“Luis on pet-run duty?” I tilt my head at him. “I think he’s right. You’re the worst boss.”
He snorts. “If you think the worst I’ve done is send my assistant out to get some dog food and treats, you’re deluded.”
“What if he’s busy?”
He makes a big show of checking his watch. “It’s barely three o’clock. Besides, he can pick it up on the way back to my condo.”
“What’s he doing now? Bringing your suits back from the dry cleaner?”
“Shopping to upgrade my studio. We’re always looking for new tech for better videos.” The corner of Brady’s mouth twitches. “I told him to bring back Indian food for dinner. I don’t like to use the apps when I can just tip my main man with his own meal.”
“And then you’ll lock him in the basement until you let him out for another day’s work, right? Or will he be taking Queenie outside too?”
His penthouse is pretty high up. That’s why he had Charlie staying with his parents in that massive Lake Washington estate with the lushest dream backyard.
I can’t help making sure he has no second thoughts about what he’s getting into.
“He’ll be sleeping on the balcony where he belongs,” Brady jokes.I think.“And no, I’ll take her. Takes a little while to get to the park up the street, but I can always use another excuse for some fresh air.”
I laugh at the absurdity, like he doesn’t go out all the time, though my stomach clenches a little.
“What’s that look?” Brady grabs my hand and brings it to his lips.
“You.I just don’t want you putting yourself out with all the other craziness going on ...”
“The ruse, you mean,” he whispers.
“. . . Yeah.”
“It’s not like taking in an old Lab will blow up anything. We’ll find Queenie a real home soon. She’s a sweet girl.”
The Lab happily confirms it about twenty minutes later, after I’ve cleaned up and clocked out, by putting her head above the back seats and grinning at us, tongue flopping on the way home.
“She’s one lucky pup, with the richest foster dad in Seattle,” I say with a sigh.
He smiles at me, the corners of his eyes creasing and those blue eyes flashing like lightning.
No mortal should be actually perfect.
I keep waiting for a land mine, thinking I’ll trip on some fatal flaw that will blow my silly crush to pieces.
But so far, there’s nothing.
The vortex of Brady Pruitt just keeps spinning, pulling me deeper, and soon the only one to blame for the impending heartbreak will beme.
I can’t fall in love.
The thought is alarming, but it’s there, roots twisting through my brain until they crowd out everything else.
Nice reverse psychology, Lena.
But I’m not sure anything could persuade my dumb heart.
A few weeks in, and I’m dangerously close to catching feelings.
And he’s oblivious to the minor breakdown I’m having right next to him as he hands me his phone and tells me to pick out some music for the drive.
With the windows down and a soft summer breeze kissing our faces, this feels like a movie scene.
