Page 276 of The Billionaires

Frowning, the lady nods.

“Is Sisi fixed?” Jane continues.

The lady lifts her chin. “She’s beyond such things.”

I can tell Jane is having a hard time keeping her face calm. “Even if Sisi is beyond such things, she is in heat, which means her pheromones will have an effect on the male dogs she comes into contact with.”

The lady pulls on Sisi’s leash. “I will not stand here and continue this vulgar conversation.” With that, she struts away, with Sisi turning around from time to time to cast longing looks at Leo—though that last bit could just be my imagination.

Leo whines.

For the love of naked butts, just one sniff, please. Pretty please.

“Sorry, bud,” I say. “Maybe peanut butter will make you feel better?”

The whining stops.

I grin. “If the devil ever wanted the souls of dogs, Leo’s would cost him a jar of peanut butter.”

Jane grins back. “Most other dogs’ too.”

I gesture at my favorite picnic spot. “What do you think?”

Jane examines it. “Isn’t someone already sitting there?”

“Yeah. Us,” I say. “I had my assistant set it up.”

Jane hurries over to the blanket with evident excitement, while I walk over to the pole in the ground and attach Leo’s leash to it thoroughly—I don’t want to chase him again.

Once Leo is secure, I give him his favorite hollowed-out butt-plug-looking toy that has frozen peanut butter inside.

“Now everyone has something to munch on,” I say to Jane, then open the basket and pull out the food for us humans.

“Cucumber sandwiches?” Jane exclaims. “Do you have tea too?”

“What am I, a barbarian?” Pulling out a thermos, I pour each of us a cup.

When Jane tastes hers, the blissful expression on her face does to me what poodle pheromones must’ve done to Leo—except I have more self-control.

I think.

“Are there spices in this tea?” Jane asks, licking her lips. “Like in chai?”

I shake my head, trying not to think about what I’d like that tongue to lick instead.

“What about molasses?”

“Nope.” My voice is slightly hoarse.

“What kind of tea is it then?”

I strain to recall. “Da Hong Pao, I think.”

“I think it’s now my favorite,” she says. “I’ve never had tea that smelled like an orchid before.”

“It’s a good tea,” I say, finally asserting my control over Yoda. And to keep said control, I add, “I also have a tea that is fertilized by the dung of panda bears—but I figured I’d warn you before brewing something like that.”

There. Dung is unsexy, and pandas refuse to propagate their species—also a mood killer.

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