Page 21 of Revenge Brunch and Other Disasters

He looked at Sir Stumps. “Think I’ve got a shot?”

The dog barked once.

Rhys smiled. “Yeah. Me too.”

Chapter Ten: The Dinner Disaster

Rhys

RHYS DID NOT plan to lie.

It just… slipped out. Like toothpaste from a tube. Or secrets from a drunk aunt at a wedding.

They were standing in the break room. Linda was pouring coffee like she was trying to intimidate it into blooming better, and he was trying very hard not to stare at the delicate chaos of her eyeliner wings.

He was going to say something normal. Something safe. Maybe, “How’s your week?” or “Stumps misses you.” But instead, what came out was:

“So, I, uh, need a dinner date. For the… I have a meeting. With a client. On Friday.”

Linda paused. Slowly turned. Raised an eyebrow with surgical precision.

“A meeting.”

“Yes. Dinner meeting. Very clienty. Very professional.”

“Mmhm. And this very real, very not-made-up client… asked for your significant other to be present?”

Rhys winced. “Yes.”

Silence.

Sir Stumps-a-Lot, peeking out of Rhys’s tote bag (don’t ask), let out a single bark like You coward.

Linda leaned against the counter, sipping her drink. “So. You’re fake dating me… and now you need me to fake double down? In public?”

“…Yes?”

She stared at him. Long enough that he started planning an apology. And an escape route. Possibly a new name and country.

Then she sighed. “Fine. But if this ends with me pretending to love golf or laugh at hedge fund jokes, I’m out.”

Rhys exhaled. “No golf. No hedge funds. Just dinner.”

“With a client.”

He nodded solemnly.

Linda narrowed her eyes. “Is this client a dog?”

“…no.”

Sir Stumps-a-Lot sneezed in betrayal.

Chapter Eleven: The Client Who Ghosted (and the Sisters Who Didn’t)

Linda

LINDA HAD NEVER been inside a restaurant that served bread with a poem.

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