I made a face. “There were the most delicious leftovers in the fridge. Morticia said I could have them.”
“They weren't hers,” Owen said flatly, releasing me. “They were mine.”
“I'm sorry!” I looked up at him, wide-eyed. “They were really good. Best turkey I've ever eaten. Really life changing.”
His lip curled back, and he snatched the puppy from me. “People who eat another person's leftovers don't then get to pimp out said person's dogs for Instagram likes.”
“I'll make it up to you. I ate something of yours, so you can eat something of mine!” I struck a little pose.
“How is eating you out a fair trade? Shouldn't you be offering a blow job in exchange for eating leftovers?” Owen asked, confused. Then he looked horrified.
“I meant, I wouldmakeyou something to eat,” I clarified, feeling slightly flushed at the thought of him tasting my Christmas cookies. “I'll make you a roast beef or something or, hell, another turkey. But sure, I mean, I can totally also give you a blow job.” I smiled at him. So twist my arm. I wanted to open that Christmas package early.
“I'm sorry. My apologies,” Owen said abruptly, turning and leaving only snowflakes in the space where he had been.
12
Owen
Itossed and turned all night. I couldn’t sleep. I alternated between apocalyptic scenarios in which Holly went on a nuclear public relations campaign against my company and then fantasizing about what it would be like to actually taste her Christmas cookies, so to speak.
The dog didn’t help, either. Someone had decided he wanted to be named Rudolph. I tried calling him Monster or Gremlin, but the puppy ignored me. When I called Rudolph, though, he came running. With his tiny bladder, I had to race him all the way downstairs every few hours.
At this rate, I should pitch a tent in the lobby.
*
I felt lessthan sharp the next morning, which was bad, because I had a meeting with Svensson Investment. Greg Svensson was mean on a good day. The holiday season made him unbearable.
“What am I going to do with you?” I asked the dog. It was clear I couldn't leave him in the condo. Picking him up, I took Rudolph (dear God, why did that have to be his name?) down to the main lobby with me. Several of the bored-looking software engineers perked up as soon as they saw the dog.
“Whoa!” one guy said. “Best CEO ever! You brought a puppy to work!”
“He's not staying.”
“You're not keeping the dog?” another programmer asked in horror.
One of our marketing interns whipped out her phone to take videos of the puppy wriggling in my arms, tail wagging. I recalled how terrible my CEO relatability scores had been in the lastTechBizreport. Pictures of me with a puppy would probably go a long way to helping Quantum Cyber beat the Holbrooks.
Guess he's staying.
“I'm keeping him,” I assured them. “I just need someone to puppy sit. He's not housetrained yet.”
“My brother has a dog-sitting start-up,” the programmer offered. “I can email you.”
“Thanks.”
I had been planning on paying the receptionist to take care of the dog. I couldn't just leave Rudolph with her now, though. That would look like puppy abandonment. I would ruin all the goodwill I had just built up.
Penny and Holly and the other contestants streamed off the elevator. I peered at her. She liked dogs. And Holly had eaten my leftovers, so she owed me a favor. But then I had asked her to suck my dick, which was, in hindsight, not what I should have done. I weighed my options. Talk to Holly? Pretend I didn't see her and take the dog with me to Svensson Investment to face Greg's wrath?
Holly waved to me, so I headed in her direction.
“Good morning, Rudolph!” she said.
“I'm sorry for last night,” I said gruffly.
“Last night was amazing!” she said, squeezing my arm. Amber looked as if she was having some sort of fit. “No need to apologize!” She winked at me.
