Page 111 of The Billionaires

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

“Surprise me then.”

“He could warn diabetics of low blood sugar, stave off anxiety attacks, and so on.”

He eyes me dubiously. “And you can train him to do those things?”

I don’t think this is the time to disclose that while training service dogs is my goal in life, I currently don’t have much experience. Instead, I opt for my most impressive achievement. “Well, my cousin is a fertility consultant who owns a Yorkie not that much bigger than Colossus, and I taught her how to tell if a woman is ovulating.”

For the first time, the corners of his eyes crinkle in a hint of a smile. “You taught the dog or your cousin?”

“The dog, but if I had enough lychee macaroons, I bet I could train my cousin as well—assuming she’d be okay with getting all up into her customers’ crotches.”

He full-on smiles, and it’s glorious. If you could bottle that smile, I bet it could cure many sad things in the world, like depression, anxiety, and constipation. Too bad you can almost hear the creaking as his facial muscles bend in an unfamiliar-to-them way. I doubt he unleashes this smile more than twice per year.

“So…” He sheathes the glorious smile much too soon. “How about you start by teaching him the equivalent of grade school?”

“That would be learning to potty in proper places, plus things like ‘sit,’ ‘stay,’ ‘wait,’ and ‘drop it.’”

He glances at the ocean of pee pads splayed out to the horizon. “Make the bathroom part your top priority.”

If I were a dog, my hackles would be rising. “Do you always bark orders at people without so much as a ‘please’ and ‘thank you?’”

He gives me an unapologetic stare. “If you want pleases and thank-yous, we’d have to communicate via email… and I’d have to halve your rate.”

Wow. “No, thank you.”

“Great. Then rid me of the pee pads in the house by the end of the week.”

“End of the week?” I snort. “That would be tricky even if I moved in today.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Then you are moving in today.”

I gape at him. “What? No! I have other clients. I have my own place, so I’d need movers. I?—”

He waves his hand dismissively. “I’ll have my assistant find your clients someone else. I’ll also have him hire movers for you in an hour.”

Shit. He’s serious.

There’s no way I can move in today… can I? I haven’t even decided to take this job. In fact, I know I shouldn’t take this job. Even if he weren’t the man who deprived my parents of their home, I’d need at least a week to evaluate all the pros and cons. The latter are countless—and the asshole boss is just the tip of the iceberg. There’s the overly cute Chihuahua that I might develop feelings for if we spend any more time together—which is bound to lead to a heartbreak similar to what I experienced when I lost Roach. There’s the?—

“If you move in today, I’ll give you a sign-on bonus,” the aforementioned asshole says. “Your daily rate times one hundred.”

My jaw hinges open.

“And if you get rid of the pads by the end of the week, you’ll get another bonus—your daily rate times a thousand.”

Holy puppy pee. I know he’s bullying me with the money, but I can’t say no to these kinds of numbers. Service dog trainer school and certifications aren’t cheap. Neither is my parents’ rent, which I’m helping them with.

In fact, he’s offering the kind of money that would let me help them with a down payment on a new house.

My heartbeat picks up pace as excitement sizzles through my veins.

It would be the ultimate poetic justice if I used his money to help the very people he evicted.

But no. I can’t possibly make this decision so impulsively. I have to think it through. I have to decide if this makes sense. I am not a “seize the moment” kind of person. I like to think before I act, to analyze all the potential implications and?—

His face darkens with impatience, his arctic eyes turning colder as he stares at me, and I blurt in panic, “If I say yes, where am I going to stay?”

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