Chapter 6

Connor

I glance down as my watch beeps, telling me I have ten minutes left on my morning jog.

I don't get a chance to do it every morning, but it helps me get my head straight for the rest of the day. But I also need to stay healthy, so I wake up some mornings and decide to go for a thirty-minute run around the city.

I am almost home when I hear.

"Hi."

I turn around to see a woman, probably in her early twenties, waving at me.

"Hi," I respond.

"I don't mean to be forward, but do you live here?"

I nod, stopping mid-jog to see what she wants.

Her face brightens. "Oh wow. Oh, okay. I'm Wendy."

She stretches out her hand, and I take it. We shake.

"I just moved in," she goes on, "and I was looking for friendly faces. You know...someone I can talk to from time to time."

I'm not that person.

"Do you," she says when I don't respond, "jog through this path every morning?"

"No," I reply. "I come out when I have the time. And I don't think I'm the friendly face you're looking for because I'm somewhat of an intro—

I forget the rest of my sentence when she suddenly gasps.

"It's you."

"Me?"

She nods, moving closer. "You're Connor Everest, CEO of Everest and Chicago Times's most eligible bachelor of the year. Oh, my goodness. How nice to run into you."

Do they still include me in things like that? I wonder. I haven't read any magazines of late because of work. The only reason I had that party, the party Evelyn crashed, was because Veronica suggested it, and she wouldn't give in until I accepted.

"Can I take a selfie?"

Forcing myself to smile, I let her take the picture. But as soon as the phone camera leaves my face, I take off, leaving her behind.

My watch beeps again, reminding me that I have three minutes left.

I go over the list of essential tasks that I need to accomplish today.

"Meet with the legal director for environmental works," I say aloud but to myself, "Talk to the team in—"

My blood runs cold when I hear a loud bark behind me. When I turn around, I see a large dog running towards me, barking loudly.

My first thought is—

I hope there's someone ahead of me that the dog is going to meet.

But with every passing second, it becomes clearer that the dog isn't going to anyone else. It has its sights set on me, and if I am to take the barking as an indication, I'm about to get bitten.

My face!

My body.

I cannot let the dog get to me.

So, I turn around and do the next best thing.

Run.

But my legs suddenly decide they've grown tired of jogging, so they slow down. Until the distance between me and the dog is a short leap.

Just when I think the dog will get me, I hear a loud command.

"Bucky, sit!"

It sits. Immediately.

"Who was that?" I say aloud, and then she comes into view.

A woman in light gray outdoor gear running towards me. I stay in place purely out of curiosity, but I regret it when I see her face.

Lockhart.

Evelyn Lockhart.

And there is a mocking smile on her face.

Great. I meet her in my building. I see her at work. And now I have to see her when I go for a run?

"Bucky isn't going to bite you," she says, stopping behind her dog, "Don't tell me you're scared of a dog this small?"

My head snaps back, and my eyes widen at her statement. I stare at the Bucky in question and then at her so that she can see for herself the monstrosity between us.

"This?" I point to him, and the dog smiles. "This is small? What do you call a Chihuahua, then? A pocket dog?"

"He's small," she repeats adamantly and, to prove her point lifts all hundred and something pounds of shaggy fur.

I see her struggle and buckle under his weight, but her tenacity and stubbornness keep her from falling. I shake my head, unimpressed by the lengths she would go to prove a point. Not just here but also at work.

There cannot be two people calling the shots, but Evelyn Lockhart hasn't realized that she might be an independent contractor, but she's working for me until this project is done.

"You hear that, Bucky?" she speaks to her dog, but her voice is loud enough to attract another jogger who takes a look at us, shrugs, and continues on his run.

I should do the same.

"This big man here is afraid of you." Her next sentence keeps me from leaving. And the look on her face—subtle mocking with a slight head shake. "You're just a big baby, that's all, and everyone knows it."

"You think he's scared of dogs or everything in general?"

What...me?

I do a double-take at that. "I am not scared of anything, but when a two-hundred-pound dog comes charging my way because the owner doesn't know proper etiquette when handling an animal, I have reason to be cautious."

"You hear that, Bucky?" Evelyn says to the dog, but I know she's talking to me again. "The big man just said that your owner is irresponsible. That she shouldn't have a pet if she doesn't know how to take care of one."

"Am I a bad mommy, Bucky?"

Wait... I didn't say that.

I groan, scrubbing my face when I realize she's doing it to torment me. I roll my eyes in exasperation and, leaving owner and dog behind, take off.

It doesn't put the encounter out of my mind, though, as I keep thinking about the fear in my heart when I saw that dog coming at me. Yes, he was wagging his tail but still... The thoughts keep me company from the time I get in the shower until I get to work.

And by the time I exit my car outside the building, there is a smug smile on my face. If Evelyn Lockhart wants to play ball, then bring it on—I don't

plan on letting her off easy.

Two can play that game.