He closes the bathroom door. “I’ll have the movers clear the room and bring your things.”
Clear the room for my things? “No need, thanks.” That would be like swapping a sleek Lamborghini for a horse and buggy made by the inventors of the Nissan Cube.
He looks around as if seeing the furniture for the first time. “You want to use the room as is?”
I nod vigorously. “So long as the sheets are clean.”
There’s liquid nitrogen in his gaze. “The sheets are new. So are the towels. Ditto for the toothbrush and—”
Colossus emerges from under the bed, a moth the size of his face in his mouth.
“No!” Bruce shouts. “Don’t eat—”
Too late. The little Chihuahua crunches on the moth, then swallows it.
Considering their relative sizes, this would be like me catching and swallowing a pigeon.
“Bad dog,” Bruce says sternly.
Colossus plops on his butt and looks at his human with big, soulful eyes that show zero guilt.
What’s wrong with fluffy sky raisins? They eat clothes, I eat them—this is what my voice-twin Mufasa meant by The Circle of Life. I’d be willing to trade the next one for an oatmeal cookie. Especially a flying cookie.
Instinctively, I place myself between Bruce and Colossus. I imagine a man who could steal my childhood home is capable of kicking a puppy. “Moths are considered safe for dogs to eat.”
“Oh?” Bruce imbues the syllable with so much sarcasm I want to smack him.
“Moths don’t carry any known diseases and are nontoxic.” I know this because Roach loved to eat moths, and flies, and—ironically—roaches too, when he could catch them.
Bruce crosses his arms. “He must listen when I forbid him to eat something.”
“How not tyrannical,” I say caustically.
His nostrils flare. “You don’t think a creature with a brain the size of a walnut could use help when it comes to making such decisions?”
“Size of a walnut?” I examine Bruce’s head with an exaggerated thoroughness. “That would make your skull even thicker than I thought.”
Bruce bares his teeth—which happen to be perfect, damn him. “Is that right?”
“You betcha.” I glare up at him, forgetting all caution. “And if you wanted to eat shit, I’d let you.”
“You know what, Lilly? Forget the job. You’re fired.”
“Great.” I dive into my purse to pull out the note. If I don’t get the money, I’m at least going to give him an earful.
This might even be for the better, in fact. Inhaling a deep breath, I rattle out, “You are a heartless machine—and the embodiment of what’s wrong with the world. How could—”
Colossus whines pitifully, stopping me in my tracks.
I kneel fast. “What’s wrong?”
Could that moth be hurting him? He didn’t chew it much, so it’s feasible he could get stomach upset from that.
The puppy looks from me to Bruce, then whines again.
Oh, shit. I know this behavior. He—
“He doesn’t like the arguing,” Bruce mutters under his breath—which is what I was about to conclude.
I feel terrible. Of course, the puppy will pick up on the hostility in the room. Dogs are social beings, after all. I was behaving like a Bruce.
“Everything is okay,” I croon to Colossus. “Bruce and I were just speaking with passion.”
The puppy calms down impressively quickly. When I would accidently get Roach into these types of situations, he’d mope for a couple of minutes.
Even though Roach is long gone, I feel a pang of guilt about the fights I had with my ex in front of him. I don’t feel as bad about today’s situation because the blame rests on Bruce.
Speaking of, I get up and narrow my eyes at him. “Any chance you could not be your awful self around the puppy after I leave?”
“You’re not leaving,” he says through his teeth. “The dog likes you, and I have no idea why.”
“Wait, what?” I gape at him. “Are you saying…?”
“Forget what I said. You still have the job. For now.” He looks as if the words cost him more than this mansion.
My heart leaps—and not just because of the money. In no time at all, what I’ve feared has come true: I’m already so attached to this Chihuahua that leaving him alone with his cold-hearted owner isn’t something I’d feel right doing.
“That is, if you can behave yourself,” he adds before I can breathe out a sigh of relief.
It takes everything I have to stay calm for Colossus’s sake. “Behave myself?”
“You will be cordial from now on. Or you are out of here.”
Deep breaths. I can do this. “On one condition.” My voice is a touch sharper than I intend. “Same goes for you.”
He gives me an incredulous stare. “I wasn’t the prickly one.”
“No?” I take another deep breath and let it out. “See? I let that go.” Even though I could’ve told him that if he opened the Wikipedia page under “prick,” he’d see his own picture.
“It’s a start,” he says. “Now, will you deign to answer my earlier question?”
Stay calm. “Which one?”
He glances at his fluffy ward. “Can the dog be taught to not eat something I don’t want him to?”
“Yes. That’s what I was talking about earlier when I mentioned the ‘drop it’ command. Just bear in mind, it’s much easier to make a dog drop inedible objects.”
“Understood.” He gestures around the room. “Why don’t you examine everything and put together a list of what you need brought here?”
More like, he’s finding it too hard to stay cordial with me past that one question.
And that’s fine.
I feel the same way.
I’m already looking around when Bruce leaves and Colossus dutifully follows.
Wait. The puppy went with him? Either it’s Stockholm syndrome, or he really isn’t so bright.
Chapter 4
Bruce
When I need to calm down, I like to read, box, or cook.
Reading is out because I don’t think I can concentrate on a book right now. Boxing seems wrong in this particular context: I’m angry at a tiny creature, and a female at that, so if I found myself picturing her face on the punching bag, I’d have to hand over my man card.
That leaves cooking, and I know just the thing I will make—the oatmeal cookies that Colossus and I love.
I’ve got to hand it to the dog. When food is involved, his IQ suddenly rivals the combined scores of Lassie, Scooby Doo, and Cujo. As soon as I pull out the first ingredient, rolled oats, he gets super excited, and I’m sure he’s sleuthed out what’s about to happen.
Ignoring him for now, I take out flaxseed, zucchini, almond butter, and maple syrup—ingredients cleared by the vet.
The dog whines.
“Fine.” I hand him a little taste of each of the ingredients, and he devours them like they’re the first foods he’s ever tasted.
“Now wait,” I say sternly and proceed with my work.