12. Bruce
CHAPTER 12
brUCE
As soon as Lilly sashays out of the room, Angela states, “That one is different from the rest of your staff.”
“Oh?” I scratch Colossus’s apple-shaped head, and he closes his eyes in a blissed-out expression.
“She’s attractive,” Angela says. “Suspiciously so. And feisty—which I didn’t think you could tolerate.”
I scoff. “You’re just feeling defensive and lashing out.”
Angela originally bought the dog for herself. Then, after merely two weeks, she begged me to take him—and I couldn’t say no. That’s what she meant when she told Lilly that “life happens.”
Angela sighs theatrically. “You’re brutally honest, as usual. I wonder how Lilly feels about that.”
Not this shit again. “Abraham Lincoln is revered for his honesty. Why am I always getting chided for mine?”
She snorts. “I bet if his wife ever asked him if a dress made her look fat, even Honest Abe would’ve said no regardless of the truth. That’s called a white lie and it’s what makes our society function.”
I sigh. “You lie enough for the both of us.”
“That’s not fair. I’m always honest with you .”
I can’t help but smile. “That there is the biggest lie of the day.”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, here’s a truth: that Lilly seems like trouble.”
“On that, we agree,” I say. “But as you know, I don’t have a lot of time, so how about we talk about the dumb dog?”
“Don’t listen to him,” she croons at Colossus. “You’re a genius.”
“Yeah. A genius who ate half a roll of toilet paper the other day.”
“Daddy and I love you,” Angela continues in the same babytalk. “If he doesn’t tell you that, it’s because he’s a big grump who doesn’t even say it to me.”
“According to his papers, his ‘daddy’ was a best-in-show winner named Toby,” I snap.
“No,” Angela says. “That was just the sperm donor.”
How is it that even after years of arguing with her, I still haven’t learned that it’s a waste of time? I change the topic. “In any case, the dog is doing well. Lilly has big plans for his training.”
The gambit works, and the conversation pivots to all things Colossus. When she’s up to speed, I ask her how she’s liking the Hamptons—her current stop on her ever-busy itinerary.
“It’s surprisingly like your Palm Beach.” She wrinkles her nose. “Everyone makes their hedges taller than their neighbors’.”
“That reminds me,” I say. “I should get forty-foot hedges to surround my estate.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s secluded as is. You don’t need the privacy.”
I shrug. “If there’s a contest on hedge heights, I intend to win.”
“First the car collection, now this,” Angela says. “Someone might think you’re trying to compensate for something.”
“Seriously?”
“Sorry,” Angela says sheepishly. “That was below the belt.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait,” she says. “Have you spoken to your parents today?”
“No,” I say. “I haven’t spoken to our parents.”
“Then this will be a surprise,” she says triumphantly. “I’m coming for a visit.”
I frown. “With Champ?”
“Of course.”
Fuck. I know it’s a typical thing for a brother to disapprove of anyone his sister dates, but in this case, I’m justified because Champ is the epitome of a douche. “But what about his dog allergy?” I demand.
Angela met Champ a few days after she got Colossus, and it didn’t take long for them to decide to go globetrotting together—without a dog.
“We’ll stay at a hotel,” she says. “And when we visit, your Lilly can keep the dog out of Champ’s way. Also, he will take some antihistamines.”
I blow out an exasperated breath. I thought one bonus of having this dog was that I wouldn’t have to be in the same space as Champ ever again.
“You don’t like it when I poopoo on the people you date,” Angela says.
“Which you do,” I say. “Every single time.”
She shrugs. “It’s not my fault you’re a magnet for gold-digging trash.”
I pointedly look at my watch. “We’re out of time.”
It’s not even an excuse. It’s dinnertime for me and Colossus, and I haven’t delegated that task to Lilly just yet.
Angela pouts. “You just don’t want to have a conversation about your love life. Or lack thereof.”
Tapping at the clockface, I wave her goodbye.
“How long has it been?” she asks stubbornly. “A year. Two?”
I reply by hanging up. The last thing I need is to be told that I need a good woman in my life—whatever that means.
Colossus looks down and whines.
I set him on the floor. “You hungry?”
We both know the question is rhetorical. The puppy bolts out of the room like he’s being attacked by bees, then torpedoes in the direction of the kitchen.
Even walking fast, I can barely keep up with him.
When I get to the kitchen, I slow down.
There’s always a risk I might catch someone chewing in there, like the time I walked in on the chef tasting his alfredo sauce, or the time I?—
And there it is.
