Fuck.

This puny little mutt again.

It’s two in the afternoon, and I just got home after a close to twenty-three-hour negotiation meeting from hell. I’m exhausted as fuck. My phone won’t stop buzzing. I don’t need a whiny little nuisance yapping his fur-covered trap off—and licking my shoes on top of that. These babies are House of Testoni, for fuck’s sake.

I open my mouth, about to shout some choice fucking words over at my neighbor, Vivian, to put a leash on her runaway canine when I lock eyes with a girl I’ve never seen before.

Straight, jet black hair framing her heart-shaped face, big blue-gray eyes almost hidden by her grown out bangs, pale, creamy skin, slightly flushed from embarrassment and not a single blemish, and those full, pink lips I can’t even try to ignore. There’s not enough of her body to view, but her long neck, narrow collarbone, and slight swell at the top of her sweater-covered tits give away her small frame. For a split second, I wish she wasn’t mostly hidden by the glass partition between Vivian’s and my units—the only two condo units on the penthouse.

“I’m so sorry,” she says in the most hillbilly accent I’ve heard in ages, making ‘I’m so sorry’ sound like ‘Om sa sarry’. Except she uttered those words with her sexy as fuck pink lips, which already have an effect on my cock. “I’m not sure how Sheba fit under the partition. Can you pass him over to me?”

‘Nat sha’ instead of ‘not sure’.

‘Ha’, not ‘how’.

‘Portishan’, not ‘partition’.

‘Con ya poss him ava ta me?’

Fuck, I hate her accent, but my dick fucking loves it.

She reaches one dainty little hand out with her palm up. Does she actually think I’ll touch that little Sheba monster? More importantly, does she even realize we’re over forty stories up? The wind can pick up the pint-sized pooch, and his fall wouldn’t go well at all.

“No,” I tell her sharply.

My patience was wearing thin twenty-two hours ago. Right now, it’s nonexistent. She jumps slightly, her face blushing to a deeper shade of red at the sound of my voice, or it could be my tone. Fuck, maybe she’s just skittish. Either way, I don’t give a rat’s ass. This dog needs to be gone from my terrace, and this pretty distraction of a girl needs to back away slowly. Hopefully, I’ll never have to see her again. Or the little mutt.

Except they’re my new fucking neighbors. At least I think she is. I’ve never seen her before. Maybe she’s Vivian’s little sister or some relative from the sticks, not that they look anything alike. They damn well don’t act alike. Vivian would have her paws all over me by now, whereas this little country girl looks genuinely afraid of me.

She’s exactly how I like the women I fuck.

Timid.

A little afraid.

Brimming over with ingrained submissive tendencies.

Minus the backwoods accent.

“It’s not safe for her, doll,” I explain bluntly with a fresh dose of buyer’s remorse. I picked this place because I like my fucking privacy. “Come around to my front door. You can take your furball yourself.”

“Him, and it’s hair,” she says. “Sheba’s a male dog. And his coat is hair, not fur.”

Jesus fuck. She’s got time to give me a fucking lesson on these four-legged troublemakers? And why the hell am I hard as granite right now? “Just come to my door for him, the little hairball.”

“Oh, okay thank you, sir,” she chirps, calling me ‘sir’ as though I’m some fucking old geriatric, like my dad. “I’ll be right over.”

Country girl that my dick loves—that’s what I’m calling her for now—quickly disappears on Vivian’s side of the terrace. The realtor who sold me on this place is lucky I bought this place for cash. It’s private, he said. Perfect seclusion in the Upper West Side, he said. The lying, overselling, slick as fuck douchebag. I’d kick his ass and move the fuck out if I were leasing.

Returning inside to answer the door, I’m followed by the yapping mongrel scampering underfoot. I make a point of taking careful steps to avoid it. Because House of Testoni, dammit. I’m not wrecking these twenty thousand dollar shoes for this mutt. Not that I’d miss the money, but these are custom made and imported. And comfortable as fuck. I’d have to wait at least a week to replace these fuckers.

It starts to bark more loudly the closer I get to the front door.

“Shut your fucking piehole,” I bark back at it, but it ignores me and increases the volume.

He’s grating on my last nerve by the time I unlock the front door. Then I receive another shocker when I yank the door open.

Well, two.

First, country girl that my dick loves is frumpy as fuck, but more gorgeous than I ever thought possible. She’s wearing a thick, light gray oversized sweater over much thicker sweatpants that can fit three more girls her size in there, if she undoes the drawstring hanging past the hem of the sweater and almost to her knees. Except for her long bangs, her thick, wavy, raven locks fall past her shoulders and come to rest close to her waist. As for the bright pink doggy-head bedroom slippers on her feet, well, I’m at a fucking loss. What concerns me the most is that I can tell from the way her clothes fall that she’s a tiny thing with dainty curves under there.

And it’s sexy as fuck.

My dick is having a field day in my pants, and I’m grateful I wore snug briefs today instead of loose boxers, otherwise I’d have to cover a tented midsection by now.

