Page 123 of The Billionaires

Looking pleased, Bob asks, “In general, which foods are your favorite?”

Johnny and Prudence exchange looks. I guess the chef asks this of everyone.

“I don’t have favorites.”

“Well, what kinds of foods do you like?” he asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

Bob looks confused. “How could you not know?”

“Never decided,” I admit. Not for lack of trying. “Whatever foods I try, I like.”

“I’m asking so that I can make something to your taste,” Bob explains. “So we’ll have to narrow that down.”

I shrug. Unless he’s a psychic, this is a tricky undertaking when it comes to me.

“What’s your favorite breakfast?” he asks. “That should be easy, right?”

I sigh. “I could never pick.”

He takes off his hat and scratches the top of his balding head. “Do you at least have a preference between savory and sweet?”

“I like both.” That’s the best answer I can provide without whipping out a spreadsheet.

He pulls a paper out of his pocket and glances at it. “How about Eggs Benedict?”

“I love it.” My mouth waters even more.

Bob glances at the paper again. “How about buttermilk waffles?”

“That sounds wonderful.” If he keeps this up, I’ll start drooling like a bulldog.

Bob grins. “There you go. Two days’ worth of breakfast is now settled. The eggs will be served with homemade smoked salmon and my take on hollandaise sauce. The waffles will be served with caramelized apples, apple cider glaze, vanilla whipped cream, and cinnamon streusel topping.”

When is dinner again? This is what it must be like for the food-motivated dogs that I train.

Johnny curls the left side of his mustache. “Those are the breakfasts you’re making for Mr. Roxford, right?”

Bob shrugs. “She’s undecided, so why not make my life easy?”

“I don’t mind,” I say. “What else is he having?”

Bob hands me the whole menu, and everything on it sounds amazing, so I agree to it wholesale and hand the paper back.

Bob pockets the menu. “Thanks. If only Prudence and Johnny were so easy.”

Johnny releases his mustache indignantly. “Most of the things on that list would give me heartburn from hell.”

“And I’m watching my figure,” Prudence says. “Unlike Mr. Roxford, I don’t sweat for an hour in a boxing ring every day.”

He’s into boxing? Thanks, Prudence. Now instead of fantasizing about all those meals, I’m salivating at the image of sweaty Bruce.

I clear my suddenly thirsty throat. “So what’s the food situation? Is it served at a specific time?”

“You can eat anytime if you’re willing to use the microwave.” He wrinkles his nose. “But if you want your meals fresh, which I highly advise, you should get on Mr. Roxford’s schedule.”

Prudence looks around furtively. “Just make sure not to eat in front of him.”

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