Not My Dog Walker

By Rachelle Ayala

April Fu fumes when she finds a stolen dog in her apartment. What trouble has her best friend's brother gotten into now?

Dog walker Jex Wise has nowhere to turn. His sister is going through a messy divorce and wants to hide her soon-to-be ex's pampered prizewinning Yorkshire terrier.

Complications ensue when April and Jex go on an April Fool's date pretending to be lovers. They win a stinky taco contest and the dog's owner recognizes Jex as his dog walker—not April's. Will April's heart survive when she suspects Jex's prank is one big April Fool's joke?

* * *

Not Mine, a closed-door romantic comedy series where love sneaks in between the laughs.

Not My Dog Walker, When April Fu finds a dog in her apartment the day before April Fool's, she's not laughing. Audiobook link.

Not My Boss, Can office pranks, HR violations, and a doggy fashion show get Dixie the divorce she thinks she wants?

Not My Barista, Will an AI billionaire disguised as a barista steal the words of love from Gina's heart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rachelle Ayala
• Release date: Mar 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224203581

Rachelle Ayala

Rachelle Ayala is the author of dramatic romantic suspense and humor-laden, sexy contemporary romances. Her heroines are feisty, her heroes hot. Needless to say, she's very happy with her job.Rachelle is an active member of online critique group, Critique Circle, and a volunteer for the World Literary Cafe. She is a very happy woman and lives in California with her husband. She has three children and has taught violin and made mountain dulcimers.Visit her at: http://www.rachelleayala.net and download free books at http://rachelleayala.net/free-books

Book preview

Not My Dog Walker

Also by Rachelle Ayala

A Christmas Creek Romance

Deck the Hearts

Her Christmas Chance

A Christmas Creek Carol

Kitty, It's Cold Outside

A Christmas Creek Caper

A Veteran's Christmas

A Father for Christmas

A Pet for Christmas

A Wedding for Christmas

Chance for Love

Broken Build

Hidden Under Her Heart

Have A Hart Romance

Christmas Lovebirds

Valentine Hound Dog

Spring Fling Kitty

Blue Chow Christmas

Valentine Wedding Hound

Summer Love Puppy

Dog Days of Love

Valentine Puppies and Kisses

Happy Goose Year

Love Charmed Romance

Black Tied: Sapphire

Red Hexed: Ruby

My Country Heart

Going Haywire

Going Toe to Mistletoe

Going Hearts Over Heels

Going Gets Hot

Smart Woman's Guide

Smart Woman's Guide to Bitcoin

The Fae Legacy

Lucky Like Love

Unexpected Paradise

Where Love Blossoms

Standalone

Romance In A Month: How To Write A Romance

Christmas Stray

Love Stories: Writing a Romance Novella

Michal's Window

Your Daily Bible Verse

Writing Asian Romance Characters

Dangerous Love: Writing Romantic Suspense

366 Ways to Know Your Character

Hide My Heart: Prodigal Daughter

Not My Barista

Not My Dog Walker

Where Love Unfolds

Watch for more at Rachelle Ayala’s site.

Not My Dog Walker

NOT MINE

BOOK ONE

RACHELLE AYALA

Description

April Fu fumes when she finds a stolen dog in her apartment. What trouble has her best friend’s brother gotten into now?

Dog walker Jex Wise has nowhere to turn. His sister is going through a messy divorce and wants to hide her soon-to-be ex’s pampered prizewinning Yorkshire terrier.

Complications ensue when April and Jex go on an April Fool’s date pretending to be lovers. They win a stinky taco contest and the dog’s owner recognizes Jex as his dog walker—not April’s. Will April’s heart survive when she suspects Jex’s prank is one big April Fool’s joke?

Not Mine, a closed-door romantic comedy series where love sneaks in between the laughs.

Not My Dog Walker, When April Fu finds a dog in her apartment the day before April Fool’s, she’s not laughing. Audiobook link.

