II

Dog Tired

(Brady)

I wear responsibilities like an old scar, intimately familiar with the pressure.

They keep you moving as much as they keep you in line. They can be your biggest carrot or a stick that bludgeons you to death.

Today, they have me working on my laptop early in the morning, sitting at the long table in the old family library while a big lump of corgi dozes at my feet.

Charlie slept through the night, and he’s still tired. He’s also part of the reason why I’ve forced myself to become a morning person. You can’t fix the world’s pet food problems if you’re crashing out at 4 a.m. and rolling out of bed past noon.

Still, just because it’s necessary doesn’t mean I enjoy it. I take another pull off the huge mug of black coffee at my side. It’s already halfway down.

The latest report from the lab blurs together in front of my eyes. I’ve damn near needed a crash course in veterinary nutrition to make heads or tails of these things, but I’m getting there.

By my feet, Charlie finally groans, sits up, does a big stretch, and pads over to where Mom sits, reading the morning news on her tablet.

He yips.

Mom looks up over her glasses and smiles.

My mother’s at her best in the morning, before the day’s obligations come crashing in.

Later, she’ll put her contacts in and change into something more stylish. Kerrigan Pruitt’s image is her main commodity, and she’s all about being perfectly put together.

In her opinion, failing eyesight is an unacceptable weakness, and she’s already had laser surgery twice.

Charlie barks again, his fluffy rump wiggling as he bounces around Mom’s chair.

I swallow a laugh, happy as hell to see him gearing up to play.

I idly wonder if the latest stuff my people are coming up with would ever appeal to an energetic beast like Charlie. It might make him happier and healthier, but only if his owner can afford it.

There’s the fucking rub.

Mom saves me before I glue my eyes back to the screen. She puts down her iPad and laughs, reaching down so she can cup Charlie’s fox-like face in her hands.

I’m glad he’s a well-behaved boy and his antics aren’t pissing her off.

Yesterday, when I brought him to my parents’ place from the vet, she was delighted.

My father never let me have dogs, growing up, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t adore them.

Charlie was cute enough to warrant an overnight stay in my old room, which opens up to the spacious yard leading down to the summer shore of Lake Washington.

That’s the real reason I brought him here, rather than my place. High-rise condos aren’t much for a dog to run around. Plus, I didn’t want to risk overexerting him at a public park before he’s truly rested.

“Is he annoying you?” I ask, glancing at the time. “I’ll be taking him to the clinic soon.”

“Hardly, he’s a dear.” She smooths her hand over his head, smiling. “You should take a break and enjoy your morning. It isn’t every day you wake up with a puppy.”

I grunt reluctantly.

“I mean it, Brady. You’re an investor, not a scientist. You won’t magically conjure the world’s best organic dog food out of thin air by staring at reports until your eyes melt.”

“I’m the CEO, Mother.” I run a hand through my hair. “It’s my money on the line and my responsibility to be on top of everything.”

“Careful. You sound like your father.” Goddamn, that stings. “Does that mean working yourself into an early grave?” She examines one hand, the one with the diamonds glinting on her ring finger.

My parents have been married for a long time now, but she’s never stopped staring at that ring.

They have their faults, sure, but there’s no denying they love each other.

That, or she just loves the way it sparkles in the light.

Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

“There’s a gap in the market, and we’re going to fill it. I’m sure we can bring the prices down. Keeping more pets healthy with the good stuff people can actually afford will make everyone happier.”

“Yes, darling, I’ve read your mission statement several times.” She glances back at her tablet and continues, already distracted as Charlie settles at her feet.

To her, my achievements aren’t the important thing and the details hardly matter. She’s too used to snapping her fingers and letting someone else make miracles happen.

But for me, that’s the entire point.

Principles are God.

Adopting a pet for life is fucking hard. Giving them what they need while you’re on a shoestring budget—especially in an expensive city like Seattle, where food and housing for people is a constant issue—that’s harder.

That’s also why someone needs to make it happen, and that someone is me.

I’ve done my market research. There’s space for high-quality, healthy food for dogs and cats that doesn’t bleed bank accounts if it’s just sourced right and formulated wisely.

I’m going to prove it’s possible, even if it makes me want to tear my hair out sometimes.

Hell, often.

Mom puts her iPad back down again with a sigh, looking at me over her glasses. “I know you have your heart set on this. But I wonder if dog food is really the right direction for you right now. You could always develop another app.”

“Been there, done that. Key word being done.”

I have to fight to keep from snarling.

Being a prisoner of your own success is too real.

My first start-up went terrifyingly well. So well, it’s left everyone who matters staring at me impatiently, waiting for me to work digital sorcery again.

“You have talent. We both know it,” she continues. “You could do something more exciting—and better for your image—than that dating app you sold last year.”

