The Billionaire's Matchmaker(60)

“Do you know why the dog wasn’t neutered?” he asked, turning his attention to the reason behind Jennifer’s visit.

The guilty expression on his butler’s face answered his question. “Miss Megan canceled the surgery. Said she might want to breed him in the future. I assumed you knew.”

“I didn’t.” But then, Megan failed to share many things during their engagement. Starting with the fact that she didn’t love him.

“But you told Ms. Travolini otherwise.”

“Your eavesdropping skills are rusty, Cyrus. I neither confirmed nor denied knowledge. Besides, aren’t I allowed to save some face?” He managed a wan smile. “No pun intended.”


“Of course the pun was intended. You have a warped sense of humor.” The butler’s lips curled into a cross between a grimace and a sneer. During the ten years he’d worked for him, Nick had come to recognize the expression as the closest thing Cyrus had to a smile. He was also the closest thing Nick now had for a friend.

Sometimes he wondered if Cyrus would be as loyal without the sizeable paycheck he received every week. Nick wasn’t about to test the theory. Even if he was only staying for the money, at least he stayed. Megan couldn’t manage that much. Right now, the older man was looking at him with concern. “You look tired. Maybe you should lie down for a bit. The doctors in Europe did say you needed to take it easy.”

“The doctors in Europe don’t have a multi-billion dollar empire to run. And I was gone too long as it is. I’ll lie down before dinner.”

“I’ll have the cook make you some tea then.” Nick hated tea, but he nodded anyway. Truth was, the fatigue was setting in, along with the painful stiffness in his shoulder. Three years ago, he could work sixteen hours straight and not bat an eye. Now everything took longer and zapped his energy. He hated it. It was one of the reasons he’d gone to Europe. Hoping the doctors and their miracle cures might help built his stamina.

God, how he hated the way the whole damn world walked on eggshells around him. Constantly worrying whether he was tired, whether he was in pain. Whether they would say or do the wrong thing. Everyone except Cyrus.

And Jennifer Travolini. Turns out his dognapper was quite the study in contradictions. At first blush, she looked as steely as a wood sprite in a potato sack. In fact, that shapeless jumper she wore wasn’t much more than a potato sack. She either had lousy fashion taste or she was purposely trying to hide her attractiveness. Didn’t work. Potato sacks didn’t hide shapely legs or slim wrists. Same way her avoiding makeup didn’t hide her delicate cheekbones or the spark that found its way into her brown eyes when she started lecturing.

The man in him couldn’t help wondering if they lit up at other moments—even if such thoughts were a waste of time. Whatever bravado Jennifer Travolini displayed, she did so while he was in the shadows. Like everyone else in the world, her impression would change once she saw the real him.

Still, the challenge was nice while it lasted. And the dog was in a better home. Something he should have arranged a long time ago.

He made a note to have a check delivered to Ms. Travolini in the morning.

…

“You did what?”

Jenny held the phone away from her ear to keep Marney’s shriek from bursting her eardrum. “What were you thinking?” her friend asked.

“The man called me a con artist.”

“So you decided to prove him wrong by stealing his dog?”

“I didn’t steal anything. I simply postponed returning him until the puppies are born.”

She was arguing semantics, something that, if one of her students tried to do it, she’d shut down in a second. Truth was, it wasn’t until she was halfway home that Jenny stopped to think about her actions. Bonaparte made her so mad she just acted.

What was it she said to Charlie about facing consequences? She looked over at the terrier prancing around the kitchen, trying to roust his sleepy playmate. The chubby King Charles rubbed her nose with her paw every time he poked her. The two of them were definitely a pair. Too much so, apparently.

On to other end of the line, she could almost hear Marney shaking her head. “I still can’t believe you dognapped Charlie. It’s so not like you.”

“I know. I know.”

Actually, the behavior was more in character than Marney realized. Far as her circle of friends was concerned, she was dependable, practical, and unassuming. What she liked to call the proper, improved Jenny Travolini. They’d never met the other Jenny. The reckless girl so desperate for love she’d do anything, give herself to anyone. That Jenny came to her senses five years ago. Learned the hard way, she might add. From now on she was going it alone. Much better to have no love at all than a whole bunch of bad love.

Which was the real reason she dognapped Charlie. She could claim it was for protest reasons all she wanted, but she knew damn well the real reason she acted so impetuously was that she couldn’t stand the idea of leaving the poor little guy in that cold house. Struck too harsh a nerve.

She wasn’t going to tell Marney that, though. Far as her friends were concerned, this was all about the money.

Tucking the portable phone under her ear, Jenny left the kitchen to retrieve from her car the large bag of dog food she purchased on the way home. She had a half a mind to bill Bonaparte for the increased food costs, too.