Chapter 19 Cornered Dogs （Lena）
XIX
Cornered Dogs
(Lena)
There’s an unpleasant quiver in my belly as we arrive back at Brady’s penthouse.
I don’t know when we quietly agreed we’d spend every night together, but that’s become the norm shockingly fast.
Even more shocking, I never thought to question it until now.
Until he hid his phone and sent everything spiraling.
Worst of all, I feel so stupid.
We never agreed to anything.
Not one word about exclusivity.
I have no greedy claim to his body, his time, his secrets. I know that—I know, and it still doesn’t help.
Just like we both know this is a sham. A glorified production where we stumble into bed together at the end of a day.
Friends with benefits with mammoth responsibilities.
. . . Are we even friends?
Ugh.
The way my stomach flips intensifies as the private elevator opens, and we walk into his penthouse with a furry black cannonball who flies back at us the second she’s off the leash.
Queenie prances around like an overexcited deer, getting dog hair and drool all over Brady’s suit pants and then my dress.
I’m laughing, though.
He doesn’t seem to mind, either, rubbing behind her ears and stroking her sides as she leans against him.
I stare at him, wishing I could run from another happy moment and everything I’m afraid it could mean.
Call me a coward.
Right now, everything feels too raw. Every emotion hits too close to home, and after the exhausting day we’ve had, I just don’t want to deal with it.
Not now.
But I can’t afford not to. I never learned to be that socially graceful.
“You’ve been quiet since we left,” Brady says like the mind reader he is.
I shrug, feeling silk sliding over my body like a kiss.
At least we both look incredible while we’re saddled with emotions harder to decipher than ancient hieroglyphics. I know something’s eating at him, too, and it’s not just his usual bottomless appetite for me.
Brady hasn’t taken his eyes off me all evening.
I’m petty enough to feel proud of that, even though Nancy kept preening and seething over him from across the room. He barely looked at her.
But it can’t overshadow the way he hid his phone, and I don’t know why, but it can’t be anything good.
I almost want to curse myself for noticing how he flipped the screen away with guilt swarming his eyes.
Almost.
But if he’s sexting other women or setting up his next fling, I’d rather know now.
I’d rather stop putting him on a thirty-foot pedestal and wipe the glitter from my eyes so I can see what he is.
Just another rich dude with the world at his feet.
A dude who treats me like gold to my face when I’m actually just another piece of bronze in his machinery.
I take a deep breath. “How did it really go, you think? Did you have any fun?”
“Dad liked you. Not exactly for human reasons, but it’s enough.” He nods slowly, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of the sofa while Queenie settles on the floor. “We did good. Tiring but worthwhile.”
“I’m glad.” I eye him carefully, trying to read his mood.
He’s relieved, I think, but also bothered. Unsettled. Restless.
I can’t tell if he’s feeding off my energy, or if I’m bathing in his. Or even if our minds are close to the same wavelength.
I bend down to unfasten my heels and kick them aside.
Then, with a burst of self-consciousness, I set them upright again. The shoes were almost five hundred dollars.
Better to keep them in good condition. He might be able to return them if they’re lightly used, or at least send them to a woman who knows how to wear these things without risking broken bones with every step.
Brady watches me from near the fridge as he refills his water bottle, his tie loosened and a whisper of a smirk on his face.
“You don’t have to worry about damaging them, Sass. They’re yours, even if you never need them again. And if something happens, we’ll just get you another pair.”
“Hey, just because you can doesn’t mean I should be careless. I didn’t want Queenie to think they’re chew toys.”
“Don’t be paranoid,” he says as the Lab looks up, wagging her tail. “She’s a good girl, and even if she’s not, shoes come and go.”
Oh, okay. What about people?
Hell yes, I’m paranoid.
And I know it’s my issues, my scars I’ve carried over from past relationships where nothing was ever what it seemed.
But he hid his phone. He lied to my face.
That’s not the kind of thing I can just shrug off and pretend we’re back to laughter and spine-shifting sex. But what if it was a fan messaging him and I’m being ridiculous?
A fan, my ass.
I know Brady well enough by now. He doesn’t strike up long conversations with randos from his channels.
I’ve seen the women who come piling into his DMs. They must have their notifications cranked up every time he posts so they can race to comment first and get his attention.
They’re obsessed, ready to hook up faster than a right swipe on any app.
Or maybe I’m just so into him I really am bursting out of my cocoon, emerging as a paranoid bitch.
He sips his water as Queenie trots over for a head scratch, his eyes never leaving me. “Lena, let’s hear it. You might as well tell me.”