“Something better for your image, you mean?”

I know her real worry. I’m practically the face of Pruitt Brands, ever since my father couldn’t be.

“Well . . . dog food doesn’t have a whiff of scandal, but it’s simply not”—she pauses and catches herself—“not very dignified.”

My eyes bounce to the clock on my computer. Damn, it’s still not time to head to the clinic yet, which means I’m stuck in this conversation.

This must be the hundredth time she’s brought up my reputation. There’s no denying the app made money and proved I can live off more than the family name.

If it were just about money and success, she’d be thrilled.

In her own way, she is, I suppose. Success is one language my parents know by heart.

What she doesn’t like is that the app revolutionized online dating. As far as she’s concerned, it fuels the playboy sins the press won’t let me shake.

She’s not wrong.

Still, I couldn’t give a flying shit about my reputation as long as it doesn’t interfere with what I want to do.

The app was about getting serious and mastering business. The pet food project is about getting real.

Like everyone else with a pulse, I want to do something meaningful with my life. More than just coming up with new ways for horny young people to hook up. Unlike everyone else, I’ve got nine figures in my bank account to make it happen.

“If it’s a choice between dignity and meaningful action, you know what I’ll pick every time,” I say.

She purses her lips together as she pushes her glasses up her nose.

Then the door swings open and a human bull storms in. Dad just missed a conversation that would’ve left his face red.

Even in his motorized wheelchair, flanked by his nurse, he’s an imposing figure. He still dresses in a designer suit and tie daily, unchanged since his heart attack.

It takes him all of two seconds to look at Charlie and turn his nose up like he sees a ratty raccoon caught tracking mud into his house.

“Is this what you’re doing with your life now?” he demands, his voice quivering. “Blowing off family friends to pick up stray dogs?”

Fuck, here we go.

I slam the laptop shut. No point in trying to accomplish anything now.

My father never allows much room for multitasking. As far as he’s concerned, everything I do should require one hundred percent of my focus.

If that’s another conversation from hell, fine, I need to give him all my attention. I can already predict every word he’ll say, so I start the debunking.

“It made sense for me to bring him somewhere he could touch grass without a long trek down the elevator and two blocks to the nearest park. My penthouse isn’t the most comfortable place.” I shrug. “Also, Nancy’s parents aren’t ‘family friends.’”

No, they’re more like future in-laws I’m not remotely interested in having.

Ever since I had to take over Dad’s media footprint, my parents have been driving the marriage freight train full speed ahead, trying like hell to set me up with Nancy Loomer. Like it’s totally normal to behave like we’re eighteenth-century socialites who do arranged marriages.

You’d think the world would move past that shit.

“Well, you’re damned right about that. You’ve proven you’re not taking this seriously.” Dad leans back in his chair, his big hands folded on his lap, glaring with an energy his failing body lacks. “Nancy won’t wait around forever, you know. Neither will her folks. She’s a nice girl and high IQ.”

It hurts not to laugh in his face.

No one who gets to know this girl would ever describe her as nice. She isn’t particularly bright, either, but it doesn’t matter when Dad’s IQ assessments operate on image and ambition rather than real accomplishments.

“Alec,” Mom cuts in sharply. “Must we start the day like this?”

“We must, considering how he’s behaving. I need my son to think harder about his life instead of filling in for animal control.”

Prick.

Behind him, his burly nurse, Freddy, coughs awkwardly. Poor dude’s lived through enough Pruitt family spats to know what’s coming.

I inhale sharply. “We found a lost dog stranded outside with the shitty air. What was I supposed to do in your view, Dad? Leave him there to suffocate?”

“You could’ve left that stray at the vet. As far as I’m concerned, you went above and beyond simply by taking him there. Time is your greatest asset, Brady. Start acting like it.”

Charlie stands with a disinterested yawn. Yeah, he’s got the right idea.

“The tech told me their kennels were filled to capacity.”

“And that’s your problem why, exactly?” His brows descend in a stormy expression I recognize too well. “If you won’t get serious with your career, you will get serious about your relationship with Miss Loomer.”

“Alec,” Mom says again. “You can’t be mad at Brady for looking out for this little guy. He’s sweet.” She strokes Charlie under the chin as he stands up to her knee height, the entire back half of his body swaying as his tail wags.

“I’ve already told you.” It’s an effort to keep my voice down, but I try. “I’m not participating in an arranged marriage from the last century. If that’s what you think I want for a public face, no thanks.”

“Arranged marriage? Stop being childish and—” He pauses for a brief coughing fit.

They’ve been getting worse lately, and I see Freddy eyeballing the oxygen tank on the back of his chair with concern. Dad wipes his mouth angrily and points at me.

