He lowers it, glowering. “It’s blueberry and chia. Not all food is dripping in preservatives. Some of it is actually good for you.”
The only thing that husk of concrete is good for is as a coaster. I reach over and bat it out of his hands, watching as the damn thing drops to the floor with a deep boom. Jesus.
“That was a perfectly good biscuit, you brute.”
I roll my eyes. “Looks more like cat litter to me.”
Reed scoffs, picking up his tea and crossing his legs. “Why are you here, Lincoln? Apart from messing up my carpet.”
It takes a second to remember that I’m not here to argue with him.
“What’s that?” he asks as I pull the slim packet out of my pocket.
“A peace offering,” I say, waving it at him.
“Give me that,” Reed hisses as he snatches the packet out of my hands. He’s quick to open it, stuffing a biscuit in his mouth before I can blink.
“Oh god, that’s good,” he groans, taking two more before throwing the pack back at me. I catch it midair.
I didn’t notice earlier, but there’s some gray coming through at his temples, showing easily through his darker hair and matching the slate waistcoat he’s sporting nicely.
I still remember the boy who let Darcy paint his nails while telling her how to maximize her customer base. Can still picture the lanky kid who confided his first crush to me, who helped me study, who couldn’t bluff his way through a card game if his life depended on it.
Christ, when did we all get so bloody old?
“Where the bloody hell did you get proper gingersnaps?” he asks.
“Care package from dad. He’s seeing someone and refuses to tell me anything. Thinks he can buy me off with sweets.”
“Which he can,” Reed replies through his chewing.
“Of course he fucking can, but I’m not going to tell him that, am I? I’m holding out for Quality Street.” I sink back into the leather as easily as our glide into gentle ribbing.
If only every aspect of our relationship were so simple.
“Too right.” Reed fights a smile, but the laugh lines around his mouth give him away, and when he gives into it, the damn thing takes over his face.
It’s disorienting enough to hurt.
I swallow it down. “Anyway, I thought you didn’t eat sugar anymore.”
“I do when it’s this fucking good,” he says, dipping his last bite into my tea, letting it soak but pulling it right before it crumbles. So much like Dad, it’s uncanny. If I close my eyes, I could be back in Dad’s flat, last night’s match on the telly.
Reed swearing can only mean the stress has reached a critical level. I’ve got the strangest feeling I just helped the man fall off some kind of wagon.
“How’s business?”
Reed is looking at me like I’ve told him I cheer for Liverpool. Is wanting to know how he is such a ridiculous idea?
Then he heaves a sigh as heavy as I’ve heard from him and sags back into his chair. “Frustrating, if I’m honest. Our biggest competitor is pushing for a merger that would result in layoffs for 80 percent of our staff and minimum wage for the remaining 20 percent.”
“I hope you told him to stick it.”
“And then some,” he says. Good. “Little pissant is trying to price us out of the market now with mass-produced plastic.” Reed loosens his tie, scoffs. “If I had any sense, I’d have passed on the job and gone off to become a swimsuit model like you did.”
I put down my tea to smile mockingly. “No chance. You’re too pale.”
He surprises me by throwing his head back in a laugh, and the noise outside the room stops in response. I wonder how many of them were expecting us to brawl instead.
