Page 53 of Big Bad Bully
A loose plan takes shape in my head, and my lips kick up a notch.
Yes. Showing up with a puppy will make Billy White the Third flip his proverbial lid. And I definitely want to see his reaction.
I lift the pup to my shoulder and carry him with one arm, gripping my coffee with the other hand.
Let the fireworks begin.
The doorman holds the door open for me as I approach.
“Hi, Grayson.” I made a point of learning the giant burly guard’s name yesterday. I’m trying to get him past the formal phase, but he resists.
“Ms. Cook.” He gives the puppy a slightly alarmed look. “Does Mr. White know you’re bringing a dog to his premises?”
“It couldn’t be helped.” I breeze by him, straight to the elevators, even though I know he has to use his keycard for me to access Billy’s floor.
The puppy barks at Grayson, squirming in my arms to be let down.
“Nuh uh.” I turn the pup to look at me and give him a stern look. He attempts to lick me.
Grayson steps into the elevator, presses his keycard to the sensor, then hits the button for Billy’s floor.
The puppy barks at him again.
“Good luck with that.” He sounds dry, which makes me think we are actually becoming friends after all.
I flash him a broad smile. “I’m expecting the worst.”
As the doors close, I catch his brows pop in surprise, and I hear him mutter, “Oh, boy,” as the elevator ascends.
When I arrive on the upper floor, Billy’s door is open, and I waltz in, ready for him to freak out.
He’s in the kitchen, making an espresso. His hair is still wet from a shower, his pinstriped button-down shirt gaps open at the throat. A tie with black and gray stripes lies beside him on the kitchen counter.
Oh…damn. I’m unprepared for how hot this not-quite-dressed look is on him. I wonder what he’d look like stepping out of the shower. Is there hair on his chest? Or is he the kind of guy who waxes his back and chest?
I wonder what it would be like to be tied up with that tie of his…
So many unanswered questions.
The biggest one is, will I find out the answers to all of them? I know I could. The better question is, should I?
Billy’s nostrils flare as he whirls to look at me.
“What. Is. That?” He metes his words out like punishment.
“This little guy just got thrown out of a car.” I lift the pup’s face to mine to give his head a kiss.
“And you brought it here, why?”
To torment you.
“Where else was I going to bring it?” I ask with mock innocence.
“To the pound. Where abandoned mutts belong.”
As if the little dog senses his disapproval, it tucks its little tail and whimpers.
He strides toward us, and the dog whimpers louder. “Did it pee on you?”
