Bruce huffed—and was that an eye roll? Could dogs even do that? This was exactly why I liked cats. They weren’t needy, and they certainly didn’t leave puddles of drool that called for a mop and heavy duty rain boots. Zoey’s cat Jitters was far superior to this mangy mutt.
I wasn’t up for playing games, so I dumped the food in the bowl and almost lost a finger when Bruce lunged at the bowl. This solidified it. I’d never in a million years be a dog person.
My next hurdle was to find the wet food, which Jackson had been kind enough to mention that Brogan kept in the fridge. I unwrapped the neatly packaged dog food and gagged as soon as the scent hit my nose, by far worse than Bruce’s gas.
With my nose plugged with one hand, I managed to cut seventeen cubes as per Jackson’s instructions and quickly wrapped the rest and shoved it back in the fridge. I didn’t even bother walking all the way to Bruce’s dish, I just set the plate down on the floor and let him go to town.
As he was in doggy heaven snarfing down food, I finally had a moment to take everything in. To say Brogan’s furnishing style was minimalistic was an understatement. If Jackson hadn’t told me that he walked the dog every other evening, I wouldn’t believe someone lived here. There was a dining room table, a French press, a couch, a basket of dog toys, and a huge television in the living room, but that was the extent of the decor. No family pictures on the wall, no empty glasses sitting in the sink, not even a pile of mail on the kitchen counter. Nothing in here indicated that this apartment was inhabited by my boss. Did he even live here? Or was he so rich that his dog got his very own condo? Somehow this wouldn’t surprise me. From what I heard, those Silicon Valley zillionaire types were a cupcake short of a baker’s dozen when it came to anything outside of work. Why would Brogan be any different?
Well, for one, he made eye contact when we spoke, and had the ability to flip the good old hot and bothered switch with one look from those deep, soulful brown eyes.
Oh boy. Not the best idea to fantasize about the boss’s eyes while technically trespassing on his property. Then again, since I was here, I might as well take advantage of getting to know the boss on a deeper level than his Wiki page, right?
Ever since I was a little girl, I had this fascination with Nancy Drew. My earlier years were spent honing my sleuthing skills—though Mom would argue that I was a snoop and just liked going through people’s shit. Technicalities aside, I liked knowing more about people, what they chose to keep as opposed to trash. It would annoy my mom to no end when I went through her stuff, but after a while she came to terms with my snooping.
My Nancy Drew itch got the best of me, and I slyly made my way to the fridge for a better look. Just like a man’s hair, you could learn a lot about a person by what they kept in their fridge. Organic milk, an industrial size bag of chocolate chips, microbrew beer, and a container of leftovers wrapped in foil made up most of the contents of the fridge. In other words: boring.
Instinct told me I was pushing my luck, that I should close the fridge, but I couldn’t help prying a little more and lifting the foil to his leftovers. I realized then this was an all-time low if I was in someone’s apartment digging through their food, but the Nancy Drew gene was a force to be reckoned with.
As soon as the foil lifted, the comforting aroma of garlic chicken with a pesto sauce wafted out of the fridge. Aha! Garlic! What a hypocrite. For one second, where I claimed total insanity, I contemplated taking a bite.
Girl, you are not Goldilocks. Drop the garlic and move away while you still have your dignity.
The voice of reason had spoken, and I quickly tucked the foil on the container and backed away from the fridge. Bruce had finished his chow and sat next to my feet, judgment in those devil eyes.
“What? I didn’t eat it.”
He let out a huff.
“Like you’ve never thought about eating his food.” I scowled.
Not like my sleuthing even worked because besides the fact that Brogan liked chocolate (which, seriously, I’d start to worry about the guy if he didn’t) and had quite possibly the grossest dog in the city, I was no closer to finding out anything about him.
Chapter Eight
Lainey Taylor Rule of Life #46
Never get in-between a girl and Bachelor night.
I snuggled into the recliner with my bowl of rocky road ice cream with exactly two minutes to spare. After stripping out of my ripped shirt and exchanging it for a comfy old tee, I made sure to call my mom for our weekly ritual: Bachelor co-watching.
“Are you ready? It’s almost starting.”
I reached for the remote and clicked through until I found the channel. The preview for this week’s Bachelor was just finishing up. “Rodger that.”
“Do you think he’s going to let that airhead Vanessa go this week?” Mom asked.
Zoey rushed into the room, toting a bag of microwave popcorn and a bowl. “Did I miss anything?”