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Hovering protectively, Bill didn’t have much to add to a conversation between a woman and a dog that mostly consisted of baby talk. Elizabeth took the opportunity to satisfy some of her curiosity about his employer. “It must be nice to have a bit of time to yourself while Mrs. de Bourgh naps.”
Bill wrung his hands. “Not at all. I would much rather be there to watch over her while she sleeps, but she hates it when I breathe.”
Elizabeth didn’t know how to respond to such a declaration. “How did you end up working for Mrs. de Bourgh?”
Bill’s eyes unfocused as he rem
inisced rapturously. “It was through an ad. I was instantly intrigued: ‘Wanted: Personal Assistant who would be willing to give up their life.’”
“I didn’t realize she has such a sense of humor.”
The man drew himself up to his full height. “I assure you, it was no joking matter; Mrs. de Bourgh was perfectly serious. Immediately upon being hired, I moved into her mansion and cut all ties with friends and family.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Even your parents?”
He appeared proud of his extreme devotion. “Nothing but a card at Christmas. Mrs. de Bourgh cannot spare me on Christmas day; I am required to sing carols for her.”
Wow, this job is even worse than I’d originally thought. “You really did have to give up your life.”
“Indeed. And not only in a metaphorical sense. I have trained to protect her from all manner of ills. I taste all her food. I know how to throw myself in front of a bullet and disarm a bomb. And I’ve learned seven ways to kill a grizzly bear.”
Elizabeth stifled a laugh. “I would imagine most personal assistants don’t need that kind of training.”
“Most personal assistants don’t have a fraction of the devotion that I hold for Mrs. de Bourgh.”
Most assistants regard it as a job rather than a sacred calling. “She’s very lucky to have you.”
“I am the lucky one, I assure you.” Bill’s eyes drifted in the direction of Mrs. de Bourgh’s dressing room. “She has been most generous with my salary, and I have lovely accommodations at her mansion.”
Well, that might be the definition of success for some people.
The dog, sitting on Charlotte’s lap, gave a big yawn. Bill swooped down and picked him up. “Mr. DeMille, is it time for your massage?”
Elizabeth gaped. “The dog has a masseuse?”
Bill shot her a withering look. “Of course not. I massage him.”
“I’ve always wanted to learn dog massage,” Charlotte said dreamily.
“You have?” Bill regarded her with interest.
“Yes. And pedicures.”
“Well, Mr. DeMille dislikes pedicures, but he will sit up and beg for a massage—not that Mrs. de Bourgh would allow her dog to perform such a demeaning action, of course.”
“Can I watch you perform the massage?” Charlotte asked.
Bill regarded the dog thoughtfully. “As long as Mr. DeMille doesn’t find it disturbing. He is very sensitive.” Bill’s eyes darted around the set. “I will need a suitable location.”
“You’re not going to do it here?” Elizabeth asked.
“Pssh. It is far too noisy,” Bill said dismissively. “And I will need to locate the dog’s portable massage table.”
“I’ll help you find it,” Charlotte said eagerly. “And we can use the conference room. It should be empty right now.”
“That would be acceptable.” Bill inclined his head regally.
As they hurried toward the conference room, Elizabeth reflected that friendships were created in many ways, but that was the first time she had seen anyone bond over doggy massage.
