His Dog, Her Terms Book One

Sage Williams was running on fumes by the time Happy Paws Animal Clinic opened its doors.

The waiting room had already surrendered to the morning. A terrier shook rainwater onto the tile near the check-in desk. A carrier on the far bench rocked every few seconds with the furious, offended weight of the cat inside it. Behind the reception counter, the printer coughed out forms while the fluorescent lights kept up their thin, familiar buzz.

The place smelled like antiseptic, damp fur, burnt coffee, and the sharp little edge of fear animals carried in when they knew a stranger was going to touch something that hurt. Most of it had become background. The terrier’s limp mattered. So did the zip tie looped through the cat carrier door, and the Labrador under a chair, trying very hard to look innocent with a sock hanging from the corner of his mouth.

Actually, the sock deserved attention.

“Please tell me that’s not today’s emergency,” she said.

Lila Mendoza leaned over the counter, her dark ponytail sliding forward as she followed Sage’s look. “That depends. Does stealing laundry count as a cry for help?”

The Labrador’s owner snatched the sock away, fast and resigned. He’d performed that exact motion too many times.

Sage lifted the next patient file from the counter. Her coffee had gone lukewarm before eight, her breakfast was still sitting untouched in the staff fridge, and the ache between her shoulder blades had become a permanent member of the clinic staff. She could turn down plenty of things. A rescue was never one of them, and neither was a person standing in front of her with an animal they loved and no idea how to help it.

Lila gave her a long look over the top of the monitor. “You look like hell.”

“I’d argue, but my feet already agree with you.” Sage flipped open the file.

“I mean it with love, obviously, mija.” Lila’s acrylic nails clicked across the keyboard in a bright, rapid pattern. “Now be honest. When was the last time you slept more than 4 hours?”

Sage opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

That was inconvenient.

Between the back-to-back appointments, the emergency calls at ungodly hours, and her nightly habit of sitting at her kitchen table with the clinic’s financials until the numbers blurred, sleep had become something other people did. It belonged to people with hobbies and boundaries, people who didn’t own a clinic that survived on duct tape, caffeine, and stubbornness.

She closed the file. “Remind me why I chose this life.”

“Because you love animals more than people, and you’re a raging workaholic.”

“She’s not wrong.” Kenzie Monroe came around the corner with a stack of charts balanced against her bubblegum-pink scrubs. Her blond hair was piled on top of her head in a bun that had started ambitious and ended practical. “But in your defense, we’d all be lost without you.”

Sage pointed the file at her. “Flattery won’t get you out of anal gland duty.”

Kenzie stopped walking. “I take it back.”

“Too late.” Lila kept typing. “Already logged.”

A smile slipped through anyway. Lila had nosy, sarcastic charm down to a science. Kenzie had more enthusiasm than good sense and a heart big enough to make up for it. Mateo, their senior vet tech, turned up wherever the clinic was closest to falling apart, muttered something about inventory or exam room three, and fixed the problem before anyone had time to panic.

They were the reason the place held together.

Sage took a swallow of cold coffee and pretended it helped. “All right. What’s next?”

Kenzie checked the schedule clipped to her board. “A cat with an ear infection, a Labrador with questionable sock-related life choices, and a parrot whose owner says he’s got a bad attitude.”

“Does the parrot have a name?”

Kenzie winced. “Skittles.”

Lila turned from the computer. “A rude parrot named Skittles feels like a warning from God.”

“God can get in line,” Sage said. “Room one.”

The morning burned down into clinic hours that made time useless. Sage cleaned ears, checked gums, eased a splinter from a trembling paw, and explained twice that no, essential oils were not an acceptable treatment plan for a cat with an infection. The Labrador hadn’t eaten the sock after all, which counted as a victory even if he’d clearly considered it.

Skittles swore at her before she touched him.

“Well,” Sage said, lowering the towel she’d been prepared to use as a shield. “At least he’s honest.”

By early afternoon, the chaos finally thinned. The waiting room slipped into a strange, temporary quiet. Every small sound stood out.

The radio played a soft pop song behind the desk. Lila’s nails tapped against her phone screen. Kenzie disappeared toward the back, reckless enough to believe the laundry machine wouldn’t betray her again.

Sage used the lull to update patient records. Her pen moved across the clipboard in tight, efficient lines.

Lila made a sound that belonged in a soap opera.

Sage didn’t look up. “Unless it’s on fire, it can wait.”

“It’s billionaire drama.”

“Then it can wait longer.”

“No, no, you need to see this.” Lila spun her phone around, already delighted with herself.

