Page 8 of Flirting with my Billionaire Boss

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“This dog just peed on my foot.”

“Skipper?” He frowns. “He wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. That wetness dripping down my foot must be my imagination. My bad.” I clamp my hand over my mouth. What am I thinking? I can’t talk to this guy like that. He’s probably Mr. Keith himself here to interview me. The same guy who practically ran over me.

“You’re the person I almost ran over.”

“Yep. That’s me.”

“Sorry about that. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. Just peachy.” I really am okay, but I’m not that excited to see the guy who hit me, and I have dog pee sinking into my socks. Stella had insisted that I get checked out by the local OBGYN when I told her I was pregnant and had been hit by a car. She’d been able to pull some strings since she knew the doctor personally, and he squeezed me in right away. Everything seemed to be just fine, but the ultrasound and the office visit cost me a considerable chunk of my money. I only had a couple of days in my hotel left.

“I apologize for my dog’s behavior.” He frowns. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Weston Keith. How are you?”

“Hi, I’m Callie. And this is Stella. She’s my ride here.”

“I know Stella. It’s good to see you again.”

“You, too,” she says.

“Are you two friends?” Weston asks.

“We met a couple of days ago, but Callie is amazing. You’ll love her,” Stella said. “We’ve hung out a bunch since she got here.”

It’s true. After I got hit by the car, I’d seen a lot of Stella. She insisted on mothering me and making sure I was okay.

“You can go clean up in the bathroom,” Weston says. “Stella, you can have a seat in the living room.”

“Thanks,” she says.

“I’ll show you where the bathroom is, Callie,” Martha says, coming back into the entryway.

I get up and follow her down a long marble hall to the nicest bathroom I’ve ever seen. The sink is made of marble and looks like it’s part of a giant piece of dark wood furniture. There’s a bidet next to the toilet and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

I take my shoe off and then wipe the dog urine from it. Not that it helps much. The pee is soaked into the suede. I’m not sure what I’m going to do at this point. I just bought them for this interview since my other shoes were drenched in pickle juice. That’s what I get for giving into my pregnancy craving. At least it isn’t something worse, like crab salad that would spoil.

I finish up in the bathroom and return to the entryway with the wet shoes in my hands. Martha sees me and guides me to a massive office with high ceilings and an ornate wood desk. Weston is sitting behind it.

“Have a seat,” he says. “Sorry again about my dog. He can be a little troublemaker.”

I sit in one of the armchairs across from his desk. The chair looks like it costs more than a car. And I thought Markus was affluent. This guy is easily much wealthier. I already don’t like him because he bumped into me with his car. Now I don’t like him because he’s another spoiled rich guy who probably thinks he can do whatever he wants. Do I even want to work for someone like that?

“Tell me about yourself,” he says, steepling his fingers.

My mind immediately goes blank. How much do I want to say to this guy? The only thing I can think of is the drama I’ve been through lately, and I don’t want to tell him that. So I need to craft an answer that will appease him. I should have thought about this last night, but I was too busy trying to find a permanent place to stay. The internet had limited options for housing in Blue Mountain, and I wasn’t able to find anything promising on the bulletin board at the grocery store.

“Something about me?” I squeak. I’m stalling. It’s pathetic. “I—” I need to say something. Anything would be better than nothing at this point. I stare down at my peed-on shoes sitting on the floor next to my chair. “I’m a dog person.” Normally, I’m good with dogs, but I haven’t made the best impression on Skipper if he’s peeing on me. Wait. Does that mean he likes me or doesn’t like me? Was he marking me as his territory? What made a dog want to pee on someone?

He lifts his brow. “Is that all?”

“No.” I scramble to think of something else to tell him. “I’m organized and good with people. And I’m a fast learner.” I’m pretty sure I just made up that random stuff. I’m horrible at organization, but I do learn fast. “And I love to cook.” Another crock of bull. I’m a horrible cook, and I hate it.

“Good. I’m going to need someone who can handle the complexities of my daily tasks. There’s a lot that goes into this job.”

“I’m reliable too.” That one’s true. Although Markus was a garbage husband, I was always there for him. Until now. Okay, scratch that. Maybe I’m not that reliable, after all. I couldn’t be relied on to stick around. But I had a good reason for that.I should be sad about my failed marriage, but when think of things ending with Markus, I just feel relief.

---