Read Online Can't Buy Me Love by Beth K. Vogt - Free Book Online Page A

dachshund. Since she was the only groomer working for her father, no one suggested she go to therapy. If her father ever hired another groomer, she’d have to quit talking to dogs—or maybe their “doggie chitchats” would blend together.
    She hadn’t planned on grooming dogs for a living. And that, after all, was the problem. She made a plan for her life. And changed it. Made another plan. Changed that one. Plan, change, plan, change—until she’d fallen in love with Reid Stanton and thought her fur-filled days were over. . . .
    â€œThere you go, Tilda.” She ruffled the dachshund’s ears, scratching behind them. Finally her long nails were of some practical use. “You’re looking very stylish.”
    Now why would someone name a dog “Tilda”?
    Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore how her left hand no longer boasted her engagement ring. Or how Reid hadn’t called or texted her since Saturday, when she’d left him standing in the woods behind her parents’ house.
    Which is why she’d spent her lunch hour in her apartment calling the florist and canceling their order for the wedding. The invitations. And Gotham Hall, the venue. And the caterer. The elaborate monogram ice sculpture, which had been a silly extravagance even if Reid insisted his parents would love it. Family and friends could just trash their “Save the Date” announcements for their wedding on December 30th—toss the photo of a smiling Reid and Bellamy as they strolled through Central Park during their weekend visit to New York to plan their wedding. Because that couple no longer existed. Their mothers had come along with them—on the Stantons’ private jet, of course—and Bellamy had joked she had a challenge keeping up with both of the women.
    She blinked back the burn of tears. What was the use of crying? She’d only deepen the red rimming her eyes—the ones she’d stared into this morning as she brushed her teeth and pulled her hair into a ponytail.
    Bellamy buried her face in Tilda’s neck, the dog twisting to lick her ear.
    â€œThanks for that.”
    Lynn, one of the receptionists, ducked her head into the room. “Mrs. Wilson is here to pick up Tilda.”
    â€œAnd she is all ready to go home.” Bellamy straightened, slipping the restraining cord from around the dog’s neck.
    Later, as she swept up dog hair, her father joined her in the back area. “Did you have a good day?”
    â€œSure.” Bellamy kept her eyes trained on the tile floor. “A busy Monday. You?”
    â€œCan’t complain. A couple of new patients. Surgery tomorrow, of course. You seeing Reid tonight?”
    Bellamy swallowed a tiny sob that seared her throat. Shook her head. “You and Mom busy?”
    â€œNo. Just a quiet night at home—paying bills.”
    Okay.
    â€œI thought I might come by after dinner. I need to talk to you—”
    Her father’s hair, once the same dark black that was the trademark Hillman hair color, was now threaded with gray. And there was no denying that the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes—hazel, the same as hers—were really signs of age, not his dry wit.
    â€œMore wedding details, Bella-belle?”
    â€œUm, yes.”
    â€œIt’s not like I haven’t done this father-of-the-bride thing before. After you, it’ll be Brooke’s turn, and then I can retire my checkbook.”
    She managed a hollow laugh. “Right.”
    â€œYou want to join us for dinner? We’ve got some ribs left over from Saturday.”
    â€œNo.” Bellamy’s stomach soured at the mention of her father’s barbecue ribs. And thank God that she had her own car and didn’t have to maintain idle chitchat on the ride home with her father. She’d hide out in her apartment and pray for courage and the right words until she had to go face her