There’s more scratching at the bedroom door. More whimpering. It’s the puppy. I hope.
I get out of bed—“Coming, coming”—and open the door. Bob, the baby cocker spaniel scampers in without waiting for an invitation.
I don’t usually pay much attention to cute furry things, but this little guy is really fucking cute. He sniffs around at my feet, nudges my leg with his wet nose, and looks up at me.
“Hi. How are you?”
He looks disappointed. He turns around in a circle and then sits down and raises his paw into the air and huffs.
Well, fuck me. I guess you want me to touch you or something.
I bend down to rub the top of his head, and he rests his front paws on my shins, yapping as he jumps up, trying to lick my face, I guess. I pick him up and sit with him on the bed. He keeps licking my face and wagging his tail, and there’s something about it that makes me sad. I’ve never held a puppy before. How is that even possible? How does someone go twenty-seven years without holding a puppy in his arms? What have I been doing with my life?
Working. Making billions. Trying to make the world a better place. If I had a puppy, I wouldn’t be able to focus on much else. That’s true.Is it?Yes, it’s true. There’s a reason I never turned any of my offices into a playground with desks, like so many of the so-called “cool” start-ups. I don’t make my employees work round the clock, and they can do whatever they want in their free time, but I draw the line at animals and Ping-Pong tables in the workplace.
I put Bob back down on the floor, usher him out of the room, and wipe my face with the back of my hand. Olivia may be deeply distracting, but at least she doesn’t leave my face all slimy. I can’t believe I played with a puppy before even checking my phone—whoamI?
…An idiot.
I’m an idiot.
It’s after ten o’clock, and I have so many texts and missed calls from Iris. Because I missed my Zoom meeting with Merrick. I don’t miss meetings. I don’t sleep in.
This is a disaster.
I call Iris, and she answers immediately, although she’s probably still at home.
“This is a disaster,” I say. “Is he mad?”
“He wasn’t mad at all; he was just concerned that something had happened to you. As am I. What happened?”
“Nothing—I just slept in.”
“You never sleep in.”
“Yeah, it won’t happen again. Did he say to call his landline?”
“It’s afternoon for him. He said he’d keep his mobile on him.”
“Mobile. Right. Okay. I’ll give him a ring,” I say. “Thank you, Iris. I appreciate you.”
Silence on the other end.
“Did you hang up?”
“No. I’m not used to this version of you yet. But I might get used to it.”
“I might too.”
I hang up and call Merrick immediately. He’s probably in his garden. “Mr. Montgomery. Excellent to hear from you, my boy.”
“Mr. Merrick, I am so sorry. I seem to be suffering from jet lag.” I sniffle and sneeze. Which is unusual. “I also seem to be allergic to dogs, which is a shame.”
“That is indeed a shame.”
“I usually travel alone, but this trip has been a little more complicated. I’ll never miss a meeting again—I can promise you.” This is ridiculous. I flew to the UK to get this man’s signature, and I got it. Why do I feel the need to get his approval?
“Well, don’t promise me that,” he says. “Promise me you’ll continue traveling with your complicated companion. And procure allergy medicine so you can get a dog as well.”
