Page 134 of The Billionaires

I shut the door behind us before the puppy can ruin the million-dollar rug, then grin down at him. “Which of us did you miss?”

As if in answer, the little traitor playfully taps Bruce’s loafer with his paw, then arches his butt.

“That pose means he wants to play,” I explain. “And yes, it was the inspiration for the yoga pose.”

Bruce digs in his suit jacket pocket and pulls out a plush monkey the size of a mouse. “Fetch.” He tosses the toy.

Colossus chases after the toy but doesn’t bring it back.

“I can teach him that,” I say.

Bruce sighs. “That’s another thing I thought dogs just did naturally.”

“Some figure it out on their own,” I say. “I’m just going to speed up the process.”

“Right,” he says. “And that’s what I want to talk to you about. What other lessons are on your agenda?”

“I’m thinking ‘sit,’” I say. “With ‘drop it’ after that.”

“What else?” He picks up the toy that Colossus abandoned and hands it to me.

As I take the thing from him, our fingers brush—and it feels like a lightning strike has spread throughout my whole body, leaving all my muscles tingly and my senses out of whack.

What the hell? Did we pick up too much static electricity on that insanely expensive carpet?

Stuttering, I walk and talk, enumerating all the things that I can teach dogs in general and the pros and cons of familiarizing Colossus with each skill.

“Are you always this indecisive?” Bruce interrupts when I’m halfway through explaining the benefits of teaching Colossus the ‘down’ command.

“Why would you ask that?” I mean, it’s true, but he’s picked up on it based on almost no evidence and that’s beyond annoying.

“Because an expert typically just tells you a course of action. By giving me all the pros and cons, it sounds like you want me to decide—which would be like me asking you what my bank should invest in.”

I almost add, “Or whose house to steal,” but stop myself in time. Instead, I say, “Fine. I will decide.”

It will take a lot of angst and effort, but I can do it.

Hopefully.

“Why not just teach him everything you know?” Bruce demands as we step into a room that seems to be dedicated exclusively to video conference calls—with a giant screen on the wall and a fancy camera pointing at a comfy chair in the middle.

I shrug. “If a big dog leans on a person, it’s a problem. If a Chihuahua does the same thing, it’s considered cute.”

Bruce opens the nearby laptop. “Teach him what’s considered good behavior for all dogs, no matter the size.”

I feel a surge of relief. Teaching everything means I don’t have to cherry pick, thus avoiding all those decisions.

Bruce descends into the chair as if it were a throne and then bends down to pick up Colossus, who seems to know the drill because he gladly hops into Bruce’s outstretched hands.

Seeing the little creature held in those large hands tugs on something in my chest—which is ridiculous.

“You can take an hour break,” Bruce tells me imperiously.

Hey, that’s more polite than “you’re dismissed.”

I’m turning to leave when a video call shows up on the screen that I’m now facing—and Bruce must accept it because a person appears on the screen.

It’s a gorgeous woman with shampoo-commercial dark hair, mascara-commercial blue eyes, and a Botox-commercial smooth forehead.

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