Page 14 of Revenge Brunch and Other Disasters

God, she was magnetic. Loud in a way that made silence feel dishonest. Messy in the way people were when they were real. And funny—dangerously funny.

He just had to hold it together long enough to get through brunch. Put his words into the right order. Ask her, like a normal person, if she wanted to grab coffee sometime. Try not to ask her if she wanted to date, move in and marry him in the same moment.

Maybe.

If she didn’t run away mid-pancake.

Sir Stumps-a-Lot sneezed, then stared at him through the rearview with mild judgment.

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know. Just talk to her.”

He put the car in gear.

The corgi licked bacon grease off his nose like he’d already written the vows.

Chapter Eight: Operation: Out-Charm the Arrogant Bastard

Linda

LINDA WAS NOT nervous.

She wasprepared.

This was not a date—it was a tactical counteroffensive. After letting Rhys charm her (against her better judgment and also with the assistance of a corgi) on Friday, then Monday in the elevator basically stated he would never date herever, Linda had offered up the “casual brunch” with all the panic of a woman plotting revenge in heels and lip gloss.

Because if he thoughthecould be suave and self-assured and irritatingly handsome and win points by simply owning a short king of a dog with big eyes and trust issues?

He had another think coming.

She would outwit him. Out-charm him. Be so dazzlingly cool and competent and irresistible that he’d walk away dazed and regretful, like every rom-com ex who realizes Too Late that he let a queen slip through his fingers.

She had even rehearsed lines in the mirror.

She’d gone full war paint—winged eyeliner, lip gloss named “Regret Is Dead,” and earrings that could maim a man if thrown.

This was not brunch.

This was battle brunch.

Until Sir Stumps-a-Lot greeted her at the café with an entire pancake in his mouth.

“He gets anxious if he can’t pre-snack,” Rhys explained, looking completely unbothered in a button-up shirt and lazy Saturday stubble. “Also, I said you’d probably be ten minutes late. He likes to be emotionally prepared.”

Linda raised an eyebrow. “I was three minutes late.”

Sir Stumps-a-Lot dropped the pancake on her shoe like a soggy offering.

“Well,” she said brightly. “It’s good to be seen.”

They sat down. Linda ordered the most intimidatingly fancy latte on the menu (rose cardamom, oat milk, extra foam) and a spinach mushroom frittata that saidI brunch like a grown-up.

Rhys? Black coffee. Pancakes. Bacon. No hesitation.

Rude.

"I like your stubble," she said, launching the Charm Offensive like a woman on a mission.

Rhys leaned back in his chair, hand casually brushing his jaw. “Thanks.” He smirked at her, then added—almost shyly, which was frankly suspicious behavior for Mr. Arrogant—“I’ve been thinking I need a beard.”

---