Page 228 of The Billionaires

JANE

“We have to go,” Adrian says to me after the chef stops shouting.

Feeling embarrassed even though none of this was my fault, I head for the exit—and smack into a woman who is gorgeous enough to be a model.

Spotting the woman, Adrian narrows his eyes. “You had one job: watch the dog.”

This is his dog sitter? Does that mean she’s around often? I’m not wondering this because I’m jealous. Just seems like something a wife-to-be should be aware of, right?

“I’m sorry,” the model says. “This might’ve been a premeditated heist. He led me here and then ripped the leash out of my hand.”

The chef yells something in an even angrier tone, so Adrian herds us all out. Once outside, he looks sternly at Leo. “This is my favorite sushi place. Now I’m probably banned.”

Leo looks sheepish—or more sheepish than usual.

“I’m so sorry,” the gorgeous woman says. “I?—”

“Jane, meet Tiffany,” Adrian says. “Tiffany, Jane is my fiancée—as of today.” He looks at Tiffany pointedly.

Tiffany gasps. “This was your engagement dinner?”

I feel some sort of possessive satisfaction when I show her my ringed hand—which is silly, considering the engagement is fake and I have no idea if she has any designs on Adrian in the first place.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “Had I known, I wouldn’t even have taken him for a walk.”

Adrian sighs. “It’s fine. Go home. I’ve got him from here.”

“Am I fired?” she asks.

“No,” Adrian says. “But you will hear me complain a lot if Itamae-san never lets me come back.”

She smiles a dazzling smile. “Fair enough.” Turning, she clickety-clacks away—leaving me to wonder why any sane person would walk a dog in high heels.

“So,” Adrian says when we’re alone. “That just happened.”

“I know,” I say. “Only a billionaire would get kicked out of the most expensive sushi place in the world.”

Adrian looks back at the restaurant door longingly. “I might be forced to buy this building and then leverage that to convince Itamae-san to at least let me get takeout.”

“I see a big problem in our relationship already,” I say. “I have no idea if that there was a joke.”

Adrian smirks and looks at Leo with a stern expression. “Are you going to be a good boy for the rest of the day?”

Leo looks back at his human with such guileless eyes you’d think it was the dog’s evil twin—or some rogue sheep—that nearly destroyed the restaurant a second ago.

“I’ll be good,” Adrian/Leo says in that higher and sped-up voice. “And congratulations, Jane. When I smelled you this morning, I knew you and Adrian would be the perfect couple.”

I cringe at the memory. “What kind of dog are you?” I ask Leo, then feel silly and turn to Adrian.

“I’m a Wolfoodle,” replies “Leo.”

I chuckle. “That can’t be a real breed.”

“My mother was an Irish Wolfhound,” Leo says. “And my father a King Poodle—which is why I don’t like the British and eat massive amounts of potatoes… au gratin.”

“Ah,” I say. “I thought cockapoo was the funniest-sounding mix. I was clearly wrong.”

Miss Miller thinks words like “cockapoo” don’t belong in a lady’s mouth.

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