Baby for the Billionaire(75)
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” Jack asked.
The sound of rustling papers drifted through the receiver. “I can tell you that Madam is approximately two and a half years old, in excellent health and all her shots are up-to-date.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your assistance.”
“If you plan on adopting her, I can fax you her medical records.”
“I’ll let you know.” He disconnected the call and swore beneath his breath. Now what? He turned and faced Annalise and Isabella, wincing at the undisguised hope gleaming in their eyes. They must have guessed from what little they’d heard that all had not gone well. Or rather, it had gone extremely well … for them.
“The dog’s name is Madam,” he stalled.
“What about the owner?” Annalise asked. “Did the vet have any contact information?”
He didn’t have a choice. He gave her the facts in short, terse sentences and then handed down his final edict. It was the only logical choice and he made his decision crystal-clear and without exceptions or loopholes, question or qualification. And he used his most intimidating tone of voice, the one that left his employees trembling. The tone that had his various vice presidents and board members scrambling to obey. The tone that no one had dared to openly defy in the decade he’d spent building his empire.
“We are going to turn this dog over to the shelter,” he pronounced. “End of discussion.”
Annalise didn’t so much as quiver, let alone tremble. And there wasn’t the slightest inkling of a scramble. Instead she shot a pointed look in Isabella’s direction before folding her arms across her chest in open defiance. “I think we should consider keeping Madam. She might help with certain adjustment issues.”
Didn’t she get it? He didn’t argue with employees. He spoke; they obeyed. “Help in what way?” he argued. “By eating us out of house and home? By scaring my neighbors? What if that animal drives off Sara and Brett? I can barely keep a nanny as it is. Now you want to deprive me of my housekeeper and handyman, too?”
“I’m sure they’ll both fall in love with Madam.” Beside her, Isabella nodded eagerly. “Plus, helping to take care of a dog will teach your niece responsibility.” Annalise lowered her voice, knocking the final nail into his coffin with a husky plea. “And maybe it’ll help with her grief.”
“You … I …” He ground his teeth together. “This isn’t a conversation to have in front of Isabella and you damn well know it,” he informed Annalise.
“Language.”
“Oh, you’re going to hear some language, just as soon as I get you alone.”
“I don’t think it’s wise to leave Madam unattended with Isabella,” Annalise objected, the wicked twinkle in her eye at direct odds with the demureness of her expression. “Not until we know that it’s safe.”
“Exactly.” He seized on the excuse. He pointed toward Madam. “That animal is too big. She could accidently injure Isabella.”
“So far she’s been very gentle. Not to mention protective. And if she was raised at a dorm, she’s accustomed to being around young people.”
“We don’t know if the mutt is housebroken. Look at the size of her. In case you’re unaware of it, there’s a distinct correlation between the size of an animal and the size of its steaming piles of sh—” He broke off at Annalise’s warning look. “Chunks of chocolate, not to mention the lakes of pi— Son of a bi—” It was all he could do not to rip his hair out by the roots. “Geysers of ginger ale. Who’s going to clean that up?”
Honey-gold eyes brimmed with laughter. “We’ll make sure Madam gets frequent walks until we’re certain she won’t accidently leave any chocolate treats or ginger-ale geysers around the house.”
“And that’s another thing,” he was quick to point out. “Who’s going to walk her? We’ll need a private trucking service to pick up all she dumps along the way.”
“That’s the purpose of pooper scoopers. We’ll manage.”
“Not only that, but she’s a lot of dog to control. We live in the city. If she gets away from you she might break a car or knock over a power pole or mistake a policeman for a chew toy. Or … or eat some tourists—not that that would be so bad.”
Isabella began to giggle, the sound the most delicious thing he’d ever heard in his entire life. “She won’t fit in the Jag,” he added weakly, struggling to steel himself against that sweet, sweet laugh. “She’ll knock over the furniture. The house is full of priceless antiques, you know. She’ll probably dig holes straight through to China in my backyard, holes Isabella could fall into. Isabella doesn’t speak Chinese.”