The Billionaire Next Door (Billionaire Bad Boys #2)(7)

Adonis yipped his disappointment at losing the chance to go outside.

“You’ll have to take him out now!” came a shout through the door. “Don’t blue-ball the poor guy after taking him halfway.”

Adonis wagged his tail so hard, he nearly took out a lamp. The hulk at the door was right. There was no way she could turn down the Dane’s pale eyes and smiling pink mouth, perked pointy ears, and lolling tongue.

“Fine,” she growled, and stomped for the bedroom. She snatched up her boots and hastily picked out her clothes, feeling both tired and cranky. Yet as she tugged on her coat, she found her mouth curving into a half-smile.

Blue balls.

Who was that guy?

*



Tag wasn’t hiding, per se, but he wasn’t making his presence known in the lobby of Crane Tower. Rather than take the elevator up, he took it down, grabbed himself a coffee, and waited.

Surely the blonde would be down with Adonis in tow any second now. As he took the second sip from his cup, he saw her. Well, he saw Adonis first since he was six feet ahead of her, leash a straight, taut line. The blonde’s hair was in a sloppy topknot, and she’d changed into jeans and a long red sweater. Her coat was open; her boots came up to her knees. Nothing special about her outfit, but he was hit with a blast of longing so acute, he froze in place.

Damn.

Like the first time he’d spotted her on the sidewalk, she’d once again struck him stupid. Him noticing a woman was not a rare thing, but neither did he stop and stare, dumbstruck. The moment he’d noticed her, and she’d noticed him, had been infused with a palpable buzz of electricity.

“That’s stupid,” he grumbled against the lip of his coffee cup, sliding behind a divider separating the coffee shop from the lobby.

She strode by in a plume of soft, floral perfume, Adonis in the lead and so focused on getting outside he didn’t give away Tag’s hiding spot.

Tag shook his head. There was no denying it. Oliver’s girl was cute.

“One of her regulars,” he mumbled to himself, sauntering over to the front desk after woman and dog vanished into the whitewashed landscape outside.

Regular whats?

But he knew. One look at the blonde’s smooth skin and blue eyes, even with her body covered from head to toe in flannel polar bears, Tag knew exactly what she and Oliver were regularly doing.

It was what any man in his right mind would regularly do with a woman who was as effortlessly sexy as she was.

“Whatever,” he said, determined to stop debating how dorky Oliver had landed a super-hot (and way too young for him) girlfriend.

“Talking to yourself again, Tag?” Fiona manned the front desk often, her shifts ranging from day to night to filling in for the afternoon staff. He’d been out with her a few times. She was brunette, savvy, and a great lay. A keeper if he were the keeping type, but then he’d let her go and she’d gone and now she was dating some dude with a law degree. Good for her.

“The blonde,” he said, tossing his chin toward the door she just exited. “She’s staying with Oliver. I think she works second shift. Can you let me know when she comes in tonight?”

“You mean spy for you?” Fiona’s eyes rounded playfully.

“A little intel is not spying, Fi.”

She tapped her keyboard, then said, “Rachel Foster. Says here she is a bartender.”

Rachel. The bartender.

“One of her regulars,” he said, his tone shifting into duh. He was a restaurant guy—how had he not put that together? They must’ve met at the bar where she worked. Maybe Rachel and Oliver had some sort of opposites attract thing going on. Who knew, maybe the guy was really charming in that setting.

Tag grimaced. He couldn’t picture it.

“I’ll let you know of her comings and goings,” Fiona promised. “Oh, and, Tag?”

“Yeah, doll.” He dragged his attention from the door to focus on Fi’s knowing expression.

“This wouldn’t happen to be personal would it?” Her voice had a singsong quality.

“She’s Oliver’s girl. You know better.”

“I do.” Nostalgia hung on those two words, like maybe she was remembering a time between them. He couldn’t call up specifics, only that she’d rated on his scale and she was all wrong for him.

That happened a lot.

“The dog has been barking nonstop. It’s not like him.”

Fiona nodded. “Ah. I bet he has separation anxiety. Whenever I leave my Pomeranian, Lola, she goes crazy. My dog sitter says she’s inconsolable for weeks.”

“Separation anxiety.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Fiona confirmed, folding her arms on the counter in front of her. “There are several things you can do to combat it. Some dogs need more exercise, others special treats. They even have these toys that are like puzzles you hide treats in to keep them busy during the long hours while the owner is away.”

“No shit.”

Fi’s smile widened. “No shit.”

Finally. Something tangible. An action step he could check off a list.

“Where’s the nearest pet store that would have those things?”

“I love Pup Paradise. They have everything, including services like grooming and dog massages.”

Dog. Massages.