“Like it or not, you’ve inherited this legacy. You’re the public face of our family and our business. When people think Pruitt Agriculture, they see your face first, especially when you plaster yourself over social media.”

Shit, I wish he didn’t have a point.

Having a public-facing figurehead is important for any big business like ours, especially the boring ones that mostly run in the background. We’ve always sold ourselves as a family business going back generations—only now that means half the world ogling at you online, never mind the institutional media.

Dad knows this too well, and so do I. Not that it stops him from throwing it in my face whenever he thinks he needs to grind me into shape.

He folds his arms until he looks like a muffin, all chest exploding out of his suit.

“We’ve put up with a lot from you, son. We’ve even indulged your costly little sideshow with dog food, built on our resources and supply network.”

“You have, and I’m grateful,” I bite off, trying to keep a lid on my temper.

Dad holds up a finger. “But I’ve warned you—if any of your online fluff causes even a whiff of bad press, I won’t stand for it. None of it, Brady. You’ll find your own damn farmers and specialists, right after you shut down your social accounts.”

Mom winces before I can say a word.

“Your father has a point,” she urges gently. “You just need to be more careful.”

“Careful. What the hell does that mean?” I demand.

In answer, she holds up her tablet with a thin smile. The Instagram Reel I posted last night plays. I walk over, take it, and scroll through the comments.

Adorable dog! one comment says.

Love the way he’s helping out, another says.

Holy pissy missy! Look at that mad bish staring him down, someone else says. Several people agree, making it the top comment.

A few more make jokes about my next hookup with the girl shooting daggers out her big brown eyes.

Like I was trying to be anything else than charitable.

Like I ever do anything else with my account these days.

Even so, the sight of the vet tech’s glower makes me smile. The camera caught her when she wasn’t paying attention.

Lena, wasn’t it?

The brunette was pretty in that soft, demure way I’ve started to prefer because it’s more authentic. Little to no makeup and surgical enhancements. No flashy tattoos done by a guy with an art degree, and no lip filler slowly turning her face into a plastic doll’s.

Her amber brown eyes look bright here and narrowed, right above a soft mouth that curves at the corners when she’s pissed.

Under other circumstances, she might be more used to smiling than scowling.

Definitely not here.

At the time, I thought it was Nancy’s stupidity winning us the stink eye, but playing the video back, it’s clear the girl’s rage is aimed at me.

Damn.

So maybe I didn’t make the best impression.

I just wanted to make sure Charlie got checked, but I guess I didn’t go about it as well as I should have. I could’ve waited to show him off to the world, after I had him back at my parent’s place for the night.

Not cool when the clinic went out of its way to help us.

I should’ve been more apologetic about barging in there after hours too. Hell, maybe I should’ve even tipped them.

Dad sighs roughly, sinking down into his wheelchair.

“We need you to start turning your life around, son. Wake up. Be more aware.” His frown looks tired this time, like my antics have aged him. “No one’s getting any younger.”

For a fraught second, we lock eyes and I see vulnerability behind his usual incoherent anger. He’s not the same man he was a few years ago before his brush with death, before the heart attack left him hollowed out.

“Understood.” I swipe away from the video and hand it back to Mom.

“I don’t need to tell you large brands are more online than ever,” Dad growls, his humanity vanishing. “We can’t have an unmarried thirty-year-old son playing tabloid prince that fucks everything that moves.”

“Alec!” Mother gasps, shaking her head.

Whatever flicker of sympathy I had for him a second ago dies.

The rush of anger is explosive.

I should’ve known it would come down to this—I should’ve fucking known—but it doesn’t make his words cut any less.

All this high-and-mighty hand-wringing over my organic pet food brand, and this is his real problem.

My sex life.

No, not even that—the public’s perception of my sex life.

The fact that I wasn’t a damn Boy Scout in my past life.

Bullshit.

And I’ve smelled it enough for today.

I snap my fingers, and Charlie’s ears perk up. He follows my silent instruction to come join me, then sits.

“You’re supposed to be retired. Find a better hobby than my damn dating life,” I snarl. “It’s beneath you, old man.”

I snap my fingers again for the corgi, and we’re already moving. I barely remember to grab Charlie’s leash before I slam the door.

“Now look what you’ve done . . .” Mom says miserably as I leave the room.

I ignore them both and take the long, winding staircase two at a time to the entryway, waiting for Charlie to catch up on his stubby legs.

Luis, my assistant, is walking in through a side door. And Luis being Luis, he immediately notices the look on my face.

“Again?” he whispers.

“Yes. Selfish fuck.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath.

The truth is, Dad’s an old-school jackass, but he’s not entirely wrong. That almost makes it worse.

“What was it this time?”

“The usual lecture I’ve heard a thousand times. I need to get my shit together and stop fucking everything that moves.” I snort.

