Chapter 20 Like Cats And Dogs （Brady）
XX
Like Cats And Dogs
(Brady)
Wendy beams at me on the screen.
Her hair looks just as wild and windswept as always, this time with a pencil thrust through it.
That’s one of my favorite things about her—and the farm. The fact that she’s authentic.
No dressing to impress. No fakery. No minced words.
There are days when I’m jealous of her ability to kick optics to the curb.
I’m in my home office that doubles as a studio. I glance at my phone, then force myself to pay attention to the conference.
“I’ll send you the details soon,” Wendy says, not seeming to notice my distraction.
Probably because it’s totally out of character.
Until now, work was my world.
It still is—mostly.
“Thanks,” I say. “That’s incredible. Exactly what we’ve been waiting to hear.”
She grins. “Me too.”
Finally, we’re closing in on a breakthrough. The call outlined a new farming technique they’ve developed that’s producing a greater organic crop yield for heirloom grains and legumes that are appealing to dogs.
A path through the wall we’ve kept smacking.
Taste and affordability.
I should be over the fucking moon.
Instead, I’m distracted, even as the good news keeps rolling in. Lena keeps invading my brain, making it damnably hard to think straight.
“I appreciate all your hard work at Finsted Farms,” I tell her. “I’ll have your samples sent to the nutrition lab ASAP to start testing.”
“You’re welcome, Brady. I really think we’ve got it this time.”
“Me too.” I send the email she’s already forwarded to me along to the lab, and as another of our investors asks a few more questions for Wendy, I check my phone again.
Nothing from Lena.
Fuck.
Honestly, I hadn’t expected much.
She’s been distant ever since our argument. We’re certainly not lovers pretending we’re madly in love, not when we’ve reverted to something much colder.
Even Queenie seems confused, dragging around my condo and sleeping when it’s not time for food or the park runs.
How the fuck do I fix it?
I wish I knew.
It’s a relief when the call ends and I log off, flicking through our messages over the last few days. The few evasive ones we’ve exchanged at all.
I’m not one of those guys who loves a challenge.
I don’t believe in playing hard to get or dicking around with tone games over a screen.
When I want a girl, I go out of my way to get her—so long as she wants me too.
Until our fight, I was sure she did.
Which makes this frosty, one-word-answer, back-and-forth bullshit that much more bewildering and maddening.
Something isn’t right.
And it’s that certainty that has me dialing her contact.
It’s a nice evening out there, which means she’ll probably be coming home if she isn’t out with Grandma Lark, gossiping in the kitchen or helping the old lady tend her garden.
The phone rings, and I think she’s not going to answer until the phone clicks and a small voice that doesn’t sound like Lena answers.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Sass. Just wanted to check in.” I flick the pen between my fingers.
“I’m not dying, Brady. You don’t need to worry.”
“We haven’t spoken for days.” I try to ignore the bitter voice in my blood demanding answers, but I can’t. “Fuck it, you know why I’m calling? Because I miss you.”
There’s a shuffling sound, and her breathing sounds heavier, like she was just outside and now she’s coming in.
I bet my Grandma Lark theory was right.
“. . . I miss you too,” she says, but the words feel forced. “But I thought you were working? You said you had a busy week.”
“Just finished for the day. What are you up to right now?”
“Mm, just trimming some flowers.”
“With Gran?”
“How did you know?”
“My awesome powers of deduction. Also, where else would you be using your green thumb?”
Silence.
“Do you need me somewhere again?” she asks flatly.
My jaw clenches.
“No. I need us to talk about the damn elephant in the room.”
“Talk about what?”
“What’s eating you, woman,” I say, no longer trying to be calm. If she needs me to squeeze it out of her like toothpaste, I will. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing. We both know that’s a lie.”
“I never said that,” she admits.
“What is it, then? You’re still sore at me for going after him? For overstepping my bounds?”
“Brady, it’s—it doesn’t matter.” She sighs, the sound crackling through the speaker.
“Like hell.”
“I mean it. That’s why I wanted space. You still don’t get that you don’t have to fix anything.”
“Are you still mad at me? Be honest.”
A hesitation. Just enough to feel it in my bones. “No.”
“So, talk to me. You’re not pissed, but you don’t want to talk to me or see me. Is it him? Is that fuck causing more trouble?”
“No,” she says sharply. “Not everything in my life revolves around men, past or present. Tricky concept, I know.”
I fight back a smile, grateful she’s showing a little sass, like her nickname.
“Not him. Then why do I smell it on your voice?” I say. “What’s he done now? Lena, be straight with me.”