The second surprise, which I realize must be the reason the dog was yelping its head off, is that Gerald Buchannan is standing next to her at my door. The same Gerald Buchannan who kept me up all night negotiating this acquisition deal. He’s the neediest, most high-touch, pain-in-the-ass investor associate of Knights Capital Management Group, the hedge fund company that I run with my older brother, Jace, and our best friends, Caleb, Dylan, and Foster. We only took him on as an associate as a favor to my old man, and because he’s fucking loaded. And by loaded, I mean a fuck ton richer than my father, whose net worth is in the billions.

It’s a shocker seeing him here at my door because he’s not supposed to know where I live. No one except my father, brother and closest friends has this address. Hell, none of my staff know I live here.

“Gerald, I wasn’t expecting you,” I say, trying to keep my cool.

“We need to talk,” he blurts out. “Get rid of her, will you?” He pushes past me, staring down at the dog as he passes it by. “This is important.”

Anger starts to rise up from my chest, and I clench my fists. This girl means nothing to me, but the combination of my exhaustion, Gerald’s unexpected intrusion, and his outright rudeness to her drives me close to the edge.

No one talks to my neighbor like that. No one but me.

Dragging an agitated hand through my hair, I look down into her eyes. “Sorry about that, but he’s right.” I step aside and motion toward her furry friend. Hairy. Whatever. “Keep the puppy on Vivian’s side of the terrace, will you?”

“Sheba’s a full-grown dog,” she nervously informs me. Her fearful eyes locks with mine as she lowers to her knees to scoop up the pooch. Fuck, looking down at her at this new angle drives me close to insanity. Those lips are so fucking close to my cock, I can almost feel her taking me into her mouth. “And I will…keep him away from you…I mean away from your place. I’m sorry.”

“Who are you, anyway?” I ask. The suspense is killing me. I have to know. “Vivian’s cousin or something?”

She shakes her head. “I’m Dahlia,” she says, and extends her right arm for a handshake.

“Hi Dahlia.”

“I’m the dogs’ babysitter. Pet sitter, I mean,” she stammers. “Vivian’s going to be away for a few weeks, so I’m here…for the dogs.”

I want to shake her hand, but if I do, it’ll be game over. If I touch her, I’ll have to have her, and the fact that she’s going to be around for a while means I need to keep my distance. Plus she doesn’t look like she’s done with puberty yet.

“Aren’t you going to screw up your attendance at high school?” I ask the leading question to get a sense of her age.

“No I won’t. I don’t go to high school. I’m at Columbia U.”

Am I making her nervous? Neither of us says another word as she turns and leaves. At least she’s of age.

Maybe.

“Come in here, Jackson.”

Fuck. Gerald is here. Closing the front door, I follow his voice to my living room.

“What’s this about?” I ask. “Have you changed your position since—” I stop speaking to check the time on my phone. “Since thirty minutes ago?”

He takes a seat on my living room sofa and kicking up his feet on my coffee table like he fucking owns the place.

“Of course not,” he grunts.

“Why are you here, Gerald? And who told you where I live?”

His eyebrows furrow together. “Your father. Why? Is this place secret or something? Or does it have to do with the sexy underage waif running wild around here?”

“Forget I asked. Tell me, why did you come by?” I ask in an order, but keep my request more or less in a respectful tone. He’s an associate, after all. And one of my old man’s closest, most well-connected friends.

“We need this contract signed within a week. Two weeks, tops. If I had it my way, it would be signed by end of day tomorrow. My backers aren’t comfortable with your treatment of Mont Blanc, or these new demands. It’s unreasonable. You make sure to convey to the partners that we’re ready to walk away. No more concessions. They need to sign it as is now, or we’re done.”

Pressing my lips together, I take a seat in the armchair opposite from him. “You’re not serious.”

“Of course, I’m not, but these Mont Blanc guys at the table need to know we aren’t stringing them along. We need them. They need us. Make sure you articulate that point when we get back to the table tonight.”

“I’ve been shoving that point down their throats for twenty-three hours,” I shout, then I realize he’s slipped in a new piece of information. “Wait, did you say tonight? We’re not meeting again until tomorrow morning at eight.”

“Not anymore,” he informs me, rising from my sofa. “We can’t give them time to shop our deal around with the competition. That would only give them ammo to demand more. I need you at Masa tonight at seven o’clock sharp. We’re taking them to dinner, drinks, then back to the office to keep working to wrap up this deal with a neat little bow. Tonight, if possible.”

I shake my head, but the truth is he’s right. Bringing the deal this far along has been months in the making. We need to close this deal soon.

“Fine,” I tell him, peeved that this development gives me about four and a half hours to have some rest, shower, dress and drive to the southwest tip of Central Park where Masa restaurant is located. “I’ll be there, but try to remember we’ve been working on this for months. If it takes a few days to wrap it up…or weeks…it’s time well spent.”

“Agreed, but sooner is better.”

Following him to the front door, we say our goodbyes, and I let him out.

As I wait for Gerald to step on an elevator, the scent of little country girl’s vanilla and almond body wash lingers in the air, drawing me in again. She’s left a mark on my brain that I can’t shake. As soon as this deal with Mont Blanc is over and done with, I’ll do something about it.

Like get the hell away from Dahlia before I eat her up and swallow her whole.

Dahlia.

My Doll.

I’m sure I’ll ruin the little flower.

But I don’t care.

Now that I’ve seen her, I have to have her.

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