6. Bruce
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.