Page 184 of The Billionaires

Dad nods.

“What’s the thought process there? I hated the first thirty-four birthdays, but this year will magically be different?”

“You liked your fifth birthday party,” Dad says.

Maybe. There was a clown at that one, and no food that I can recall. But apart from that one exception, I loathe all events where eating is a central theme—and especially the evil trinity: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and birthdays.

“Why didn’t you stop them?” I demand.

Dad snorts. “If they can be stopped, why don’t you go ahead and do it?”

He’s right.

I frantically run through various excuses in my head.

A work emergency? Weak.

Appendicitis? No, they’d follow me to the hospital.

Explosive diarrhea?

Fuck.

Why haven’t I found myself a body double—like Saddam Hussein, Kim Jong-un, and Keanu Reeves?

I guess there’s no helping it. To stay sane, I’ll have to use industrial-strength earplugs or high-end noise cancelation headphones because there’s no way around it.

I’ll have to soldier through yet another fucking birthday party.

CHAPTER 28

LILLY

“It’s his birthday?” I look at each woman in turn. “He hasn’t said a word about it.” Then again, why would he tell his humble employee such personal details, right? I’m lucky he?—

“Don’t feel bad,” Theodora says. “When it comes to holidays, Bruce is the family Grinch.”

“But we think he secretly likes us fussing over him,” Angela says. “When we don’t make him celebrate, he just works extra hours.” She wrinkles her perfect nose. “I don’t think he has ever treated himself to anything more than an extra-vigorous workout on his birthday.”

I can totally see that. “But don’t people eat at parties?” I ask, and feel silly doing so. “And drink?”

“Well, yeah,” Angela says. “And you’re right. That may be part of the reason for the Grinchness.”

“Part? Might be?” I can’t believe this. “Bruce has misophonia. The sounds of eating and drinking are triggers.”

Theodora clears her throat. “We can have tiny hors d’oeuvres at the party, something people can swallow whole.”

“And shots,” Angela says. “Tiny ones that people can down without making too much sound.”

Bruce wasn’t exaggerating when he said his family does not respect his condition.

“No one will be able to eat or drink in front of Bruce anymore,” I decree. When they look at me questioningly, I less confidently add, “I trained Colossus to stop anyone from trying.”

They both look at me like I’ve grown horns, but neither asks how a tiny Chihuahua is supposed to stop humans from eating or drinking.

“Having said that,” I add. “Why not set up two eating stations: one just for Bruce and another for everyone else, out of Bruce’s earshot? And two bars set up similarly.”

“That’s very smart,” Theodora says. “We’ll do it that way.”

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