Her back to me, Lilly is sitting on a barstool with a fork in her hand, a piece of gnocchi speared on it. She has headphones on, so she doesn’t notice me or the dog.
Before I can look away, she sticks the fork into her mouth and begins chewing.
I wince, expecting the usual flood of adrenaline and wave of disgust.
None of it comes.
What the fuck? Until now, the only creature whose eating I could tolerate was the dog—and I figured it was because a) he mostly swallows without chewing, and b) he finishes his food in a nanosecond.
In morbid fascination, I wait until she spears another gnocchi.
Was that a moan?
Yep.
She’s really enjoying her meal.
And once again, I feel nothing.
Well, if I’m honest, my heart rate does go up, but it’s not due to the usual reasons. It’s her moaning. I never realized that eating with zest could sound so seductive.
Hmm. Is that why I’m seemingly immune to her chewing? Is this the famous “suspension bridge effect” from psychology, where men find women more attractive after receiving an adrenaline surge from walking over a bridge? Yeah. It must be that. Some wires have gotten crossed, and my body thinks I’m turned on instead of feeling the usual fight-or-flight response.
Lilly greedily slurps her drink through a straw.
Normally, I’d be climbing the walls by now, yet I’m fine… or more accurately, turned on more.
I feel paws tapping my shin.
Ah.
Right.
The dog is reminding me why I’m here.
I walk over to the fridge and get the soy sauce dish that we use as a doggie plate. The chef has outdone himself, as usual, setting up all the morsels in a pretty way.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lilly take off her headphones.
“Hey,” she says. “Is he about to eat?”
I set the bowl down in answer.
Channeling the Flash, Colossus whooshes over and devours the whole meal in an eyeblink. Even though I’ve seen this before, I shake my head. Why do I make the chef waste his time to make the dog’s food look so presentable?
Lilly’s eyes widen so much they look proportional to her eyebrows… at least for the moment. “I’ve seen dogs eat fast, but this may be a Guinness world record.”
The stupidest thing happens next. My lungs expand with pride, as though fast eating is an accomplishment on par with solving a quadratic equation, calculating a derivative, or programming a VCR. “It’s too quick,” I grumble. “Sometimes he’s so fast he makes himself sick.”
She nods knowingly. “There are products on the market that can slow him down.”
“Oh?”
She pulls out her phone, does a search, and shows me something that looks like a blue honeycomb. “It’s called a lick mat,” she says. “If you mash up his food or run it through a blender, you can smear in on that thing, and he’ll have to take his time licking it off.”
“I thought you followed the golden rule,” I say. “Licking your food sounds frustrating.”
Then again, the next time someone insists on having a lunch meeting with me, this could be the way I make them eat, as it would eliminate all chewing sounds.
She bristles. “Obviously, you can’t always go by how a human might feel about something. We don’t sniff butts, for example, but dogs love it.”
“Are you saying I need to provide my dog with butts to sniff?”
“No,” she says. “I mean, yes, for socialization, you should have him meet other dogs, but I was trying to say that dogs find licking very soothing.”
Making a mental note to come back to this socialization business, I take out my own phone and buy a few different kinds of lick mats to test out.
“Great,” she says when I tell her what I’ve done. “I’ll work with Bob on slowing the puppy down once they arrive.”
I cringe. “Can you at least call him Chef?”
She rolls her eyes but says, “Fine.”
A compromise? Mercury must be in retrograde.
“Anyway.” I walk over to the oven where my food is being kept warm. “I’ll let you enjoy your meal.”
“Ah. Right.” She grabs her plate with a jerky motion. “I was warned not to eat in your august presence.”
“Who warned you?” I demand. My staff shouldn’t be talking about this.
She takes a step back. “No one.”
I point at the ceiling. “There’s a surveillance camera up there, so I could find out for myself.” It’s a bluff, at least regarding my looking at the footage personally—it might include people chewing. But I could have someone from security comb through it if I felt like it.
“Then check your fucking camera,” she grits out. “Just leave me out of it.”
Colossus whines.
Fuck.
I take a deep breath and prepare to deescalate. “It’s fine that they told you. You would have found out sooner or later—and nondisclosure is part of the contract you signed.”
“It is?”
“Yes.” And a good thing too, as what I’m about to tell her I rarely, if ever, share with people.
She stares at me, intrigued. “So… what is it I’m not to disclose?”
I take another breath. “I have misophonia.”