Page 10 of Treat

“And don’t thank me, goddammit.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so kept silent as he began to pace.

Tilly, sensing Brynn’s stress, began to lick her arm, and Brynn realized she was close to hyperventilating. Recalling her therapy tools, she started box breathing and was holding her breath for the four-count when Grant’s jovial, used-car-salesman voice boomed through the phone.

“Jude! How’s my favorite client?”

“I’ve got a problem,” Jude said. He jabbed a finger at Brynn, barked,“Stay here,” then strode out of the kitchen, disappeared into the bedroom, and slammed the door behind him.

She blinked at the closed door for a second, then looked down at the dog. “Hoo, boy. I know it’s a cliché, but he’s pretty when he’s mad.”

Tilly gave her arm a final lick, then laid her head on Brynn’s knee.

“Right, sorry,” Brynn said, stroking the dog’s velvety ears. “I’m not supposed to be noticing that. But I’m only human, you know.”

Then she sighed, remembering how he’d looked wearing only a pair of loose shorts and how warm his hand had felt on her skin. “And horny.”

Tilly, deciding that the crisis was over and her support was no longer required, heaved herself off Brynn’s lap. She waddled back over to the patch of sunlight she’d abandoned during the shouting, turned around three and a half times, and settled down with a wheezing sigh and a loud fart in a cloud of dog hair.

“Easy for you to say,” Brynn muttered. “You’re spayed.”

She sat there listening to Tilly breathe and the muffled sounds of Jude’s conversation from behind the closed bedroom door, trying to decide if she wanted to know what he was saying or not. On the one hand, knowledge was power. On the other, she’d already trespassed and lied, so eavesdropping was probably a sin too far.

With a vague idea about distracting herself, she got up off the floor and opened the fridge. She wasn’t especially hungry, but she needed something to do. So she got out an onion, cheese, and eggs and began to dice, shred and whisk.

She was pouring eggs into an omelet pan when the bedroom door opened again and Jude stalked back out, the phone at his ear. “Brynn? Who have you been dealing with in Grant’s office?”

“Um, someone in accounting. Adam, maybe?” She nudged her glasses up and shook the pan. “Or Aaron. Something like that, I think.”

“You hear that?” he said into the phone, pacing the length of the counter. “Okay. Yeah. Yeah.”

Brynn looked down at Tilly, who had abandoned her nap to perch at Brynn’s feet, hoping for a stray hunk of cheese. “This is a mess,” she muttered, keeping her voice low. “And I have no idea where we’re going to sleep tonight.”

“Okay, let me know,” Jude said behind her, and Brynn risked a glance over her shoulder. He dropped the phone on the counter and dragged a hand through his hair, then noticed her staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, grateful she could blame the stove for the heat in her cheeks, and flipped the omelet onto a plate. “Do you want an omelet?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Fresh basil?” she asked, reaching for the little plant on the windowsill she’d babied from a cutting.

“Sure.”

She began to shred the leaves, watching him. His jaw was clenched, his brows were drawn together in the fiercest scowl she’d seen since her father had heard about the Justin Verlander trade in 2017, and angry color slashed his cheekbones. “You look mad.”

A flash of reluctant humor lit his eyes. “I am mad.”

“I mean,reallymad,” she went on. “Like, solid pissed. I haven’t seen you look like this since the Montreal game.”

“That son of a bitch March slew-footed me,” he said, his scowl deepening, then blinked. “Wait. You remember that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course, I remember that. You broke his nose and got thrown out of the game. Your social media was bananas for a week and a half—I was hearing Instagram alerts in my sleep.”

“He deserved it,” Jude grumbled.

“What did Grant say to piss you off?” Brynn asked, sprinkling basil over the eggs.

“It’s the situation that’s pissing me off,” he corrected and sat on one of the stools lining the counter. “He thinks it’s a paperwork screw-up. Chloe is going to dig into it.”

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