Luis rolls his eyes.

“You’d think they’d find better things to get on your back about.”

“Yeah.” I sigh. Assistant or not, there are days when Luis doubles as my best friend. We’ve known each other for years, though Dad likes to call him my “handler.”

Because he’s such a comedian.

“I should’ve kept hooking up with that model last year just to throw it in his face,” I say.

“Can’t argue with that. She was a baddie,” Luis says with a laugh.

“To you, horny asshole.”

“You said it first.”

I blow out a long breath. The fact is, I know I’ve fucked up, and I don’t get the luxury of living down my mistakes.

At the time, I was doing well. I hadn’t partied for years or flaunted actresses and models hanging on my arm.

I thought it was casual enough. No big deal, a couple nights without consequence, but she misread the situation.

Then she went nuclear on social media after I said I wasn’t interested in anything more serious. I became the techbro YouTuber heartbreaker king of assholery every young woman in America loved to despise overnight.

It was the usual social media flash in the pan, sure, instantly forgotten once the next drama bomb exploded. But it was enough.

Bye, reputation.

My parents were livid.

“Nothing wrong with a little fun,” Luis says. “But you should probably vet their history first. Background checks, NDAs . . . that chick was slamming her exes like a psycho since she was seventeen. Did you know?”

“No, Luis. Didn’t think I’d need to get a shrink’s assessment for a damn hookup.”

He chuckles and shrugs. “Man, that’s what you get for being rich and famous. Everything has a cost.”

He mimes fishing.

“Goddamn, remind me to never let you moonlight as my wingman.”

“Since when do you need it? Is there a raise for protecting you from crazy chicks?”

“Oh, fuck off.” I laugh, though, because he’s not wrong.

Fallout aside, I’ve never struggled with finding dates, hookups, whatever I please.

Money makes up for whatever I might lack in the common sense department. The second a girl hears my name is Pruitt, they’re interested.

I could have a face like a vampire bat, and they’d still queue up around the block for their crack at landing a ring from Prince Charming.

Sometimes, it’s depressing.

Mostly, it’s just a distraction. A biological urge like scratching dry skin so I can get the hell back to work.

Luis claps me on the shoulder. “All set to take the best boy home? I’ve got the car waiting.”

I nod, following him outside and helping Charlie into the back seat next to me.

“Image management doesn’t have to be pure torture, you know,” he says, glancing at me as he adjusts the rearview mirror.

I shake my head. “Tell me you haven’t spent time with Nancy Loomer without telling me you haven’t spent time with Nancy Loomer.”

He wags his eyebrows. “You think I’d mind? She’s hot enough.”

“Dude, if you knew her personality was hot trash, you’d reconsider.” For all his joking, I know he likes girls with more substance.

Nancy wouldn’t know substance if it beaned her on the nose like a softball. She’d care more about having to fix her makeup.

“I might,” he agrees.

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one under the gun to propose to her.”

“Jesus, is she really that bad?”

“Worse,” I say flatly. “It’s not like I didn’t give her a fair shake. Hell, the last four or five times we went out, I gave her every chance to prove me wrong. Show me there could ever be a spark.”

Instead, all she proved was that she was spoiled rotten.

Everything had to be just so, or she’d freak.

Tapas and wine menus. The cloud cover on a chartered day cruise out of Lake Union. No greyhounds at the dog rescue event I sponsored from a local shelter because they “freak her out”—and you’d best believe I vetoed that one.

Greyhounds were half my world as a kid.

Every time, the same. No grace, no humility, and no respect for people or animals. I also never missed the way she’d check herself out in every mirror we passed.

One time when I didn’t immediately compliment her dress, she sulked through dinner.

I don’t have the time or patience to deal with an overgrown teenager.

I’m definitely not putting up with that shit for the rest of my life.

I’m not stunting whatever progress I’ve made escaping the black hole of ego and entitlement just to settle for someone who thrives in it.

“Yeah, man.” Luis winces in sympathy. “Gotta say, I’m glad I’m not stuck in the billionaire dating pool. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Too bad you can’t find a decent girl to buy yourself some time so they’d get off your ass.”

I laugh, but then—

An idea.

A wild, wicked, workable idea.

What if I could buy a little time to derail my parents’ marriage-from-hell train? What if I broadened my options to include a girl who’s actually palatable—even if it’s just for appearances? Even if it’s only fake and temporary?

“What now? What’s with that look?” Luis says, staring at me in the mirror. “Why are you smiling?”

“Your fault.” I grin, scratching Charlie’s shoulders as he licks my face. “Thanks for the inspiration.”

“Oh no.”

“You might’ve just saved my life, Luis.”

He groans nervously. “I don’t know what that means, but I know you, boss. Whatever you’re scheming, it won’t be good.”

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