Addison gazed up at the man of her dreams, conscious of his muscular arms around her waist. “My hero.”
Thor’s face lit up. Felix had been correct: he really did have perfect teeth.
“My pleasure,” Thor said. “Are you all right?”
She did a quick mental check. There was light-headedness, heart palpitations, and stars blinking across her vision. In other words, she was as twitterpated as Bambi. Addison reminded herself to breathe.
“I’m much better now, thank you.”
Thor steadied her as she untangled her legs from Princess’s leash. His firm hands burned hot against her arms, and the sensation coursed through her. When she looked up, his gaze locked on her eyes, not her low neckline. But of course; she wouldn’t have expected anything less from her soulmate.
He held out his hand. “My name is Philip Montgomery the third.”
“Addison Turner.” She put her hand in his and felt the sparks fly, just like in the movies.
Instead of shaking her hand, he kissed it lightly. Not many men could pull off the gesture. She would have rolled her eyes if it had been anyone else—especially a guy like Felix. But this wasn’t just anyone. It was Philip Montgomery III.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Addison.”
“Likewise.” She tried to sound posh. Posh enough to date a guy who had a number after his name.
Addison could have stared into those beautiful blue eyes all night long if someone nearby hadn’t cleared their throat. Reluctantly, she pulled her attention away from Philip. The small group he’d been standing with stared expectantly as though waiting for introductions. Princess bumped into her ankle, reminding her she was there too.
Philip gestured to the round man on his left. “Addison, this is Walter Boyd. He’s a judge for this year’s Western Dog Show.”
“Actually, I’ve been a judge every year for the past fifteen years.” His chest puffed up. “I’m the longest-running judge on the panel.”
“Judge Boyd has a very keen sense of perfection,” Philip told her. “Like a sixth sense. It’s uncanny, really.”
“Hopefully that keen eye spots my Lily this year,” said a short, balding man with a cane. “Not that I’m worried. She hasn’t let me down yet.”
Philip laughed good-naturedly. “She’ll have a tough time stealing the attention away from my Baxter.” He patted his English mastiff’s wide head. “Addison, this is Alistair Yates.” He gestured to the balding man. “He’s been competing in conformation shows for ... What is it now? Forty years?”
“Careful now.” He teasingly shook his cane at Philip. “You’re aging me.”
“Alistair has hired a handler this year to prepare his beagle for conformation,” Philip said.
“The old hip isn’t quite what it used to be. But my Lily is in expert hands this year.” Alistair gestured to the tall, thin woman standing next to him. “This here is—”
“Penny Peacock,” Addison breathed. She gaped at the woman’s familiar face, one she’d seen in magazines, on dog food tins, etched into dry treats, and on pooper-scoopers. “I’ve read all about you in Doggy Digest. You’re the best handler there is,” she gushed, feeling the rush of meeting a Dogdom star.
Princess barked, maybe recognizing Ms. Peacock from the aisle in the pet store dedicated to her products. And to think, Addison was actually meeting her in person. If only she could get Penny to notice her designs that night. One word from her on social media and Addison would have no trouble filling the seats at her fashion show.
“Penny is the best of the best,” Philip agreed.
Penny’s hooked nose rose an inch. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” But she looked pleased.
Alistair leaned forward on his wooden cane. “She has never lost a competition. That’s why my Lily’s a sure win.”
“We’ll see about that,” Walter said. “That’s for the judges to decide.”
“I’m only as good as the dogs I handle,” Penny replied.
Addison thought it would have sounded humble if she were a better actress. But she supposed the handler deserved to be a little smug with a resume boasting a qualification like “I’m the best.” Besides, when your face is on dog food, you don’t have to apologize for anything.
Philip gestured to Princess. “You have a beautiful dachshund.”
Princess’s floppy ears perked up, relieved the conversation had finally moved on to a more interesting topic: her.
“Thank you.” Addison picked up Princess to involve her in the discussion.
Penny’s eyes narrowed, homing in on the competition. “She’s quite the specimen. Are you planning to enter her this year?”
“No. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t get very far,” Addison whispered so Princess wouldn’t hear.
Judge Boyd barked a laugh. “She would have been a fine specimen. Of course, I could see the bitch was flawed from a mile away.”
Addison cringed at the word. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to the b-word used so flippantly in the dog show circuit—especially when it came to her Princess.
“She’s not flawed,” she said, a little sharper than she’d meant to. “She’s perfect.”
“I’m sorry to hear you won’t be entering,” Penny said, shoulders relaxing. “But she’s lovely. Who is your stylist?”
“I style her myself,” Addison said. “I own a business called Pampered Puppies.”
Alistair leaned forward. “So, you’re the dog stylist everyone is talking about tonight. I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ve done for my Lily.”
