If I had any money, I’d give them a huge tip as hush money. The guy has to know I’m going to eat a meal and otherwise stall on my way back so that there’s no way I’ll face him and his crew ever again.
When I drive up to the mansion, the front door is closed and there’s no sign of the moving truck.
Whew.
I ring the doorbell, and like a case of déjà vu, Bruce opens it, eyes even icier.
“What now?” I ask, reminding myself to stay polite.
He looks like he wants to behead me or worse. “Once again, you’re late.”
Chapter 6
Bruce
Lilly clutches her possessions protectively. “How can I be late when I didn’t tell you when I’d be back?”
The fact that she has a point only infuriates me further—but I rein it in since the dog is currently behind me. “Your new charge has had two accidents.”
Her eyes turn slitty. “You mean your puppy?”
“You should’ve been here with the movers.” Who left an hour ago.
“Am I not allowed to eat?”
She’s been here for all of two seconds, but a thudding pain is beginning to form in my temples. “Next time you’re hungry, speak to Chef Foxposse, or Mr. Cash, or Mrs. Campbell.”
She mutters something under her breath resembling, “Of course you have a chef.” Louder, she says, “I have no idea who any of those people are.”
“You were in the kitchen with Mr. Cash,” I remind her.
She smiles for the first time in our acquaintance, and I realize that it’s possible to find teeth pretty. “His name is Johnny Cash?”
“Your unprofessionalism is showing.” As a small peace offering, I reach out to help her with the shoebox she has in her hands.
She jumps back as if I were going to bite her nose off. “Don’t touch my things.”
I press my fingers to my temples, willing the pulsing ache to subside along with the anger I promised not to show. “You met Mrs. Campbell too,” I say with forced evenness. “Assuming you can remember as far back as when she brought me my phone earlier.”
Her teeth show again, just a hint of them, but it sure beats the hostility. “Is her first name Soup?”
My muscles tense and the urge to lash out is unbearable, but I have to remind myself that Lilly is simply making a stupid joke. She doesn’t know about my issues with soup, or more specifically, with the act of other people eating it. Slurping it. Blowing on it. Sucking it up through their teeth—
Something of my inner struggle must show because she says, “Sheesh. I was just joking. Lighten up.”
“You will treat Mrs. Campbell—and the rest of my staff—with utmost respect,” I say. “Is that understood?”
She nods, but I catch a stealthy eyeroll. I pretend not to see it.
“Can I get through to my room now?” She lifts her things.
I move out of her way and gesture for her to enter.
When she steps into the foyer, Colossus greats her with such enthusiasm you’d think she’d been away for five years.
“I know,” she says, stroking behind his ears. “I missed you too.”
She sounds like she means it too—and that pleases me, though I’m not sure why.
When the greetings are done, I lead her to her room in silence—since that is the easiest way for us not to upset the stupid dog.
“Be in the kitchen in ten minutes,” I say after I open the guestroom door for her.
“Wow. I get a whole nine minutes to settle into a new place. How generous.”
“Fine,” I grit out. “Make it twenty minutes. You can find the kitchen, right?”
She nods.
I’m a little skeptical, but if I voice that, a fight is bound to ensue.
I turn to leave, but Colossus doesn’t follow.
Traitor.
Fuck. What am I thinking? It’s a good thing the dog wants to spend time with his trainer.
Not to mention, if anyone can show her where the kitchen is, it’s him.
Chapter 7
Lilly
I put down the box and the bag.
Damn.
Seeing my possessions sprawled out around the luxurious room really hits home the mind-boggling fact that I’ve moved into my nemesis’s mansion.
If someone had told me this yesterday, I wouldn’t have believed it. I would’ve claimed that I’m incorruptible—that no matter how much money he’d throw at me, I’d stick to my guns.
Turns out, all it takes to wear me down is enough money to purchase a purebred dog on a daily basis.
Whatever. I’m here, so I might as well make myself comfortable.
The problem with that is that it took me years of careful consideration to decide the optimal place for each my things back at my small shithole. There’s no way in hell I can replicate such a feat here in the measly twenty minutes I’ve been allowed.
Before I can panic, I remind myself that my priority are the things I’ll need on a daily basis—like my clothes. I can find a good spot for the video games at my leisure—assuming Bruce allows me any.
I scan the room. There’s a dresser and a closet, but at home, I only had the latter.
Where should my clothes go?
I pull out my laptop and start a pros and cons spreadsheet for the dresser option.
In the pros row, I put the fact that all of my stuff is foldable. In the same row, I add that a dresser is a luxury I didn’t have back home, so it might be nice to utilize one.
On the cons side: my stuff could get creases.
Jumping back to the pros: a dresser is closer to the bed, so it would be faster to take things out in the morning.
Wait, there’s a con I mustn’t forget: the closet will let things keep their shape.
Hmm. There was that moth that time in my old room, but I’m not sure if they’re more likely to eat things in the dresser or in the closet.
My phone beeps.
Great.
It’s the timer I set in order to make sure I’m not late—which means I haven’t unpacked a single thing in the allotted time.
Fine, I’ll admit it. Sometimes, I find it hard to make a decision. But hey, at least it would be hard for a shyster car salesman to take advantage of me—not unless they were willing to field my million questions and wait a year for me to choose the hypothetical vehicle.
Opening the door, I take a step into the hallway—which is when a furry, tiny creature whooshes out from between my legs.
Wait a second.
I totally forgot that Colossus was in the room with me. I wonder what he was—
Oh, shit. What is that pink thing he’s got in his maw?
Please, no.
But the truth is inescapable. He’s got The Squirrel.
“Wait!” I shout.
Without turning or stopping, he wags his tail, which makes his opinion clear:
I’ve always wanted to chew a squirrel, but I’m happy to play this human-chase-puppy game instead.
The worst part is he’s headed for the kitchen.
No. Embarrassing myself in front of the movers was bad enough, but if Bruce sees that sex toy, I’ll simply—