Not My Boss, Can office pranks, HR violations, and a doggy fashion show get Dixie the divorce she thinks she wants?

Not My Barista, Will an AI billionaire disguised as a barista steal the words of love from Gina’s heart?

Copyright © 2022 by Rachelle Ayala

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real events or real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

All trademarks belong to their respective holders and are used without permission under trademark fair use.

Contact Rachelle at:

https://www.rachelleayala.net/contact-me

For Rachelle’s free books:

http://rachelleayala.net/free-books

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Contents

Welcome

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Excerpt - Not My Boss

Excerpt - Why Your Cat Is Plotting to Kill You

Acknowledgments

New Author for the Funnies

Reading List with Heat Levels

Rachelle Ayala Books in Other Languages

About the Author

Welcome

I invite you to explore my world romances, from dangerous suspense to sweet family drama, featuring hot, steamy flirts, brainy, strong heroines, and hunky men with big, gigantic hearts and melty, warm hugs.

For book descriptions, go to the Reading List with Heat Levels section or check out my Reader’s Guide at:

http://rachelleayala.net/books/

Don’t forget to download my Free Books:

Find them at my website: https://rachelleayala.net/free-books

For updates and two more free books, sign up for my newsletter at:

https://www.rachelleayala.net/newsletter

To chat and read new works in progress, join my Reader’s Club at:

http://www.facebook.com/groups/ClubRachelleAyala/

Check out my new pen name for humor and fun:

https://books2read.com/ap/RavQjX/Clare-Chu

Thanks for coming into my story world and letting me take you on an unforgettable excursion. Turn the page to begin.

Bon voyage!

Dani Haviland for inspiring me to write cute but crazy romances and have fun with them.

Chapter One

They call it happy hour, but looking around the dive bar I habituate every Friday around five, I don’t see much happy going on.

My girl crew claims the corner booth by the bathroom. It all started with Dixie Butts, my best friend in the world, who made it a thing. She’d arrive early, fifteen minutes before happy hour starts, and park her butt on the table whether it was occupied or not, tapping those long pink fingernails of hers and flexing the spike of her heel into the worn wooden floor.

I don’t know how she did it, but even the roughest biker dudes knew to leave at five sharp. And woe to any tourists who happened to stake out the corner booth when five o’Friday rolls around. Melvin, the bartender, keeps an eye out, but he doesn’t referee. If anyone overstays their welcome, Dixie simply slides in and joins them. She introduces herself, puts on her gracious hostess mannerisms, and asks personal questions.

It doesn’t take long for even the most daring and bald-faced party to start looking at their watches or phones, make an excuse, and move on out. Once a gang of frat boys tried leaving Dixie with the tab. Hoo boy, that didn’t end well. Dixie had an inkling they would try a stunt. In any group of men, there’s always one who’s nicer and less noisy than the rest. The one who still has a semblance of guilt running through his veins. The one who fantasizes himself as a knight in shining armor, although he hides it well. The one who retains a little bit of gentleman, despite wearing leather, tats, and piercings.

Dixie Butts zeroes in on the good guy, and they always pay the tab.

Which is all the more mystifying why she married Randy Butts, a stingy tightwad who happens to be my boss.

Don’t blame me. This happened when I was away back east studying for my master’s in business administration.

Who am I?

April Fu, twenty-nine years old. A girl who grew up with stars in her eyes, thinking she could be anything she wanted. Reality hit a few years back during the recession where even an Ivy League graduate couldn’t land a halfway decent job.

So, here I am, an average marketing consultant grinding out the nine to five underneath Mr. Bootlicker Butts who takes on more than his team can handle and dumps it all on me—Dixie’s best friend.

Oops, I didn’t mean to say underneath in the literal sense, although that’s exactly what he’s angling for. The only place I’m beneath Mr. Bottoms is on the org chart—one I’m determined to turn upside down.

