Page 167 of The Billionaires

I curb my enthusiasm somewhat, but I still end up looking my best—and why not? Maybe there will be a cute zookeeper at the gorilla exhibit.

By the time I get to the kitchen, the chef is explaining the dinners he’s packed for all of us, including Colossus. He’s even chopped up a cucumber for treats and baked tiny cookies.

Colossus looks longingly at the cooler where his treats are stashed.

“Didn’t you just have breakfast?” Bruce asks him.

Colossus tears his eyes away from the cooler and stares up at his human with a gaze that would melt the hearts of Cruella de Vil, The Wicked Witch of the West, and Martha Stewart combined.

I want a snack now. It’s been ages since breakfast. Ages, I tell you. How can I be expected to function on such an empty stomach?

Bruce shakes his head ruefully, walks over to the cooler, and pulls out one of the cucumber bits.

Okay. He’s not bothering to keep it a secret anymore—he’s crazy about the puppy—and that’s as sexy as the boxing.

He would probably deny it if I accused him of being in love with the dog, but I know the signs. I’m starting to show some of them myself.

“The limo is ready,” Johnny informs us and picks up the cooler.

When we get inside the limo, I point at a bag-like contraption attached to a seat and ask Bruce what it is—though I have a theory.

“A car seat for the dog,” Bruce says, which is what I figured. “Custom made and crash tested.”

There you go. Another sign that he adores this dog.

Also, did he crash another limo to test the doggy car seat? I wouldn’t be surprised. If there are multiple ways to do something, Bruce will go for the one that costs the most.

After strapping Colossus into the contraption—there are harness-like straps and everything—Bruce descends into the adjacent seat, tells me to “buckle up,” and does the same himself.

I presume he wants me to sit as close to my charge as possible—which just so happens to be right next to Bruce as well. So I take that seat, fully ready to be told to move a few seats away if Bruce demands it because it’s almost comical for us to be so close in an otherwise empty limo.

Nope. Bruce either doesn’t care or is okay with my proximity.

Then again, I’m not sure I’m okay with it myself. I’m still getting intermittent flashbacks to him boxing, plus we’re close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his powerful body and to detect the yummy scent of cucumber on his fingers, which makes me want to lick?—

“How badly am I interrupting your curriculum with this trip?” Bruce asks, bringing me out of my hormone-inspired reverie.

I shrug. “It’s not like I’m helping Colossus cram for his finals.”

Colossus must know we’re talking about him because he wags his tail.

I’ll take the finals if a cookie is on the line. And cucumber. And belly scratches. But mostly the cookie.

The limo pulls out, and we ride in silence for a minute or two. I get the feeling it feels companionable to Bruce, even if it seems awkward to me.

“What do you do for fun?” I blurt and then instantly cringe. Despite our date-like destination, this isn’t a date—but the question is date-like.

To my relief, he doesn’t chastise me for prying. Instead, he furrows his forehead, acting as if “fun” is something you have to contemplate as hard as the meaning of life, the universe, and the number forty-two.

“Define ‘fun,’” he finally says.

I chuckle with an accidental snort. “Fun is something you do to enjoy yourself.”

“Well… I enjoy my work.”

“No,” I say. “I enjoy training dogs, but I can’t say ‘work’ if someone asks me what I do for fun. I’d say video games. Or going bowling with my cousin. Or going to the beach to watch the sunset. That sort of thing.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Reading.”

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