Page 12 of Fake Dating My Billionaire Boss

I grab a pair of socks from the drawer and then choose a pair of black Prada loafers from the rack. I take a seat on the brushedleather bench at the center of the closet. My quads protest, thanks to my run, but I ignore the burn. I have one shoe on and I’m about to slide my foot into the other when a scruffy looking dog runs into the closet.

Before I can do a thing to stop it, he’s got my thousand-dollar loafer between his teeth and he’s tugging. Hard.

I release the shoe, jump to my feet, and then step up onto the leather bench.

I’ve never had to deal with a stray or runaway dog before, and for all I know, this one has rabies.

He’s looking at me, shoe in mouth, wagging his tail. Like I’m supposed to behappythat he stole my footwear right out of my hand.

“Get out!” I tell him, as I point toward the door. He can take the loafer, for all I care. As long as he doesn’t bite me.

“Hello?” A female voice floats down the hallway beyond my master bedroom. “Heelllloooo? Damian was that you? Is Bo in there?”

And then her head pokes around the corner of my walk-in closet.

She visibly stifles a laugh. Her eyes sparkle. “Oh! Bo found you.”

“This is your dog?”

I don’t know what’s worse. Her mirth—at my expense—or the fact that she let herself into my house. Who does that?

“This is Bojangles Sinclair,” she says cheerfully. Her long dark hair is swept back in a high ponytail, and it swishes as she drops down to her knees.

“Bo! Bo, sweetie, come! Leave Damian alone.” She pats her thighs. She’s in black leggings and a loose-fitting white top that hangs off one shoulder, revealing the black strap of a tank top or camisole beneath. Is it possible that she looks prettier without makeup on? Her skin glows.

Her eyes twinkle merrily as she looks up at me and laughs again, this time not even bothering to hide it. “You don’t have to be afraid of him. He’s a pipsqueak. Most of this is fur.” She rubs his sides. “He’s like, twenty pounds under all this fluff.”

It takes me a moment to realize I’m still standing on the footstool.

I climb down. “Has he had a rabies shot, at least?”

“Oh, come on. Would you lighten up? He’s the sweetest dog ever. He won’t bite you.”

“He bit my shoe.” I gesture to the dress shoe, now glistening with slobber, that the mutt dropped at Bella’s side.

She looks down at it. “Well, you’ve got me there. He does have a thing for shoes. Love’s ‘em. But he doesn’t gnaw on them or ruin them or anything. He likes to take them places. I see it as a compliment when he takes mine.” She hugs the scrappy dog. “Isn’t that right, love-bug? You like things that smell like me because I’m your person and you love me.” Then she hops up to her feet and steps forward with the shoe.

I take it from her.

“You’re mad…”

“Bella, this is mycloset. I’m gettingdressed.”

“We knocked on the door out front, but you didn’t answer, and it wasn’t locked…”

“That doesn’t give you the right to barge in.”

“I’m going to be living here with you, right?” The twinkle in her eye turns to a feisty spark.

I remember that look, from when she used to run around Silver Springs with that friend of hers. The one from the bank. Fizzy. They made quite a pair. She was usually barefoot and in cutoff jeans and some raggedy tank top, while he was dressed to the nines, bow tie and all. They were always up to something, those two. I was older and, thank goodness, didn’t have to deal with whatever games and schemes they cooked up.

But she’s right. Now, we’re going to live together. For a summer.

I must be certifiably insane. I invited her into my home.

Now is the time to do some damage control.

Set boundaries.

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