Page 56 of Treat

“No, you can’t,” Brynn agreed, stepping off the elevator when the doors slid silently open. She crossed to the door and punched in the code. “Scared?”

“Terrified,” Amy admitted.

“That makes two of us,” Brynn muttered as the door swung open and Jude stood in the middle of the living room, a scowl on his handsome face and fire in his eyes. “Okay, I gotta go.”

“I take it the moment of reconning arrived?”

“Yeah.” Tilly trotted over to Jude, tail wagging in greeting. He crouched to pet her, but his eyes never left her face. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“You better,” Amy said. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Brynn murmured and disconnected the call. “Hi.”

He straightened and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Hi. How’s your head?”

“Better,” she said and told herself it wasn’t technically a lie.

“Right,” he said, and she could tell he didn’t buy it.

She took her earbuds out and slipped them into her pocket with her phone, then started to slip her sunglasses off until she remembered she wouldn’t be able to see him clearly without them.

“Take them off,” he said.

“What?”

“The sunglasses. It’s frustrating as hell not being able to see your eyes.”

“Oh.” She slid them off to squint at the blur of him. “It’s just…I can’t really see without them, and my glasses are in my room.”

“Okay.” He walked forward, halving the distance between them. “Can you see me now?”

He was about five feet away, so the outline of him was clear, but his features were still fuzzy and indistinct. “Um…”

He took another three steps. “What about now?”

He was all but standing on her toes, so close she could feel his breath on her skin. And his face was 4k, high-def, crystal clear.Hoo boy. “I can see you,” she managed.

“Good. What are we going to do about this?”

She’d been hoping for some time to prepare for this conversation, but he was jumping right into it, and her thighs were sweating again. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want me?” he asked bluntly.

Oh, God. Instinct told her to look away, to hide, but she was done being a coward.Carpe the goddamn diem.“Yes.”

“But?” he prompted.

“It’s complicated.”

“Because I’m your boss.”

“Yes.Though strictly speaking, I work for the agency,” she continued, staring at his mustache. Staring at his mouth made her want to bite it and staring into his eyes was making her brain short-circuit, and the mustache felt like a semi-safe alternative.

“What?” he asked.

“The agency,” she repeated. “That’s who I work for. Tremblay Sports Management.”

“You don’t work for me?”

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