Page 169 of The Billionaires

Huh. Should I admit that I’m a helicopter virgin?

Nah.

I just strap in and swallow my overexcited heart back into my throat.

The motors roar, and we lift off.

The noise is so deafening that speaking isn’t possible—not that I mind since all I want to do is gawk at the glorious scenery below.

To my shock, Bruce takes out the Nintendo Switch and starts playing The Witcher 3.

Spoiled much? Even if I’d ridden this helicopter a thousand times, I’d still want to be looking out the window—and I’m that video game’s biggest fan.

All too soon, the helicopter lands right in an empty parking lot that’s not at all a helipad. No doubt only the likes of Bruce get permission to do something like that.

Unstrapping, we leave our fancy ride behind and head over to the zoo entrance.

I walk Colossus on a leash, and he must smell the nearby animals already—because he wags his tail excitedly.

Before we can enter the zoo proper, a disheveled, austere-looking older gentleman crosses our path, his expression of disapproval almost palpable.

“Mr. Roxford?” he half-asks, half-states.

“Yes.” Bruce extends his hand. “And you are?”

“I’m Doctor Smith.” He grasps the proffered hand like he wants to keep it. “According to the president, you need someone with a PhD in zoology for your little date?”

Little date? Is that supposed to be me? Also, I hope the “president” is the one in charge of this zoo, not this country.

Bruce rips his hand out of the weird handshake. “Excuse me?”

Dr. Smith wrinkles his button-like nose. “I was trying to say that I have more important things to do than be a glorified tour guide.”

I’ve never seen a worse case of giving attitude to the wrong person. Bruce’s expression turns practically arctic, and I half expect water droplets to condensate on his skin, like on a soda can fresh from the fridge.

“There’s been a misunderstanding,” Bruce says, each word dripping with liquid nitrogen. “We don’t need any help from a pompous fuckwit.”

Like he’s trying to punctuate the words, Colossus growls at Dr. Smith—no doubt picking up on Bruce’s attitude.

“Are you taking that furry rat into the zoo with you?” Dr. Smith asks, sounding appalled.

Colossus looks at Bruce, then at me—clearly unsure if he should escalate the growl to a bark at this juncture.

I’m not a rat. I’d never betray my comrades, even for a cucumber… Maybe not even for a cookie.

“Look, mister,” I say, figuring it’s best to prevent Bruce from knocking this idiot out and then having to pay a seven-figure settlement later. “You said you’re too busy—great! Why don’t you go do whatever it is you need to do.” Fucking oneself would be preferable, but I’m not a stickler.

“Right. Just don’t enter any of the habitats,” Dr. Smith says snidely. “And don’t let that thing out of your sight, or something will eat it.” He points at Colossus.

“Super helpful,” I say with an eyeroll. “Now, how about you go shovel gorilla shit—or whatever it is you do here?”

Bruce’s expression warms instantly. He pulls out one of the micro-cookies the chef prepared and gives it to Colossus. Just like that, Colossus forgives everything—and forgets.

With a huff, Dr. Smith turns on his heel and strides away, unsurprisingly walking like he’s got a broom up his ass.

“After you,” Bruce says, gesturing for me and Colossus to enter first.

We do, and despite a slightly annoying start, I feel myself getting excited.

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