Page 191 of The Billionaires

“The dog was there.” Champ waves with the slider and takes another bite.

Speaking of the dog, Colossus is running our way, which proves Champ didn’t really accomplish anything by leaving, not that I buy his explanation. My theory is that he wants some petty revenge on Bruce for not letting him dance with me.

Feeling beyond annoyed, I put my hand to my temple and look meaningfully at the puppy.

Being the good boy that he is, Colossus barks, loudly.

Champ’s hand flies to his chest, and he takes a backward step just in time to trip over Johnny’s foot (or maybe mustache).

Arms flailing, Champ plops on his ass, the leftover sandwich flying in Colossus’s direction.

Without so much as a blink, the dog devours the sandwich—no doubt thinking that’s his treat for barking on command.

“What was in that sandwich?” I demand.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Champ asks and tries to turn with a groan.

“Answer her,” Bruce barks.

The chef runs over and rattles off a list of ingredients. They sound mostly dog safe, so I relax a bit. I’ll still need to keep an eye on the puppy, in case the overeating makes him sick, but I’m guessing the insatiable little creature will be okay. Speaking of okay…

“Are you hurt?” I ask Champ, who’s still on the floor. If he broke his coccyx bone, I’d feel a little guilty.

Without any words of sympathy, Bruce extends his hand to Champ, who takes it and rises to his feet with another groan.

“This is the fucking dog’s fault,” he mutters, brushing himself off. “I’m allergic.”

“Since when do allergies make you fall on your ass?” Bruce asks.

Champ fake-sneezes in reply and scurries away, clearly unhurt.

“Good boy,” Bruce says to Colossus.

The puppy wags his tail.

If you thought I was a good boy for eating that sandwich, just wait until you see my highly refined cookie-eating skills.

“He might need the bathroom after such a big meal,” I tell Bruce. “Colossus, I mean, but maybe Champ too.”

“How about we take him together?” Bruce suggests.

And be alone. Yes, please. But wait. I look around. “What about the party?”

Bruce shrugs. “I’ve lasted longer here than at any other event I’ve been to. Thanks to you.”

“Okay then.” I grab the puppy. “Let’s go.”

We stroll toward the garage in companionable silence, and by the time we get there, Colossus is napping in my arms. Food coma got him.

“I almost feel bad for waking him,” I whisper to Bruce.

Seeing the cute, sleepy face, he smiles. “I wonder why he’s so tired.”

“The party,” I say. “All the smells and the people and the food. It’s a lot for a tiny guy.”

“Should we take him back to bed?” he asks.

I shake my head. “He’ll have an accident for sure.”

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