Sage gave the screen one glance and regretted it.

Marshall Wolfe Spotted In New York With Natalia Laurent. Are They Back Together?

The headline took up half the screen. Beneath it, a paparazzi photo showed Marshall Wolfe in an impeccably tailored black suit beside Natalia Laurent, who looked like she’d stepped out of a perfume commercial and into a dress worth more than the clinic’s ultrasound machine. The article was probably nonsense. The photo was, unfortunately, real.

Marshall Wolfe looked sharp, expensive, and deeply irritating.

The worst part was that he was attractive in the effortless way that made a person want to reject the entire concept on principle. He had a strong jaw, dark hair, and a stare built for magazine covers and hostile boardrooms. He probably had assistants for his assistants and still took the weather personally.

Sage hated that the word sexy tried to attach itself to him.

“Ugh, those two again?” Kenzie leaned over the counter for a better look. “They’ve broken up more times than I can count.”

“Right?” Lila scrolled with visible satisfaction. “And here they are at some gala in New York like nothing ever happened.”

Sage returned to her notes. “Because people love watching cold, controlling billionaires pretend they have feelings.”

“You say that like you’ve got a file on him,” Lila said.

“I’ve got the internet. That’s worse.”

Kenzie tilted her head at the phone. “He’s scary-hot, though. Like if a tax audit wore cologne.”

Sage’s pen paused. She looked at the photo once more, which was her first mistake. Marshall’s face really did have the kind of symmetry that made cameras forgive everything.

“Fine,” Sage said. “He’s nice to look at if you’re into the brooding billionaire thing. I’m not.”

The waiting room went too quiet.

Sage kept her attention on the chart. Cowardice, but efficient.

“So,” Lila said, drawing out the word. “You admit he’s hot.”

“That’s not the point.”

“No, I think that’s exactly the point.”

Kenzie clutched the clipboard to her chest. “Sage. Do you secretly have a crush on a billionaire?”

Sage looked at both of them. “If I had a crush on anyone, it wouldn’t be a man whose face is probably copyrighted by Forbes.”

Lila laughed. “But those eyes? Whew.”

“He looks like he’s yelled at a caterer for making eye contact.”

“Still hot,” Kenzie and Lila said, almost in unison.

Sage dragged the chart closer. “You’re both ridiculous.”

Lila leaned her elbows on the counter. “Oh, come on. You really don’t think he’s dateable? ¿Por qué no?”

“Because I don’t have time to care about a man who’s never once reheated his own dinner.”

The viral clip of him crouched beside his Doberman didn’t help. His hand rested on the dog’s neck while the dog leaned his full weight into him. The thing had shown a flash of softness where she preferred none to exist.

Too bad perfect dogs didn’t always come with perfect people.

Titan Wolfe was the real reason Marshall’s social media showed up on her feed. The Doberman had gone viral more times than Sage could count, all sleek muscle, deep brown eyes, and intelligence that made most humans look underqualified. He could open drawers, identify toys by name, and sit in the middle of a billionaire penthouse with the grave patience of a dog who knew he was the only one in the room worth admiring.

Sage had a weakness for big dogs with bad reputations and soft hearts.

Unfortunately, Titan’s reputation came attached to Marshall Wolfe.

Lila’s face sharpened. She’d found a weak spot. “Fine, but I know you. You totally follow his dog.”

Sage returned to the chart too fast.

Kenzie made a noise that startled the Labrador under chair three. “Oh, my God. You do. You follow Titan’s Instagram.”

“I follow a lot of animal accounts. It’s professional research.”

“Professional research,” Lila repeated.

“Strictly.” Sage didn’t look up.

Kenzie pointed at her with the clipboard. “That wasn’t a denial.”

Sage set the pen down. “Fine. Yes. I follow his dog’s account.”

Lila slapped the counter once, triumphant. “I knew it. Titan’s a celebrity.”

“Titan’s adorable,” Sage said. “And smart.”

“And famous,” Kenzie added. “Have you seen his TikToks? That dog’s practically running his own empire.”

“Exactly.” Sage picked up the pen again and used it like evidence. “Titan’s the only thing worth paying attention to. His owner’s just there.”

Lila folded her arms. “Let me get this straight. You refuse to acknowledge Marshall Wolfe as anything except a rich idiot, but you follow his dog’s social media.”

“Accurate.”

Kenzie pressed a hand to her chest. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

“Your standards are on the floor.”

“They’re in the basement,” Lila said. “But I love this for us.”