Addison went through a mental list of all the dogs she’d styled that evening. Melody must have checked in Alistair’s dog. “Lily … Lily. Is she the tri-colored beagle?”
“That’s her.” His expression was that of a proud father’s.
Penny grabbed a glass of champagne off a passing server’s tray. “Best of Breed and Best in Show three years running, you know. I thought since it was still two weeks away from the show, I would allow her a little TLC. It is a special occasion after all.” She eyed Addison sharply. “As long as you don’t use products that are not one hundred percent natural-based.”
“Of course not,” Addison said. “My assistant is just putting the finishing touches on her pawdicure. Don’t worry. She’s in excellent hands.”
Penny’s mouth pursed. “I hope you’re not trimming her nails this close to the competition.”
“No, definitely not,” she assured the handler. “But if you like the results of today, I’d be happy to be her stylist for the show.” She automatically drew out a card from her clutch.
Penny held up a hand. “No one touches my dogs but me. Tonight was a special occasion.”
“I understand,” Addison said, a little miffed. To be fair, Penny hadn’t even seen her work yet, so how could she judge? Famous or not, there was smug and there was pompous. “I suppose a marathon runner wouldn’t trade in his old, worn-out running shoes for new ones before the big race.”
Addison regretted the comment immediately. She was trying to get on Penny’s good side—if she had one.
Philip snorted but covered it with a cough.
Penny didn’t seem to notice she’d been compared to a pair of stinky, old running shoes. If she did, she was too serious about show dogs to comment. “I not only train them, but I also groom them, exercise them, and make their dog food from scratch.”
“From scratch?” Addison said. “That sounds like a lot of work.”
“Only the best for my dogs.”
Addison returned the card to her clutch. “I have other services available if you’re interested,” she suggested, altering her sales pitch. “And there’s always my upcoming fashion show.”
Alistair looked up from his glass of port with an expression of mild interest. “A fashion show, you say?”
“I’m launching my new fashion line for dogs the weekend of the show. I still need volunteers to help model the designs if you’re interested in involving Lily.”
Alistair smiled. “That sounds—”
“Tasteless,” Penny cut in. “My dogs don’t wear clothing.”
Addison frowned. Penny might have been the best handler in the world, but she seemed to forget Lily wasn’t her dog. Lily was Alistair’s.
Philip ruffled the fur on his dog’s head. “Well, you can count Baxter in.”
“Really? That’s great.” Addison clapped her hands. “I have the perfect letterman jacket in mind.”
“It will suit him,” he said. “I was never on the football team, myself. I’m more of a tennis man.”
The others sank into a heated debate about the historical purpose of the ankle fur on a traditional poodle cut. While they were distracted, Philip drew Addison away.
“So,” he began. “Is your schedule fully booked tonight?”
“Why? Does Baxter need grooming? I’m sure I could fit him in.”
Philip’s ears turned pink, and he ducked his head. “I was asking more for myself.”
Addison blinked, her one-track mind focused on work. “You need grooming?”
He laughed, and it sounded clear and musical. Oh, how she could listen to it all day long, maybe even record it and set it as her ringtone.
“No,” he said. “I was wondering if I might steal you for a dance.”
“Oh.” Addison wanted to slap herself. Sometimes she opened her mouth before her brain caught up. Batting her eyelashes, she tried to hide the blunder with her best flirty look. “I’m sure I could spare a little more time.”
“Good.” He took her hand. “Because they happen to be playing our song.”
Philip led her to the other side of the historic ballroom, where couples circled the dance floor to the classic jazz music. Although Felix was busy behind his bar, Addison could sense his eyes on them as they passed. She kept her gaze forward, fighting the urge to stick her tongue out at him like a two-year-old. He’d called her “delusional.” Well, she thought, how was that for “delusional”?
At the edge of the dance floor, two dog-watchers approached them. They wore suits with red cummerbunds and bow ties. The watchers took Baxter and Princess while Philip swept Addison away.
And boy, could the man dance. But of course he can, she thought. He’s Mr. Perfect.
Addison had learned how to ballroom dance from online videos as a teenager. Because what kind of princess wouldn’t be able to dance with her Prince Charming? While she’d realized a long time ago that she wasn’t, in fact, an undiscovered Disney princess, she’d obviously been preparing for this night. For Philip.
“How long have you been competing in dog shows?” she asked him.
“A few years now,” he said. “It’s something special Baxter and I can do together. It’s a shame your doxie can’t enter. She looks well-bred. Were you upset when you found out you couldn’t show her?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. I knew she had a deformity when I brought her home.”
“You did?”
