Dalton, Tymber - Doggy Tales [Doggy Tales] (Siren Publishing Classic) by Tymber Dalton Read Free Book Online Page A

years of nightmares later, she was definitely not a dog person. Although this…dog?...simply stared at her, testing the air with his nose. He didn’t growl or advance any closer than five feet from her.
    This was still a Huge. Fucking. Dog.
    Genna nearly turned around and walked out, but terror rooted her feet to the tasteful Italian-marble tile floor. She tightly clutched her purse, forcing the words out through taut lips. “I’m here for a ten o’clock appointment with Mr. Bruin,” she whispered. “Can you please call your dog off?”
    The receptionist’s face paled. “You’re his ten? I’ll let him know you’re here.” She grabbed the phone, and even though the dog hadn’t been called, it backed up several slow, cautious steps.
    As if it feared scaring her.
    Genna didn’t breathe until he was hidden behind the desk. Even then she stood where she was, afraid to get too close to the monster dog.
    The receptionist hung up and pointed to the elevators. “Fourth floor. He’ll be waiting for you.”
    “Thank you.” Genna bolted, struggling against her tears. Once the door slid shut behind her, she took several ragged, gasping breaths. If she had to work anywhere near that…dog…she’d have to refuse the job. She couldn’t do it. It terrified her.
    Over the years, she’d progressed to nothing more than slight jitters around small, friendly dogs. She could sometimes tolerate, for short periods of time, larger dogs like Labs or golden retrievers, if they were calm.
    But she’d never overcome her lifelong fear of massive dogs, especially ones as large as that, practically big enough to saddle and ride. She’d seen compact cars smaller than that beast.
    Mostly composed by the time the doors opened at the fourth floor, she stepped out and her heart skipped. This time at the site of Jeremy Bruin casually leaning against the far wall. His snug, short-sleeved golf shirt and khaki slacks emphasized his great body.
    Her mouth dried. Okay, having a hunky boss isn’t a bad thing. Just can’t sleep with him, that’s all.
    He stepped forward, extending his hand. “Ms. Pangborn, thank you for coming. You’re early.”
    She was only ten minutes early, but thankfully didn’t wet her pants at the site of Dogzilla in the lobby, which would have forced a return trip home to change.
    His grip was firm and warm and dry, his enormous hand dwarfing hers. He had to be at least six five, maybe taller.
    “I hope I’m not wasting your time today, Mr. Bruin. I have some administrative skills, but I don’t know what I’d be doing.”
    He motioned her to follow him through a maze of hallways, past closed offices. Then into a private reception area where an empty desk stood silent sentinel outside his office door.
    “If you can competently perform basic office tasks, you’ll do fine.” He ushered her into his office and closed the door behind them, waving her to a chair in front of his desk.
    Bruin waited for her to sit before he did. She couldn’t guess his age. He had very little grey in his dark-brown hair, but while his face didn’t look old, he possessed an aged air about him, like he was careworn or had a lot of living under his belt. He appeared to be in his late thirties, but she could easily be wrong.
    Genna handed him a one-page résumé. “I’m sorry it’s not more, Mr. Bruin. I am good with computers. I can answer a phone and take messages. Filing, of course. I don’t have any accounting or technical training, though. I have an English degree. I can write and proofread letters and things like that. I’m a pretty fast typist.”
    Her eyes glanced around the office. Tastefully decorated, not over the top, on the stark side. Mahogany paneling and Scandinavian furnishings. One wall of books.
    No sign of a dog anywhere.
    “How old are you?” he asked. “Not that it matters, just out of curiosity.”
    “Twenty-eight.”
    Her eyes returned to Bruin as he scanned the paper, nodding. “Your last job ended