Jennifer Greene - The Billionaire’s Handler

Tommy had no sense of caution. He knocked the dog over, and himself at the same time. Maguire reached them both in seconds, but not fast enough to prevent Tommy from giggling to high heavens as the retriever lavishly, lovingly washed his face.

Henry brought up the rear, still panting like a race-horse. “There was a note attached to its collar. There, by the door,” he gasped out.

Henry kept talking. Tommy kept rolling and giggling with the dog. Maguire sank down on the step, and opened the folded envelope. Inside was an extensive vet history on the dog, and a short, personal note.

Her name is Taffy. She’s almost four. The man who owned her was a pilot, so she’s used to traveling-by plane, or car or any other way. Her owner died of cancer. She has no one else. She’s extremely well trained. She just needs someone to love.

You told me to go after what I wanted, Maguire. So that’s what I’m doing. What I want…is for you to let this dog love you.

Maguire was still holding the note when the dog’s golden head poked under his arm. She angled next to his side, sat down and put her head on his knee, closed her eyes. “Taffy,” he said.

She wagged her tail faster than thunder, but her eyes stayed closed.

Maguire looked up at Tommy, at Henry.

“No one just gives someone else a dog. It’s wrong at every level.”

“I concur, sir.”

“Think of the dog hair. The dirt. The drool. The difficulties traveling around with a dog. It’s all horrendous.”

“I was thinking the same thing, sir.”

“I’ve never had a dog.” Maguire sucked in a breath, let his fingers drift into the dog’s thick fur. “I’ve had everything money could buy. I just never…had a dog. She couldn’t possibly know that. I never said I wanted a dog.”

“I never heard you say that,” Henry agreed.

“Because I didn’t. When I was a kid…nothing was steady. Great schools, everything a kid could want playwise. But moms didn’t stick, not my original, or any of my father’s replacements. We were always moving to different places, different cities. I got it.”

“You got what, sir?”

“That that’s the way it was. You have to be careful not to count on things. Because nothing stays the same. Material things, those you can always have. But things that live and breathe, Henry. It’s just a lot easier not to get attached.”

“Please, Mr. Cochran. Tell me we’re not keeping her. Think of the dog hair. You might be allergic,” Henry said hopefully. “In the summer, she could have fleas. She’ll have to be brushed. You don’t have time for something like a dog, sir.”

“I can’t believe she would do this to me.”

“Neither can I, sir.”

“Have you ever seen me duck a responsibility? Ever? Even once, Henry?”

“Never, sir.”

“But I don’t take in dogs. Or cats. Or people. Not long term. You get attached. Then when something dies or leaves or divorces or whatever, your world’s ripped out from under you. Asking for that is stupid. It’s like napping on a train track.”

Tommy was looking at him with a world of hope in his eyes; Henry was giving him the frantic say-no stare. Maguire’s gaze narrowed on the dog.

This time, Carolina had gone over the line. Way, way, way over the line. She knew why a person drew lines in the sand. She knew about boundaries. She knew why a person needed boundaries-to be safe.

By throwing out those boundaries, Carolina knew perfectly well what she’d done.

She wasn’t asking to be safe. Not anymore. Not from him.

Just take a breath, Carolina told herself. So she was terrified. Nothing new about that. She was a born wuss, for Pete’s sake.

Maguire had taught her to dive off the deep end and not look back. And she’d been trying hard to live that way. Running some risks, making some changes, standing up. But Maguire wasn’t here.

And her old wuss personality flaw had shown up big-time for this meeting.

She didn’t belong here. The conference room was upstairs, located in the Department of Education, in downtown Indianapolis.

Naturally, she’d gotten lost just trying to find the place. The streets all had state names, like Vermont and New York and Washington. Only, she’d been looking for Ohio.

Being here was partly her own fault, she had to admit. She’d initiated the call to the State Board of Education. But after that, fate or kismet or coincidence or something had just kicked in on her. She managed to reach the state superintendent just by luck. By chance, the superintendent had a special ed child and could especially relate to Carolina. And it was pure luck that there was a conference scheduled on Dynamic New Ideas for Special Ed Children that week.

Carolina had just planned to dip a toe in, put out a few feelers. She never expected to be thrown off the deep end-which was what she called having to stand up in front of a microphone after lunch.

“I just met this young woman a few days ago,” the superintendent said as he introduced her. “This is exactly what we’ve been talking about-finding someone to spearhead new directions in our special education program. We need someone to harness all the varied opinions from teachers, parents, administrators and doctors. To establish goals we all share, goals that are achievable, goals we can sink our teeth into. Carolina. Take it away!”

She didn’t want to “take it away.” She wanted to curl up on a couch and disappear under a blanket. That not being an option, she strode to the podium in her red shoes and just…started.

The terror didn’t leave her. But once she got going, her enthusiasm for the subject eased the public-speaking fears. People in the audience started nodding. She clearly wasn’t the only one who had these ideas, who wanted to see change.

“We all know there’s a disconnect between the people who spend time every day with special ed children-parents and teachers-and the people who have considerable power over their lives and choices. Doctors. Insurance people. Administrators. Teachers and parents are in a far better position to evaluate a child’s potential than someone who only sees these kids for minutes at a time. We need the medical and health expertise-but we need a symposium where we can exchange information, about how things really are with these children. From new techniques to curriculum changes, we could do so much more…”

Heaven knew where all that passion came from, when she’d always been far more of a backseat driver than an instigator. Maybe it was Maguire’s influence, who’d put the concept in her head that you have the right to love how you live.

He’d made her believe it somehow-that she could do anything. Even the things she was afraid of. If she just risked it all and put herself out there.

And as if her heart could do magician’s tricks…suddenly, there he was. Her Maguire. Wearing slacks and a heavy cream-colored sweater, standing at the back of the long conference room. With a dog.

Dogs, of course, were forbidden in the building, but she knew Maguire’s philosophy about that sort of thing. Show him any rule and he’d find an excuse to bend it.

Her voice faltered. Then speeded up. She kept talking, although she wasn’t sure what she said. For darn sure, she had no idea what provoked them all to start applauding. The instant the superintendent stood up, Carolina was free to leave the podium and fly across the room.

“Hey, we didn’t want to interrupt you. We can wait,” Maguire said, but that’s not what he communicated with his eyes.

She searched his face, still not certain why he was here. But then she just grabbed his arm. Outside the conference room, the hallway had occasional passersby. Someone dropped a file; two people ambled past deep in conversation-but it was quiet enough.