“Pack it in,” Miles says, barging into my office like he owns the place. Beck, who’s right behind him, has the good grace to look apologetic as Oreo perks up, giving a high-pitched yip of approval.Traitor. “We’re going out.”
“It’s Friday night.”
“Exactly.” Miles tosses my coat to me, and I catch it easily. “We could all use a beer and a break. This week’s been hell, and next week isn’t looking any better. Not with the Epos launch on the horizon.”
“That’s exactly why we shouldn’t be cutting loose and getting shitfaced.” I drop the coat on the surface of my desk, making no move to get up. Oreo harrumphs and flops back down on her pink pillow, grumbling in protest.
Thank God she’s incapable of speech, because the little furball has an opinion about everything.
“No one said anything about getting shitfaced.” Miles rolls his eyes and glances at Beck as if to say,can you believe this guy?When he turns back to me, he says, “Come on.”
I study my brothers, really looking at them for the first time in weeks. Miles looks tired, eyes dim. Even his magnetic smile is subdued, which is a first. If Miles looks tired, Beck looks exhausted. There are dark circles under his eyes and his T-shirt is so wrinkled, he might’ve slept in it last night.
Did you think you were the only one putting in long hours to prepare for the Epos launch?
In truth, I hadn’t considered it at all. I’d been so caught up in the rollout and planning the Val social—in Scarlett—that I’d been completely oblivious to what was going on around me. Who knows what else I missed?
“I could go for a beer.” I close my laptop, and Oreo springs to her feet, backside wiggling.
“What’s the deal with the books?” Beck asks, head tilted and brows flat as he studies the shelves behind me.
I turn to look and I’ll be damned. Every single book on the shelf has been turned around so the spines face in. From this angle, they all look the same. Crisp white pages, not a wrinkle or mark on them.
“No clue.” It’s not the first time someone has messed with my office, but it’s the first time it hasn’t been blatantly obvious.
Or maybe it’s just the first time you were too distracted to notice.
“Are we doing this or what?” Miles asks, twirling his keys around his pointer finger.
I turn to my brother, suspicion gnawing at my gut. “Is this your handiwork?”
He rolls his eyes, but I know better than to let him off the hook so easily. “Someone’s been screwing with my office. Moving shit around. Hanging pictures. Is it you?”
“What kind of pictures?”
Typical Miles, deflecting instead of giving a straight answer. “The kind that are none of your damn business.”
“Must be the good kind.” He smirks. “You can trust that if I had been the one to hang these mysterious pics, I’d have made damn sure I was present to witness your reaction.”
No lies detected.
“Forget I said anything.” I grab my jacket from the desk and slip it on. “Where are we going to eat? It needs to be somewhere dog friendly.”
Oreo yips in approval.
A hint of Miles’s usual spark flares in his eyes. “I know just the place.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re seated at a wooden picnic table on the deck of a local beer garden, sipping IPAs as Oreo snuffles around the table, exploring. I have to admit, Miles’s selection is spot-on. Excellent beer. Nice ambiance. Live music. The brewery even has a fenced dog park, though it’s too crowded for my liking. I’m not about to let Oreo out of my sight.
Scarlett would never forgive me if she got dognapped.
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Miles says, eyeing Oreo over the rim of his glass.
Beck snickers, but I ignore them both, tossing Oreo a biscuit from the stash I’ve taken to keeping in my jacket pocket. For emergencies. After all, Scarlett says I should reward her for good behavior. Something about positive reinforcement shaping long-term behavior.
“Who’d have thought the Ice King would melt for a pocket-sized pup?” Miles muses. “If I’d known, I would’ve pushed the office pet angle sooner.”
“She’s just a puppy.” I reach down to scratch Oreo behind the ears. Because it’s part of the positive reinforcement program, not because I’m worried Miles’s description has offended her. Or that she’ll take it out on my shoe collection when we get home. “She’ll grow.”