Being a best friend means I have to inform Dixie of everything at the next available opportunity. As four of our Girl Crew regulars gather at our designated booth, I tap out of the last pitcher of beer and announce I need to use the bathroom.

Kicking Dixie underneath the table, I scoot my way toward the dark alley leading to the back of the grease-scented hallway across from the kitchen.

She’s already noticed my shifty, furtive eye—the one I get when I’m suspicious of every pair of testicles converging my direction—so she rolls up her jangling bracelets and prepares for me to take a dump.

We racewalk the short distance down the narrow hallway.

I hold the ladies’ room door for her. Your husband hit on me again.

Did you kick him in the balls?

I would if I could find them.

Dixie guffaws as she enters the stall next to mine. He’s being ornery—not signing the divorce papers and hitting on my best friend.

I wish he’d point his horny pants away from me.

Sorry. Dixie always apologizes for Randy. Did he ask you to work late again?

Not just late, but together. I fumble to unzip while desperately holding my bladder. I really do need to go and dump my bad day on my bestie. He came back from lunch with Anderson⁠—

The kiss ass has been angling for a promotion. What did he overpromise this time? Dixie asks over the sound of her tinkling into the toilet bowl.

The entire McCallister account revamped by Monday. I struggle to shimmy down my tight pants.

The thing about me and Dixie, we’re so competitive about the stupidest thing—including racing to see who can pee and get out of the stall fastest.

I’m having a hard time talking and excreting at the same time, unlike the talented Dixie who can hula hoop while twirling plates and not lose a single bangle bracelet.

I’m also wearing pants—a distinctive disadvantage to Dixie’s short cocktail dress—no pantyhose—that’s so twentieth century. But then, why am I wearing it? So my ankles will look tanned?

Blow it off, Dixie says to the rattle of the toilet paper dispenser. What’s he going to do to you?

I’m still in the middle of a stream when the toilet in the next stall flushes, signaling Dixie’s impending exit.

Barely pushing out the balance of the beer I swilled, I roll paper at the same time—or try to—when the entire dastardly roll clatters to the floor and disappears underneath the stall door.

Dixie exits her stall, and her hand reaches underneath mine to offer me the miscreant roll.

Thanks. I swipe and yank my jeans, sucking in my belly, while trying to zip. Darn it.

My fingernail snags in the buttonhole and breaks.

It’s going to be Dixie by a length as the water runs, splashing, and shuts off.

Randy is all bark and no bite, Dixie says over the whoosh and whirr of the hand dryer.

I’m still tucking my fitted blouse into the clingy and stubborn waistband when Dixie says, Where next? Want to hit the Club Rachelle?

I’d love to do nothing but blow off Randy— I shake my hands under the water. Not that way.

No offense taken. She runs a brush through her long blond hair. They’re having country karaoke night.

But if I want a chance to unseat Randy— Ugh. Again, it doesn’t sound the way it sounds. What I mean is if I want to upstage him, I need to put in the work. Somehow get credit with Anderson.

You know he’ll take all the credit. Dixie traces her bow-shaped lips in a pretty peach shade. So let him sweat it out and do the work for a change.

He’ll throw me under the bus. I shake the water off my hands, not waiting for the air dryer to go through its entire cycle. Sorry, I do have to go. Think I’ll call it an early night.

You’re always doing early nights, Dixie says while twisting her hair into a topknot. If I didn’t know you better, I’d suspect you have a hot date waiting for you.

An empty apartment and a pile of work, thanks to Handy Randy. I pull out my car keys. The only reason I showed at the unhappy happy hour is to give Dixie the 411 in person—before she hears from other sources—like her big-mouth gossipy brother who’s in between jobs as always and decided to insert himself back in our lives.

We amble back to our booth, much relieved, thank you very much, and I make my excuses to Wanda, Anita, and Heidi. The three of them are ample company for Dixie, who is determined to stay out until the witching hour every night. Even though she and Randy are legally separated, they still live under the same roof on opposite sides of a very long house.

"You girls are just going to have to howl and