Sage turned back to her notes. The joke was easier than the truth. She’d trusted someone with everything once, and the world had called it romance right up until it wasn’t. Her heart wasn’t something she planned to hand over again, even hypothetically, and certainly not to a man whose dog had better PR than most elected officials.

She’d rather spend a night scrubbing an already-clean counter or baking something she’d pretend she didn’t want to eat. Counters didn’t lie. Cookies didn’t ask for pieces of you and then act surprised when you bled.

Lila studied her for too long. Then her grin returned, softer at the edges. “Famous last words. Just wait. One day he’s going to bring that gorgeous Doberman in here, and we’ll see how fast you change your tune.”

“Not even Titan could make me fall for someone like Marshall Wolfe.”

“Mmm.”

“Don’t mmm at me.”

“I’ll mmm wherever I please.”

The clinic phone rang. The sound cut cleanly through the waiting room, and Sage reached for the receiver with more gratitude than professionalism.

The afternoon refused to stay quiet. The cat with the ear infection tried to climb on Kenzie’s shoulder. The Labrador returned for blood work and attempted to eat the corner of his discharge papers. Skittles called Mateo a name that made Lila laugh so hard she had to step into the hallway.

By six, the waiting room was empty and the lobby chairs sat crooked from a day of bodies, leashes, carriers, and bad decisions. Sage stood at the front counter, finishing the last patient note while the clinic quieted around her. The air held old coffee, disinfectant, and the faint damp smell left behind by wet paws.

Mateo wandered in from the back with the clinic keys looped around one finger. His dark hair stuck up in tired ridges. “Finishing up?”

“Almost.” Sage capped her pen. “I need to double-check supplies for tomorrow.”

“Already did it. We’re stocked.”

Sage looked up from the chart.

Mateo lifted both hands. “I know. I’m impressive. Please hold your applause until I’m off the clock.”

A lump rose in her throat, quick and unwelcome. She made a mark on the chart she didn’t need to make. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know.” He caught the keys against his palm. “Go home, Sage. You need sleep.”

She had an argument ready out of habit, but her body refused to support it. Her feet hurt. Her head had the dull, pulsing weight of too much coffee and not enough food. The clinic would still be here tomorrow with its leaky sink, unpaid invoices, loyal staff, and endless parade of creatures who needed her hands steady.

Tonight, Mateo was right.

She grabbed her coat and locked up behind him.

Cool Boston air met her outside. The rain had already come and gone, leaving the sidewalk dark and clean under the streetlights. Sage only caught the smell of it when she crossed to her car. The wet pavement, old leaves, and the faint city-metal scent that rose from the gutters after a storm.

She slid into the worn leather driver’s seat and set both hands on the wheel. The silence inside the car felt almost rude after the clinic. Then the radio came on in the middle of a slow indie song, and she let it fill the space while she drove home.

Her house was small, a little crooked in the places old houses got crooked, and entirely hers. The porch light buzzed when it warmed up. One cabinet door stuck unless she lifted the handle. The kitchen always smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and caramel creamer because she never ran out of either one.

It wasn’t fancy. It didn’t need to be.

She kicked off her shoes inside the door, dropped her bag on the couch, and stood there long enough to remember she hadn’t eaten dinner. A hot shower stripped the clinic from her skin. An oversized hoodie did the rest.

Ten minutes later, she was curled on the couch with cold pasta, her phone, and exhaustion heavy enough to make sitting upright feel ambitious.

Her feed served her the usual lineup. Rescue videos. A golden retriever refusing to leave a bathtub. A tiny kitten committing crimes against a roll of toilet paper. Then Titan appeared, bounding through a pile of leaves in slow motion like the entire season had been built for him.

His cropped ears stood high, his paws scattered red and gold across the frame, and his tail moved in a blur of pure, unbothered joy. The caption was probably written by a social media manager with a salary larger than Sage’s mortgage. It didn’t matter.

A smile took over.

She’d never admit it to Lila, but she loved that ridiculous dog. She could scroll through Titan’s feed for an hour and forget the smug billionaire who posted it even existed.

Almost.

The emergency tone ripped Sage out of sleep.

She came awake on the couch with the hoodie twisted around one arm and the cold pasta container tipped sideways on the cushion beside her. Her phone had wedged itself between the cushions, still screaming. She dug for it, knocked over a throw pillow, and answered before the second alarm cycle finished.

“Hello?” Her voice came out rough, but her body was already moving.

Lila’s voice shook through the line. “We’ve got an emergency. Husky hit by a car. The owner’s on the way.”