“Dude, this isn’t about him, and even if it was, it’s not your business. It’s my job. How many times do we need to talk about this? The clinic deal has nothing to do with you or—” She stumbles, unable to say his name, and I know.
Total certainty.
Yeah, she might be lying to protect herself or even me, but that doesn’t change the facts.
He’s still coming for her, and that’s an open invitation for me to take out the trash.
I don’t like it one bit. The Lena who left my apartment ready to tear my head off would never hold back.
This Lena—she’s too quiet. Too unsure. Too afraid.
If this was only about me, she’d have said it to my face. She’d give me hell for breaking her trust and screwing up the sexy chaos we had.
Her silence now tells me there’s more to worry about than my own dumb mistakes. And whatever it is, I need to know.
“If it’s not Harry, then what?” I demand.
“I’m just having second thoughts about . . . about this whole thing, I guess. The Pawsome Hearts deal.”
What?
My chest squeezes.
That’s not what she would’ve said a week ago, and this change of heart has Harry Jay’s fingerprints all over it.
What the fuck did he do to her?
“I’m coming over.” I clench my fists and release them, trying to push that smarmy asshole’s face out of my head. “It’ll be easier to talk in person, assuming you’re—”
“There’s nothing to talk about! God. If you insist, fine.”
“I’ll swing by later. I want to see you.”
“Brady, I—”
“Talk soon.” I hesitate, then end the call before saying anything else, like how I’m practically having goddamned withdrawals without her by my side.
I’m no expert on feelings, but I know I need to tread lightly.
I need to be sensible with this, or she’ll change her mind about if there’s anything to fight for at all.
I pull up Luis’s number, swinging back in my office chair as he answers.
“Boss man, what’s up?”
“I need the biggest nuke you have on Harry Jay. What has the best case legally to sink his ass to the bottom?”
He pauses, thinking. “Probably the small business cases?”
I flop back, propping my feet on my desk as I think, remembering what I read before.
Harry’s firm had an astonishingly rapid rise in commercial real estate by chasing down old, stagnant businesses on the edge of Seattle’s Chinatown-International District.
From the witnesses Luis interviewed, the pattern was clear: Harry Jay would show up with a big offer to reel his sellers in. Then he’d shave it down substantially after newly uncovered code violations piled up.
The struggling business owners felt pressured to sell at steep discounts, knowing they couldn’t go to other buyers without extensive and draining renovations or brutal disclosures.
“How does he do it?” I growl. “Is he bribing the inspectors, or what?”
“Close enough. My guess is our little friend has his hands deep inside the department,” Luis says. “Bribery, probably. Or blackmail. A man like that can’t have many real friends.”
I smile a little, but I’m still thinking. If Harry pulls this trick with Pawsome Hearts, it’ll knock them out and force the doctor right into his hands.
But he’ll need to bring some heavy firepower to get his way.
Dr. Ezzie will want what her property’s worth, but more importantly, I’ve seen her passion when I brought in Charlie the corgi. It’s partly where Lena gets it from.
If she can, she’ll sell to Lena, no question.
Which brings up a bigger one: What the hell will he do to strong-arm Ezzie into a deal she doesn’t want?
“It’s enough. Go time,” I say roughly. “I want you to work our connections to the press. Do whatever you have to—an anonymous leak with the documents, a press release, a public onslaught. We have enough rope to string his ass up.”
“Damn, you’re really not playing.”
“Not this time, Luis. Get it done.”
I end the call and sit up as Queenie stretches and comes over for a back rub.
I can see it now—dealing this selfish fuck a mortal wound.
Seattle real estate is always newsworthy when it’s scarce and comically expensive. A story where any local mogul pulled all the dirty tricks in the book to get an advantage in an overheated market is basically peak rage-bait for the local press. Guaranteed to bring so many eyes it’s irresistible.
And the more eyes on Harry Jackoff, the more we’ll find.
That’s how it goes.
When people see a moral outrage, they’re tenacious. If there’s something to find, they will. It’s like unleashing the hounds.
I have him in our sights, and I just need Luis to pull the trigger.
With any luck, in a few days’ time, Harry damn Jay will be neck deep in his own filth, drowning.
Then he’ll never bother my woman again.
Once I finish replying to a few last emails, I head over to Lena’s place.
I’m happy to drive myself today and leave Luis with no distractions for his special mission.
When I pull up, the front door’s propped open, and I see Lena hauling something outside.
I scramble out to help her. I don’t realize I’m pulling a suitcase from her hands until I look down.
A very heavy packed suitcase.
What the hell?