“I adopted Princess from the San Francisco Dachshund Rescue Center, where I volunteer. Her owner dropped her off after she realized there would be no blue ribbons in her future. Princess came from the breeder as a puppy,” she explained, “so there was no way to know. It surfaced as she grew older.”
Philip nodded and spun her in a circle. “Even if I couldn’t show Baxter, I would never give him up. He’s like family to me.”
Addison felt her heart swell until it left her lungs no room to breathe. Could Philip get any more perfect?
“I enter him into competitions because I want to see him win,” he said. “But many breeders and owners see it as their own win. It doesn’t matter what dog they use to get there.”
“We see a lot of purebreds come through the rescue center,” Addison said. “People buy them because they’re so beautiful, but they don’t realize the work or cost that goes into them if they have health problems. And a lot of them do. Especially when they come from a puppy mill looking to make a quick buck.”
“I’m surprised you’re supporting the dog show lifestyle after your experiences with Princess and your rescue center.” Philip’s dancing became a little stiffer as he watched her expression. “Some people in your circumstance might look down upon dog shows.”
It was a touchy topic for any show dog owner: the rescue-versus-breeder debate. Those passionate about dog shows were sensitive to the accusations from the public and the local group, San Franciscans Against Animal Cruelty (SFAAC).
Addison’s expression barely wavered. “I’m neither against nor in support of dog shows. I just support dogs in general. Purebreds and mutts alike. The only thing I’m against is disreputable breeders and puppy mills.”
Philip seemed to relax, and he spun her once again. “You must really love animals. I do a fair bit of fundraising myself for SFAAC. In fact, I’m hosting an event to raise money next weekend. Would you like to attend?”
She beamed up at him. “I’d love to.”
“Good. I thought you might be interested. You follow the dog show circuit, you volunteer, you’re a dog groomer—”
“I prefer the term ‘dog stylist,’” she corrected him. “My services encompass so much more than simple shampoos and trims.”
“Excuse me.” He flashed her a teasing smile. “Dog stylist. And by the looks of the dogs around here tonight, I’d say you’re pretty good.”
“I like to add my own special flair. Part of the Addison Turner experience. Hopefully, after tonight, everyone in the San Francisco dog show world will remember my name.”
Philip’s hold around her tightened a fraction. “I know I certainly will.”
She smiled coyly and let him spin her around the dance floor a couple more times, while inside she was screaming We-e-e-e-e-e-e! like she was on the Tilt-A-Whirl. It was the perfect moment. She thought she could get lost in it forever—that is until she caught sight of his Bulgari watch.
Addison gasped, her waltz faltering. “Is that the time?” She stepped away from him. “I’m late.”
“For what?”
“A sneak peek at my fashion line. I’m supposed to reveal a few dogs wearing the designs.” She backed away to the edge of the dance floor, dodging the oncoming dancers.
“When?” He tried to follow, but a couple bumped into him.
“In less than five minutes.”
“Wait! I haven’t gotten your number yet!” He gave chase, weaving in and out of dancers twirling under the chandeliers.
“I’m sorry. I’m late.” Finding Princess’s dog-watcher, Addison swept the doxie off the floor and into her arms. She waved at Philip over her shoulder. “I’ll find you after.”
Addison scurried across the ballroom as fast as her heels would allow. She’d been so distracted by Philip that she’d almost forgotten the entire reason she was even there that night. She wasn’t about to waste all her time and hard work, even for Prince Charming.
Rounding the bar, she saw Felix eye her curiously. Perhaps curious about how things went with Mr. Perfect. She took on the cocktail tables and settees like a slalom course. The event organizer, Darcy, approached her, slinking out of the shadows.
“Excuse me, Miss Turner,” he said. “Are you almost ready on stage?”
“Absolutely.” She tried to catch her breath; her push-up bra was too tight—but so worth it. “Give me sixty seconds.”
Melody would have prepped the dogs and positioned them all on pillows. However, this was Addison’s moment to shine, to make a name for herself. She wanted to ensure everything was perfect—every dog on its pillow, every hair in place, every bow fluffed.
She carried Princess up the stage steps and ducked behind the curtain, ready to make some last-minute changes. But when her eyes landed on the pillows arranged neatly in a semicircle, her steps slowed. Almost all of the dogs were gone.
Only three dogs out of the original ten remained: a bull terrier in a black leather jacket with sunglasses on his head, the Maltese with the Rainbow Frenzy nail polish and pink tutu, and a miniature schnauzer wearing a bowler hat and monocle.
Addison dropped Princess by her pillow. She raced from one side of the stage to the other, as though the rest must have been hiding around there somewhere. But Melody had already cleaned up the stage. There was no place for them to hide. Not all seven dogs. And where on Earth was Melody, anyway?
Addison checked her phone just as the clock struck ten. Her eyes widened. She stood frozen at center stage as the curtains began to part.
