handful the company had kept for the elder McCormick. Gerald had shined James McCormick on. He much preferred the SUVs.
The window glass was stronger, the privacy at a higher threshold, and security was easier.
Gerald wasn’t just a chauffeur, after all.
He was a bodyguard as well. James McCormick insisted on hiring drivers with special military backgrounds. Lance, one of the other drivers, had worked for a Blackwater-like private security company before joining the Anterdec team. Two other drivers, José and Tim, rounded out the team who drove the three top Anterdec executives.