Page 112 of The Billionaires

His gaze is pure ice now. “If?”

“Yes. If.” I raise my chin, ignoring the sweat trickling down my spine. “I’m not staying in a cupboard under the stairs, à la Harry Potter.”

“You will stay in the biggest guestroom.” He gestures into the distance, where, possibly miles away, is my room-to-be. “Any other demands?”

Now that I’m closer to making a decision, I feel a modicum calmer. “I refuse to call you Mr. Roxford.”

His face is hard to read, so I have no idea if he’s kidding when he asks, “How about ‘sir?’”

I scoff. “Hell, no. And before you ask, forget things like ‘master,’ ‘mister,’ ‘my lord,’ ‘big cheese,’ ‘monsieur,’ ‘señor,’ ‘pan?—'”

Did he just growl?

“Call me Bruce.” The name is said through his teeth. “I presume you want me to call you Lilly?”

I swallow hard. I like how he says my name—even if he is trying to make fun of it.

“That’s correct… Bruce.” Ugh. Why does his name on my lips feel so forbidden and intimate? I reach for my snark with effort. “And when you do say my name, try not to sound like you’re eating a lemon.”

He bares his teeth. “Let me show you to your room.”

He leads me deeper into the mansion. The pee pads crunch under our feet, and I hear the pitter-patter of Colossus following us.

We pass a library bigger than the one in Beauty and the Beast. The room after that is filled with an armor collection that wouldn’t look out of place in a museum. We keep walking, and I keep gawking, especially when we pass what appears to be a small movie theater.

He stops walking suddenly, so I bump into him, and Colossus bumps his little wet nose into my heel.

“Here.” Bruce opens a set of tall doors.

Tail wagging, Colossus rushes inside the room and disappears under the California king-sized bed.

I stare. The luxurious guestroom is double the size of my whole apartment, with furnishings reminiscent of a fancy hotel and the high ceilings of a cathedral.

Bruce steps in and opens another door. “This bathroom will be yours.”

The bathroom is five times the size of the one I have back home.

“This will work,” I say in an understatement of the century. My own accommodations for guests are a pull-out couch and a freebie toothbrush I got from the dentist.

He closes the bathroom door. “I’ll have the movers clear the room and bring your things.”

Clear the room for my things? “No need, thanks.” That would be like swapping a sleek Lamborghini for a horse and buggy made by the inventors of the Nissan Cube.

He looks around as if seeing the furniture for the first time. “You want to use the room as is?”

I nod vigorously. “So long as the sheets are clean.”

There’s liquid nitrogen in his gaze. “The sheets are new. So are the towels. Ditto for the toothbrush and?—”

Colossus emerges from under the bed, a moth the size of his face in his mouth.

“No!” Bruce shouts. “Don’t eat?—”

Too late. The little Chihuahua crunches on the moth, then swallows it.

Considering their relative sizes, this would be like me catching and swallowing a pigeon.

“Bad dog,” Bruce says sternly.

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