Page 41 of Her Billionaire Bargain (Kensington Square)

“He’s very safe,” I assured her, noting she had the same wrinkle her mom got between her eyes. Safety was a big thing with these two, but two women—even a pint-sized one—living alone couldn’t be too careful. “But if you’d rather, I can bring him in.”

“I can go pick him up if he’s too tired to walk.”

“No need.” I opened the right cabinet over the counter in the kitchen and almost immediately heard the scrabble of paws and claws. I grinned at Berry as I took down the bag of dog treats. “Works every time. Let him in, would you?”

She already was. As soon as he trotted inside, he aimed straight for the water dish beside the fancy-ass-top-of-the-line stove I never used. He shoved his face in the bowl, his little pink tongue on hyper speed. Then he waddled over to me, plopped his butt down on the tile, and looked up at me expectantly.

Berry had a similar expression on her face, so I handed her the bag of all-natural dental chews. “Just four,” I told her.

She nodded solemnly as if she’d been tasked with something vitally important.

“Just four,” she told Bob before he plucked the first from between her fingers.

“Gentle,” I admonished him. “Don’t nip.”

He was much more careful the next three times. Proving me a liar, after he’d had his four treats, he dutifully padded to his cushy and largely unused bed in the corner and did a belly flop inside.

“He must be really tired,” Berry commented.

“He has a lot of struggle. It’s hard being a pampered pooch.”

Berry giggled. “Hey, can you tell my mom she should let me have a dog?”

“No,” I said immediately, already imagining her stern expression. “I absolutely cannot.”

“Why?”

“Because I want her to renovate my house, not think I’m a jerk.”

Berry glanced around in obvious awe. Seeing it from her perspective, I could get it. You could probably fit four of her mom’s cute, slightly rundown cottages just on my first floor. An exaggeration, but only slightly. “Why does it need renvating?” She lisped a little on the middle of the word. “It’s already…wow.”

“I don’t like it.” I scratched the back of my neck.

“Why?” She peered up at me curiously.

“It’s not made for me. I mean, you have a bedroom, right?”

She nodded, wrinkling her freckled nose. “It’s still decorated for a little girl, and I’m grown now, but Mama said I could make it rainbow colors for my birthday.”

“Rainbow colors, huh?”

She nodded vigorously.

“When’s your birthday?”

“June 24th. Right after the end of school.” She counted off on her fingers. “I’ll be nine. Six-seven-eight-nine,” she pronounced carefully.

“You certainly are grown. You’re almost old enough for college now.”

She let out a giggle. “That’s old.”

“I’m done with college and law school. So, does that make me ancient?”

Her nod was so somber that I had to laugh. “Kinda. How old are you?”

“Older than nine. I’d have to double up on my digits to count it off.”

“That’s okay. Just old is good enough.” She bit her lip as if she’d said something she shouldn’t. “Hey, when are we eating?”

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