The Billionaire's Matchmaker(59)

“The world is hardly fair, Ms. Travolini.”

Didn’t she know it? If life were fair, she wouldn’t have traveled down the road of her youth, endangering her physical well-being and leaving her self-respect in shatters.

“That may be true, but I’m hoping you will be.”

“I see.” A hand reached for the paperwork, and Jenny caught a glimpse of smooth, tight skin in the dim computer light. “All this says is that your dog is carrying a litter of puppies,” he said after a moment. “Doesn’t say anything about who sired them.”

“Doesn’t have to. Charlie sired them.”

“Assuming Charlie’s the only dog she mated with.”

Jenny bristled. He did not just poke that hornet’s nest, did he? “Are you suggesting Lulu’s some kind of doggy whore?” Although she knew it was impossible, she could almost hear his whiskeyed voice in her head. Like dog, like owner….

“What I’m suggesting is that taking Charlie from Ms. Wilson provides you with a convenient way to pay your vet bills.”

Terrific. So he was simply accusing her of trying to scam him. Like that was so much better. “Did you read the bill? Do you really think, if I were trying to extort money, I’d go for such a modest amount?”

“I think the best con artists know to be realistic, especially when first dipping into your wallet. Best not to take what anyone says at face value or believe a source too completely.

“I’ll tell you what.” He picked up a pen. “When your dog has her puppies, have the vet do a genetic test. If the bloodline matches, then we can talk reimbursement.”

With that, he bowed his head over his paperwork, essentially dismissing her.

Jenny seethed. It was like she was back in Chicago, being tossed aside by another so-called boyfriend who didn’t think she was good enough for a real relationship. She felt small and insulted and angry as hell. Only she wasn’t twenty years old anymore and she no longer let men take advantage. She’d send Nicholas Bonaparte his genetic test all right, along with the bill for it and Lulu’s care—and demand an apology with his reimbursement check.

As she turned to leave, she caught sight of Charlie sitting expectantly in the chair and felt a pang of regret. In spite of the craziness with Lulu, she’d grown fond of the little guy over the past month. He was basically a good dog who, while rambunctious, was also gentle and friendly and wanted nothing but someone to love him. She hated to see him pinning his hopes on the wrong person. How many times had she made the same bad mistake? Ten to one he found his way to Gabby’s studio before the week was out.

“No one would blame you if you did, pal.”

“What?”

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud, but now that she had, she decided to own her words. Someone should let Bonaparte know how neglectful he was being. How badly being tossed aside hurt. “I said, no one would blame him for running away from this place,” she repeated, louder this time. “You do know pets need more than food and water, don’t you?”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” Bonaparte had unleashed her schoolteacher instincts. Now he would be forced to listen to the lecture. “They need attention and love and nurturing. They need to know they’re wanted. It’s only when they don’t get affection that they turn destructive. They tear up the house.” Or run around from man to man hoping to find love elsewhere. “Did you ever think that maybe the reason Charlie’s so out of control is because he wants you to notice him?”

When she finished, Bonaparte sat back in his chair, sending him deeper in the shadows. The movement was so deliberate, Jenny felt a spark of hope that her words sank in.

“Thank you for your insight.”

So much for making her point. He clearly found her insight unwelcome and unnecessary. Jenny gritted her teeth. Poor Charlie. How on earth was she supposed to leave him? This wasn’t a home; it was a marble mausoleum. He deserved better than to be stuck here with a grumpy butler and a hardhearted owner.

To hell with returning him today. “You know what?” She scooped the squirming Jack Russell into her arms. “If you want to wait until you get the genetic testing; you can wait for your dog, too. Come on, Charlie. Let’s get out of here.”





Chapter Two



“Are you seriously just going to let her march out of here with your property?” Cyrus asked, his eyebrows raised.

Nick stared at the car driving away from the house. She had marched, hadn’t she? He didn’t think the term applied to anyone outside a drum and bugle corps but it fit Jennifer Travolini’s exit perfectly. He could still hear the heels of her flat shoes slapping against the marble.

“Yes, I am,” he answered, letting the drape fall back into place. Not only would he let her march out, but he planned to let her keep the damn dog if she wanted as well. Wasn’t as though he’d win a prize for pet owning anyway. Truth was, he never should have indulged Megan in the first place. But then, he’d always indulged Megan, so when his fiancée fell in love with the purebred puppy, he’d said yes. He should have realized she’d lose interest in the animal after a few months. And, when she walked out, leaving the terrier behind, he couldn’t bring himself to punish the animal for her thoughtlessness, or his, by shuttling him off to a shelter. After all, in a way, the two of them were kindred spirits. Both were dumped after she stopped finding them attractive. In retrospect, keeping the dog was the bigger punishment. Ms. Travolini was right; the dog deserved more attention than he could give.