Page 54 of Taming the Boss

“Why? Do you need some?”

I made a face at him as I set about ripping open the cereal box.

He wasn’t looking, because he’d undone the cap on the milk and was calmly pouring some into two paper bowls. Then he got down a third, presumably for himself, and he held out his hand for the cereal box. “Froot Loops?” His question held much derision.

“It was your son’s choice. That’s enough for me,” I said as he filled the bowl in front of him.

“This is mine.” He pulled the bowl closer to him in case I hadn’t understood. “Where is he? We eat at the counter.”

“He’s watching TV. I figured we could eat on the couch.”

Jude’s sigh was epic, as if I’d bought drugs to give his child or something equally bad. But he took his bowl of cereal into the other room just the same, almost trudging there as if he was being forced.

When I joined them, carrying both my bowl and Owen’s bowl of cereal, they were at opposite ends of the couch. Owen was curled up with the giraffe, sucking his thumb and watching his father finish his bowl of Froot Loops.

Yes, Jude was clearly the next father of the year candidate as he’d finished his meal while his son had nothing.

“Here you go, honey,” I said loudly to Owen as I passed him the bowl. “Got it?”

“I got it, Baddie.” He dipped his spoon in and managed a single bite before he somehow lost his grip and dumped the entire bowl over his lap and the sofa.

Crap.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you cleaned right up.” I grabbed his now practically empty bowl and started scooping up rapidly growing soggy Froot Loops with my hands. “I’m sorry, Jude, I know this couch must’ve cost a mint.”

“Leave it. I’ll handle it.”

I just kept grabbing cereal as if I could make it disappear if I moved fast enough.

“Leave it, Madison.”

Yet again his authoritative tone had me stilling until I looked at Owen and noticed his eyes spilling over. “Aw, honey, it’s okay, I swear. Messes happen, and they can always be cleaned up.” I darted my gaze to Jude, still holding soggy cereal. Daring him to contradict me. “Do you yell at him?”

“What? No.” Now he looked at Owen. “Do I yell at you? Have I ever?”

His son’s lower lip trembled as he stuck it out but he shook his head.

“Someone yelled at him,” I insisted, grabbing tissues from the box on the side table to mop up some of the milk until I swiftly realized that was the wrong choice since clumps of tissue were being left behind.

Saying nothing, I rushed back into the kitchen to dispose of my messy tissues and cereal.

Jude soon followed and I busied myself gathering a sheaf of paper towels and not looking at him. “I’ve never yelled at him, I swear,” he insisted.

“Then his mother did or a babysitter or some other relative. He’s afraid sometimes and expects correction. When you got him, did he have any bruises?”

“God, no, nothing like that. You think she could’ve hit my boy?”

I swallowed hard, instinctively wanting to comfort him. The concern in his tone had me turning toward him. “I don’t know. But he seems worried about getting in trouble. Which means he has and it’s scared him. I mean, most kids don’t want to get in trouble, but he’s afraid to speak up.” I bit my lip and let Jude take the paper towels out of my hand.

“Let me take care of the mess, okay? Eat your cereal.”

It was only then that I realized he’d brought in the third bowl of cereal I’d immediately set on the coffee table once Owen had dropped his.

My lips curved. “At the counter?”

“Up to you. I saved the throw from the spill, by the way. Tossed it on the back of the couch.” He had returned to the living room before I could comment.

This man was a mystery in every possible way.

---