“Absolutely,” I nod in agreement. “I’ll bring a glass up for you.”
“Don’t bother,” she mutters. “The bottle will be fine.”
Bubbles grins and wags at her. John is struggling to maintain his grip on the excited dog’s collar, but Henrietta pauses, giving the dog a gentle pat. For all her complaints, she really does like Bubbles. I’ve caught her affectionately petting the dog too many times to think otherwise. Then again, maybe it’s transferred affection. She did love my sister.
Aaron kindly offers to take Henrietta’s suitcase, and follows her back upstairs, leaving John and I to survey the mess. He lets go of Bubbles, and she trots to my side, sitting obediently like she wasn’t being a huge asshole five seconds ago.
“Fuck.” I put my hands at the back of my head, an exhausted surrender. I don’t even know where to start with this mess. We get trash bags from the kitchen where we discover a literal hole in the drywall.
“Bubbles! The wall?” She wags and licks my hand.
“Christ almighty. How did she even get out of the crate?” John asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know, and I don’t think I can handle finding out right now.”
“You’re going to have to set up some kind of Hannibal Lecter cell for her.”
“She’d get out.”
“Truth.”
Aaron joins us in the front entryway, and folds his arms, watching us scoop trash into the bags. “You two are a sight. Hotties cleaning house in half-buttoned tuxedos. Actually… I bet there’s a kink for that.” He pulls his phone out of a pocket and aims the camera at us.
“Don’t you dare!” John says, running at his date and grabbing the phone.
“Spoil sport,” Aaron mutters. I’m with John on this one. The last thing I need is some tabloid publishing this.
“I have a meticulously curated public image to maintain.”
That makes me snort. “So New Year’s Eve 2019… how does puking on the hood of my limo fit into that image? Because IknowI have photographic proof.”
“Where are you going to find a full-time Bubbles babysitter?” John asks, ignoring my dig and raising his brows skeptically.
“I dunno.”
“Well, I’ll do you a solid if you promise to delete that.”
“You’ll quit your day job and be the Bubbles watcher?”
John lets out a cackling laugh, throwing his head back so the sound bounces off the foyer walls. “God, no. Real estate in LA pays far too well to give it up.”
“Yeah, we should talk about those realtor fees you charged me—"
“Aaron has anamazingdog walker. She’s down in Paramount, but if you pay her enough, maybe she’d make the trip up here.”
I have 99 problems, but money isn’t one of them. Actually, Bubbles is all of them. “Yeah, give me her info.”