Page 142 of The Billionaires

I let my eyebrow ask the obvious question.

“The Japanese consider it acceptable—and maybe desirable—to slurp things like ramen, soba, and udon.” He shudders. “They also sip soup straight out of the bowl.”

“I take it you’re not going there anytime soon?”

“Never again,” he says. “For good measure, I avoid traveling to Asia in general—and during teleconferences, I make it a rule not to allow eating of any kind.”

“I understand if you never want to eat with me again,” I say. “Though, if you’d like, I could simply forgo liquid desserts and soups while I’m in your employ.”

Why am I still talking? What makes me presume he’d want to eat with me—the help—again? Nor do I want that, not really, not if?—

“No milkshakes either,” he says. “And if you have a drink, use a straw—but stop about three quarters of the way through, and then get a refill or pour it out.”

“What about raw oysters?” I ask.

He wrinkles his nose. “After giving me a lecture about norovirus, hepatitis A, and salmonella, the chef has been cooking oysters.”

“The horror,” I say. “Rich people without raw oysters? Next thing you know, he’ll ban caviar.”

“Caviar is not raw. It’s salted, and therefore on the menu from time to time,” Bruce says with a straight face. “But the chef is against sashimi—even if someone were to catch and kill the fish right in front of him.”

I chuckle. “Do you even trust sashimi—it being from Japan and all?”

Before he can reply, there’s a loud feminine gasp from behind me.

Oh, shit. Is that the girlfriend from the video call?

No.

It’s Prudence. She’s staring at the panna cotta that I started as though it were an explosive device, and I now know why.

“I think I’d better walk Colossus,” I say sheepishly. The last thing I want is to get into the reasons why I broke the biggest household taboo on my first day.

Bruce’s icy demeanor returns—which makes me realize it was missing toward the end of our conversation.

“Come,” I tell the puppy.

He doesn’t move.

Ah. Right. There’s food nearby.

“Here.” I take out a piece of cookie.

Oh, boy. I have the furry one’s eerily focused attention now.

Give it. Give it. You can’t pull that out and not share. I’ll die of starvation right here, right now, I swear.

“You can have this once you get your harness on,” I singsong.

I’m not sure if he understands, but he follows me to the garage and waits patiently while I put on his accoutrements.

“Good boy.” I give him the treat, and he nearly bites my fingers as he greedily devours it.

“You’ll have to learn how to do that more politely,” I say and put on my goofy headgear.

When we return to the mansion, Colossus dashes away as soon as he’s free—and I chase him all the way to the library, just like the last time.

Bruce is there, reading again, only this time I manage to spot the name of his book, which prompts me to excitedly exclaim, “You’re reading The Witcher?”

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