Terms and Conditions (Dreamland Billionaires #2) by Lauren Asher

“Oh, yes. Iris loves dogs,” Cal offers, failing to hide the amusement in his voice.

If looks could kill, Cal would be choking on his own tongue now.

“My mom never let me have a pet, so now might be the perfect chance for me to have one.” I mean having a dog might not be the worst thing ever. It could keep me company in this big, empty house.

“You want a dog,” Declan states with a strange expression on his face.

An idea of how to get out of this mess strikes me. “Yes. A big, fluffy dog that follows me around everywhere.”

“No.”

Sell yourself. Don’t make him suspicious by agreeing too easily.

“But I’ll do everything by myself. I know crate training can be annoying, but I doubt you’ll hear them howling over the sound of your snores.”

“There isn’t a chance in hell I’m letting that happen.”

“But think of all the serotonin we could be boosting if we had one.”

“My decision is final.” He turns on his heel and exits the living room.

“‘My decision is final.’ What a pretentious ass.” Cal’s eyes roll.

I drop onto the couch with relief. “You bastard. Why do you do that?”

“You could have told him the truth.”

“Never.”

“Then I guess don’t get angry when you come home one day to a cute puppy in need of a loving home.”

I give his shoulder a shove. “Don’t you dare! He would kill me if you did that.”

“You have to admit that it would be a bit funny for you to adopt a dog when you hate them.”

“I don’t hate dogs! What kind of monster do you take me for?”

“The kind who actually enjoys working for my brother.”





9





IRIS





“Are you sure about this?” I peek over at Declan clutching onto the neck of the wine bottle with a steel grip.

“My answer hasn’t changed since you last asked me three minutes ago.” He looks up at my family’s apartment building with narrowed eyes.

I’ve never been ashamed of the neighborhood I grew up in. It might be a far cry from my father’s lavish lifestyle, but I was lucky to fall asleep knowing my mom and I were safe and happy without him. Growing up on a Chicago art teacher’s salary taught me to be thankful for what I have because there are plenty of kids who have it worse.

“Well, we better get this over with.” I lead Declan past the flickering lights of the entry hallway and toward the stairwell.

“No elevator?”

“Only if you want to wait for the fire department to rescue you.”

Compared to my heavy panting, he doesn’t seem the least bit winded after three flights of stairs.

“Charming place.” He assesses the peeling wallpaper and stained carpet with a critical eye.

“Don’t judge until you see the inside.”

“I’m overcome with anticipation,” he replies in a flat voice.

“Jerk.” I don’t know why his judgment bothers me as much as it does. It’s not like he ever minces his words, but would it kill him to be polite every now and then?

Probably. He couldn’t even spare five minutes before scaring poor Bethany off.

I grab the knocker and slam it against the door a bit harder than usual. We stand side by side, two stiff bodies unaccustomed to each other’s proximity. I swipe my damp palms down the sides of my dress. My nerves seem out of place compared to Declan’s cool indifference.

Nana swings the door open. She scans Declan from head to toe before turning her gaze toward me. “I now understand why you’re willing to work weekends and holidays for this man. If my boss had looked half as good as him, I would have never quit.”

I want to find the nearest sinkhole and jump inside of it. Declan’s usually empty gaze is missing, replaced by bright eyes so unlike him, I blink to make sure I’m not seeing things.

He finds this…funny?

Only because he feeds off people’s embarrassment.

“I’m Declan. Nice to meet you.” He holds out his palm.

“Nice to meet you too.” Nana speaks to the expensive bottle of wine. Declan offers it to her, and she disappears into the kitchen.

I look away. My chest shakes from withheld laughter.

“I see where you get your sparkling personality from.” The warmth from Declan’s body presses into me as he wraps an arm around my waist. Whatever humor quickly evaporates, replaced by the uneven beat of my heart.

Guess we are just faking it until we make it here.

Together, we walk inside the apartment. His hand moves from my hip to the small of my back. The way my body burns from his touch makes the gesture seem inappropriate. Not once over the years has Declan made a move to touch me. If anything, it’s almost as if he avoided every possible situation that would lead to us getting close enough to have skin-to-skin contact. Maybe that’s why I feel thrown off from a simple graze of his palm.

…Or maybe I’m suffering from side effects associated with the longest dry spell in Chicago. Only time will tell.

Mom pops her head out of the kitchen. “I’ll be out in a few minutes! Make yourself at home, Declan.” Mom’s cooking makes the whole apartment smell divine.