“Tell you what?” I bite off.
“What crawled up your ass and died. If you don’t talk, we can’t do anything about it.”
We.
That one little word darts past my defenses and shreds my heart.
My face heats.
“It’s just—well, who were you texting?” I demand. “And don’t lie to me, Brady.”
His face is a mask, impassive, telling me too much without uttering a word.
With a huff, I throw up my arms, shaking my head as I pace to the other side of the island in his kitchen.
“Look, if there’s another woman—a sidepiece or whatever—I get it.” I also hate it.
Why should a man like him limit himself? He didn’t want me because he wanted me, at least at first.
That came later.
Shit, but here I am.
Standing in front of him, red faced and unraveling by the second. Money aside, I’m not so different from Nancy Loomer, after all.
I’m prone to overthinking, wondering if he ever wanted me at all or if I was just a convenient fuck the minute I wound up under his roof.
“This isn’t real. I get that,” I say as he stares at me, apparently speechless. “But can you just be honest with me? If there’s someone else . . . I’d like to know.”
My voice breaks, and I bite my lip.
Have I mentioned I hate this?
His brows crease. He looks at me like the crazy woman I am.
“What? You think I’m seeing someone else?” he asks softly.
“If you’re not, I think you want to. Why else would you lie about texting?”
A hint of telltale redness creeps into his cheeks.
Feeling better yet? Bravo, Lena.
“It’s not what you think,” he says. Like every man with an excuse ever born.
“Oh, fantastic. So why don’t you enlighten me?”
He eyes me like he’s thinking of coming closer, but thankfully he decides to keep his distance. Queenie has the good sense to keep her distance, too, flopping down on the sofa with her chin perched on the top of the cushions, watching with worried eyes.
Leave it to a dog to tell you when there’s too much drama in the air.
“Fuck it, you want the truth?” he finally mutters. “I haven’t been one hundred percent up front with you, but it’s not another woman. I have zero interest in that, and I’d have told you if there was.”
Shields up.
I fold my arms, refusing to let myself feel the slightest relief. Even though it’s there, hopeful and pulsing in my chest, filling my entire body with this unwelcome warmth as prickly as a cactus.
But I haven’t decided if I believe him yet, so my body is getting ahead of itself.
He stops and swigs water, his throat moving. The sound seems too loud in this cavernous space.
“Well, what is it?” I grind out impatiently.
“Harry Jay,” he snarls.
Huh?
I blink.
“What about him?” I whisper. “Brady, I don’t get what you’re—”
“Ever since I saw that dickhead and you told me what he did, I knew he wouldn’t stand down. I’ve met his type before. I laid hands on him, I made it personal, and I knew I’d have to keep him the fuck off your ass if I truly wanted him gone.”
“Gone?” I’m so stunned I can’t breathe. “He’s my problem. I thought I told you that? What gives you the right to do anything?”
“He’s dirty as hell, Lena. I did some digging.”
No argument there.
I doubt there’s been a time when Harry was clean in any sense of the word.
“You mean his business? His real estate dealings?” I’m almost afraid to ask.
“Yeah. I had Luis help piece it together. I’ve got an entire report on his recent history and strong-arm acquisition tactics that should be illegal. Hate me if you want, that’s fair, but take a look.” He holds up his phone and swipes a few times, then shows me a document on the screen.
I don’t take the phone.
I don’t dare.
Right now, I’m just frozen and confused.
Also, fuck Harry Jay.
When Brady came in guns blazing and Doc accepted my offer, I honestly thought that was a wrap. The end. Time to move on and forget his ugly, cruel face with a mustache I’ll never have the pleasure of ripping off.
But now time itself feels stalled.
The very real fear that Brady might’ve had good reason for playing defense, even if he overstepped my boundaries . . . it’s too much.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask with a sigh.
“Because he threatened you. What choice did I have?”
“That’s just what Harry does. That’s my past and my issues.” I step forward, taking another look at his phone, now flat on the island between us. Just waiting for me to see the nasty truth.
God, it’s so tempting.
To take the information he’s unearthed and behold the nightmares Harry has been weaving all over this city.
But Brady did this behind my back.
He went and sunk his brave, stupid teeth into my mess when I told him point-blank not to.
Especially when he doesn’t understand what a loose cannon Harry Jay is, and his retribution won’t stop with me.
Last time, he broke my mother’s heart and shuttered Raven Swirl. He murdered her dream, and he used her own daughter like shrapnel to shred it to pieces.