Defying Our Forever (The Baker’s Creek Billionaire Brothers #3) - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,1
she can’t walk. Or maybe she wouldn’t be allowed in because she might be underage.
“Oh my God, what happened?” she says as her eyes widen.
The moment where everything disappeared and it was just the two of us is gone in a matter of seconds. I remember why I am here and carrying a forty pound injured dog.
“I’m not sure what happened to him,” I answer, looking down at the tan and black dog who has been whimpering since I picked him up from the side of the road.
The receptionist is right by my side, taking the pup away from me.
“We’ll do the paperwork later. He has a lot of blood on him,” she says. “I… What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I repeat, walking behind her.
“See, this is the problem when people get puppies. They don’t understand that they are a full-time commitment. These kiddos are like toddlers,” she rants while pushing open the double doors and making her way to what feels like a huge room with metal tables, sinks, and kennels.
“We need to clean the wounds first,” she whispers. “What happened to you, boy? Did your Dad open the garage and you ran thinking it was safe?”
She glares at me and says, “Pray that he only needs a few stitches. I should call the authorities and report you.”
“For picking up a dog I found on the side of the road?”
She stops opening a jar with cotton balls and looks at me. “He’s not your dog?”
I shake my head.
She narrows her eyes. “Listen, you don’t have to lie. Yes, I’m upset at your negligence, but I won’t call the police. I just need you to be careful next time.”
“He’s not mine,” I insist.
She pulls latex gloves from a box and then glances at me again. “You want me to believe that you”—her eyes sweep my body from top to bottom and back—“You willingly stained your suit, which looks expensive, stopped when you saw this guy injured, and brought him over.”
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
She moves her attention to the dog without answering.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“No. He’s too calm around you. Dogs aren’t usually that way with strangers while they’re injured,” she answers, and I’m not sure if she’s making up this shit to bait me or why she’s saying that.
“I have that kind of gift with animals,” I retort.
“Sure, we can call you ‘the dog whisperer,’” she mocks me. “I’ll give you the name of some dog trainers. When he’s better you definitely need to— How long have you had him? I’m thinking he’s about eight months old.”
“He’s not mine,” I repeat.
“Let’s say that hypothetically he’s yours,” she insists. “Have you been with him since he was about eight to twelve weeks?”
“I don’t have time for dogs.” I reword my answer, hoping she’ll stop blaming me for what happened to the poor guy.
“Then why did you get him in the first place,” she says, accusatorily.
“You have problems listening, don’t you?”
She lifts her gaze and answers, “My hearing is perfect. The evidence is pretty clear, don’t you think?”
“It’s circumstantial evidence,” I argue. “You’re basing your judgement on a technicality. Was I supposed to leave the body and hope that animal control would just pick him up? If he was my dog, maybe I’d be more concerned about his wellbeing. Tell me, why am I lying to you?”
“It’s not to avoid paying the bill. You seem like a guy with enough money to afford the x-rays and surgery if it’s needed,” she gives me another glance. “You’re afraid that your girlfriend is going to find out that you ran over her dog?”
I chuckle, “Who would do that?”
“You’d be surprised. I’ve seen and heard so many things,” she says, rolling her eyes. “What is your story then?”
“Let me begin by setting the record straight. He is not my dog,” I press, annoyed at her fucking insistence. “I don’t have a significant other. Furthermore, I already told you I found him like that. He’s not my responsibility, which means I won’t pay for his treatment.”
Her body freezes, and her eyes are about to start shooting daggers at me. “Then you have to take him to a shelter because I’m not allowed to treat strays in this hospital. Unfortunately, we can’t wait to treat him, and I don’t have a machine at the shelter to get the x-rays.”
“Wait, I’m confused. You work at the shelter or here?”
“Both places,” she answers. “The shelter down on Santa Fe and Sixth. Obviously, the doctor is