Page 155 of The Billionaires

“He’s learned ‘sit,’” I explain.

Colossus—who stood up to greet Bruce—plops his furry butt back on the floor, then looks at my reaction dutifully.

I give him the last of the cucumber, then look up in time to see Bruce smiling—and it’s as startling as always. “I had a feeling he was a smart dog.”

He did? “We met some of your people,” I say, shifting from foot to foot. “And he befriended them all.”

Bruce crouches in front of the puppy. “You did? Good boy.”

Colossus lifts his little chin and wags his tail for all he’s worth. To my shock, Bruce starts stroking his charge under said chin.

The puppy seems to enjoy the pets even more than food—and I’m left wondering if I could’ve been wrong about Bruce’s feelings toward Colossus.

As inconceivable as it might seem, there’s a chance this seemingly heartless man secretly loves this dog.

CHAPTER 19

BRUCE

Between “sit” and the gushing feedback from my staff about how “friendly” Colossus was when they saw him today, my chest fills with pride. I also feel kind of dumb because this is my dog learning basic dog niceties, not my son graduating cum laude.

Realizing I’m still petting the dog in front of Lilly and that she might disapprove of that for some dog trainer reason, I rise to my feet.

Hmm. She is looking at me strangely, but I don’t know if that’s condemnation or something else.

“Would you like to take a break?” I ask.

She cocks her head, a mannerism she no doubt learned from one of her fluffy students. “From what?”

“From him.” I point down.

Her eyebrows come alive and meet in the middle of her forehead. “Why?”

I suppress another wave of irritation. First, she’s been pretending like that out-of-this-world kiss never happened, and now she’s questioning my attempt to be cordial.

“I’ll be videogaming,” I grit out. “Colossus likes to sit on my lap when I do that. Or at least he does when I read. I figured?—”

“The proper verb for playing video games is gaming,” she chimes in. “That’s what us ‘kids’ are calling it nowadays.”

I turn my back to her. “I’m going to go do that, and my dog is coming with me.”

“He’ll need to get walked soon.”

She sounds disapproving of being given time off—and they call me a workaholic.

“I’ll do it,” I say and feel my cock stirring as I recall how she taught me the dog-walking technique.

She huffs in grudging agreement.

As I stride away, for a second, I wonder if Colossus might choose to stay with her instead of go with me. She’s fed him a lot, and as it turns out, his affection is easily bought.

But no.

I hear that signature clickety-clack of tiny nails on hardwood floors.

Wait.

I look down.

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