“No. Stop!” she cried out. “I’m not ready. I’m not ready!”
She darted to the front of the stage and grabbed both curtains, gripping them shut. She had to prevent anyone from seeing before she could figure out what happened.
There had to be some mistake. Maybe they all needed to go for a walk at the same time, or all the owners took them back, or … she didn’t know what. Alien abductions?
The motorized track whirred above her, dragging the curtains apart. She dug her heels in, not ready to give up yet. She’d worked too hard.
Addison’s hands cramped. Her muscles screamed. She gritted her teeth and pulled back in a game of tug of war.
The entire room full of guests turned toward her, watching with curiosity and anticipation. The owners of the models gathered the closest, eager to see their stars shine. Alistair and Penny stood at the front.
Oh God, she thought. Not Penny Peacock’s dog.
Addison held the drapes for as long as she could, arms outstretched, heels slipping on the stage. The crowd began to chatter, laughing at her antics, but she wasn’t kidding around.
Finally, when the curtains threatened to tear her in two, they ripped out of her desperate grip. She was left standing alone in the middle of the nearly empty stage. The floodlights poured down on her glimmering sequined dress, lighting her up like a disco ball.
The gathered dog-lovers grew still, tense with anticipation. It seemed they held one collective breath, like this was some kind of magic show and she could go “Alakazam,” and the missing dogs would suddenly appear.
But she was not the Wizard of Oz. She was the fraud hiding behind the curtain, and she’d just been exposed.
After a few hushed moments, the murmurs began, followed by the vicious snarling and growling—not from the dogs, but from the human guests.
“Where are they?” Judge Boyd demanded.
“My dog was supposed to be up there,” a voice said, but Addison couldn’t pinpoint who with the lights glaring down at her.
“What’s happening!?” a woman cried. “Where did they all go!?”
Addison spotted Kitty Carlisle in the crowd, cradling her dog protectively.
Darcy appeared at the bottom of the stage. “What’s going on?” he hissed up at Addison. “Where are they?”
“I … I don’t know. Th–they’re gone.” Her answer was barely a shocked whisper, but a man nearby must have heard her because he gasped.
“They’re gone!” he yelled. “The dogs are missing!”
Addison squinted against the spotlights, peering at the crowd, but she instantly regretted it. Enraged expressions glared up at her. Eyes narrowed. Fists clenched. She wanted to close her eyes, to make it all go away. It couldn’t be real.
From the sides of the room, large men in dark suits closed in on the stage with placid expressions and purposeful movements. Security, she realized, getting ready to control the crowd if necessary. Or were they coming for her?
A man with red hair rushed the stage, maybe to come look for the dogs himself or maybe to strangle Addison. She backpedaled, but the security guards took action before the irate man could get his hands on her.
The redhead shrugged off the guards and jabbed a finger in Addison’s direction. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
“Give me my dog,” someone else was saying. “I just want my dog.”
Addison searched for the voice. A man with a cul-de-sac of hair on his shiny head was arguing with security at the base of the stairs. She remembered his last name was Jackson.
He climbed onto the stage. Security shadowed him to make sure he didn’t try anything funny. But he completely ignored Addison. The Maltese consumed his focus. The dog trotted up to him, Rainbow Frenzy nails clicking on the stage floor. Jackson picked her up and held her close, clearly grateful to still have his dog.
The other two owners followed his lead, coming up to claim their pets. As they passed Addison, they glared at her and threw insults her way. She winced.
“Someone call the police!” Rex Harrison called out.
Addison wanted to find his ripped-up business card and jam it down his throat. They didn’t need the police. Because the dogs weren’t missing. They just couldn’t be. She adored dogs too much to let anything happen to them. She wanted to pamper them, love them, and show them that they mattered. Melody could vouch for that.
Addison scanned the stage desperately. Where was Melody, anyway? Why would she leave the dogs so close to curtain call?
She couldn’t breathe. The spotlights roasted her like an oven, but not quite as badly as the angry, laserlike glares shooting at her.
Alistair Yates pointed his cane at Addison. “What have you done with my Lily?” His lip curled and spittle flew from his mouth.
“Nothing,” Addison panted, feeling faint. “I didn’t do anything.”
“No-o-o-o!” a woman screamed. It drew out like someone was falling from a tall building.
When Addison searched for the source, she saw Penny Peacock burying her hooked nose in her hands. “My Best in Show. My blue ribbon. My perfect streak. Gone. All because of you, Addison Turner!”
Addison’s legs felt like bendy Twizzlers. She sank onto a pillow, tugging her dress down so the entire room wouldn’t see her underwear, and stared at her empty stage.
When she’d hoped to make a name for herself, this wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind.