Almost Real (Almost Ever After), page 7
“What did? Your crush on greyhounds?”
“Dogs in general.” He meets my eyes, and they’re serious. “I did a few years in the US Army. Mostly my father’s idea, to make me fly right and keep me out of trouble. It was trouble, all right, but fuck getting into that.”
I bite my lip so I don’t smile.
“Anyway, I wound up in Syria at a really chaotic time,” he says.
The confession stuns me a little. I never would’ve guessed he’s an army vet, but that helps explain the Instagrammable physique. Another piece of the Brady Pruitt puzzle I don’t know what to do with yet.
How much trouble was he in? Men like him don’t usually serve abroad. They don’t give up time and risk their neck for their country if they don’t have to.
“Surprised?” he asks. “Can’t say I blame you. Money shields you from a lot of bullshit in life. In my case, I’m glad it didn’t here. I had a lot to learn when I was nineteen.”
“That’s a wake-up call, for sure,” I admit. “What does it have to do with dogs, though?”
“A brave K-9 attached to our unit saved my life.” His voice grows serious. A bit low, slightly gritty, like the memory burns his throat coming out.
I can relate.
Some memories just do that to you. They burrow through your grey matter with hooks and claws, and every time you rake them out from the back of your mind, they draw blood.
But it’s not always bitter. There’s some sweetness too. And I can see it in the way he smiles.
Not with his mouth, but this tiny, half-hidden light swirling in his blue eyes.
My stomach flips. I’m suddenly worried it’s not just the espresso martini making my cheeks heat.
Oh boy.
“There was a small town outside our base. The people were good to us, always sending intel about terrorists, so we protected them. One day on our routine patrols, there was a hidden improvised explosive.” He pauses, watching how I stare before his eyes return to his drink. “I had no clue—my unit would’ve walked right into the damn thing if we didn’t have Oscar with us. Big old Belgian Malinois, friendly as hell off duty, more focused than a lot of people when he worked.” He smiles. “Oscar smelled the bomb, and if he hadn’t . . .” He trails off, but I can fill in the gaps.
“So scary,” I say softly.
“It’s what lit a fire under my ass. Dogs aren’t toys. They’re real companions. Sometimes, they save your life. That’s why I’m pouring energy into my current project. Working on a good, organic dog food that doesn’t cost more than the processed stuff. I want dogs like Oscar to eat well and live as long as possible.”
“Dog food? I thought you made your money with some kind of dating app?” At least, that’s what the internet said.
“I’m out of that game. Sold my entire stake off to a bigger company last year.”
“Why?”
“It got my foot in the door and let me make my own money and make connections, rather than resting on the family business. Still, it’s not what I care about. Another round?” He gestures for two refills. “But what about you?”
“What about me?” I shake my head. “I’m sick to death of dating apps, and I barely remember to charge my phone. I’m overworked at a small clinic and undersocialized. My friends are getting married to superheroes and living their best lives. I’m stuck with my bad self because my last date wouldn’t shut up about his fifty-dollar investment in a crypto coin with an anime logo. Blah.”
Too honest?
I wonder when I see the way he cocks his head.
“Never asked about your dating life, Sass.”
My face heats. It’s in the way he says it—no silly nickname should be that devastating.
“Hey, you asked for a briefing. That’s my messy, boring life. Stay away if you’re smart.”
“I’m more interested in today, woman. You going to tell me why you always leave work looking like you’ve had your heart split in two?”
Holy ouch.
The memory comes sweeping back, all sharp claws. The wound reopens in my chest, gushing fresh sorrow.
I think about Dr. Ezzie. Her defeat and despair, the sad way she’s resigning herself to being eaten by a shark before we ever put up a fight.
God, the way she has no fight.
One meeting, and Harry’s sucked that much life out of her.
“That face,” Brady rumbles, sipping his new cocktail and setting it down with a clink. “That’s the one I’m wondering about. You’re wearing it now.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’m in no rush.”
I grab my drink and down half of it in one gulp that almost makes me choke. Not how anyone should relish a thirty-dollar craft cocktail, but hell, I needed a boost.
“A couple days ago, my boss had a meeting with a man. Harry Jay,” I say. “He works in property investment.”
Brady tilts his head. “Think I’ve heard the name. Made a big splash in real estate, didn’t he? I remember he was involved in that pier renovation along the waterfront. I never wanted to touch that game.”
“That’s smart.”
“So, what about Harry Jay and your boss?”
I try—I really do—to keep my fury under wraps. But it’s impossible, because my ex gives me that imminent-spider feeling.
“He wants to invest in our clinic. It’s a high-risk situation with debt, and he’s the only kind of investor my boss could find,” I say. “But really, he’s not looking to help us keep the lights on. I think he just wants the land Pawsome Hearts is on. You’ve seen it—this big piece of property that’s gotten rare. Very few small businesses own a plot like that outright. Dr. Ezzie bought it back when things were cheap. But it’s been a struggle the last few years. She’s having a hard time keeping up for personal reasons. I just know that shithawk’s swooping in while we’re wounded and bleeding to—sorry.” I catch myself, taking another violent swig of my drink.
“Shithawk. I like it.”
“It’s true. The land is—I don’t know how much it’s worth, but it’s valuable.”
“A pretty penny,” he offers with a nod.
“Right. And Harry, he’s—he’s the worst kind of creep. A freak who enjoys humiliating people.” There it is: my anger boiling over in hot, vicious words.
At this point, I don’t know when I’ll ever be over him, and that’s embarrassing. Even on this not-date.
Brady’s eyebrows go up.
“Forget the last part. There’s a reason I don’t normally do the midweek-drinking thing,” I lie.
The clear blue of Brady’s eyes hardens into ice as he stares at me.
“You know him,” he growls. It’s not a question.
“. . . We might’ve dated in college.” The confession comes out in a rush. My face is burning.
“Shit,” he rasps.
“It’s whatever. Let’s just say it didn’t end well. He’s a raging asshole. It was years ago, and I thought I was done with that chapter, but now he’s coming in hot to ruin my life again. So yeah, it’s personal and I’m a little bitter.”
I don’t realize I’m almost breathless until Brady lays his hand on my arm. He orders a couple glasses of water from the bartender.
“Have you told your boss about him?”
My breath shudders on its way out. “I tried, but she’s hard up. Desperate almost.”
What is happening?
I didn’t think Brady’s thick palm could feel this good on my skin. He still carries himself like a massive prick, but tonight he’s being human.
“Hey.” He’s suddenly moving closer, his fingers twined with mine, and that’s when I realize I’m crying. My hands are trembling.
My vision blurs, and I suck in another shaky breath.
Holy hell, I’m ready to shrivel up and die from shame.
If only I’d stuck to coffee.
“Come here,” he says gently, and it’s so easy to let him tilt me forward until I’m in his arms.
That musky ocean smell is a welcome distraction. It teleports me to a peaceful place with clear blue skies, far from the ugly grey clouds of bad memories hanging over Seattle.
My face stays pressed against his shoulder, his arms around my back, his hands rubbing soothingly.
It’s so much nicer than anything I’d expect from him—and it feels so good.
His heart thuds slowly and strongly. The drumbeat vibrates through his body into mine, like he’s loaning me something I didn’t know I needed.
Steadiness. Calm. Courage.
It’s shocking how human he is, and maybe it shouldn’t be.
I feel bad for being so shallow, so jaded and quick to judge.
He’s made of flesh and blood, after all. Not emotionless metal and rubber, like some kind of AI robot powered by money.
My breathing slows to match his.
“Pawsome Hearts is more than just a job,” I whisper against his shoulder. My mouth moves against the fabric of his jacket, and I briefly imagine it against his skin. Salty sweet.
What the hell are you doing?
Stop.
I pull back, and he lets me, sliding away to give me space.
This would be so much easier if he was the ridiculous caricature I imagined.
I dab under my eyes. Of all the things I could’ve done in front of him, I just had to turn on the waterworks.
“What I really need,” I say shakily, searching for a lighthearted tone, “is a billionaire sugar daddy. My best friend married one, and she’s set for life.”
“What?” Brady stiffens like I just insulted him.
“My best friend, Elle. She’s awesome. Super-talented illustrator, sassy bitch, partner in crime. I love her to death. But she met this guy, August Marshall, and he paid her to be his fiancée. It was this whole drama arc, but now they’re married and she’s living out her dreams, illustrating stories. You know Inky the Penguin?”
“Who doesn’t? I used to have Inky pajamas when I was five. Must’ve wrote that penguin a hundred letters growing up.” His words are light, but there’s no humor in his eyes.
Dude, why is he looking at me like that?
Brady watches me like a hunting hawk and clears his throat before he drains the rest of his drink. The glass comes down with a loud clink.
“Actually, Lena, that’s the reason I brought you here tonight. I have something to ask you.”
What?
“. . . To be my sugar daddy?” I am so confused.
“Not quite, but when you put it that way, it’s not so different, I suppose.” He spreads his hands flat on the marble bar. “We both have problems we could help each other with.”
I almost snort espresso liqueur through my nose.
For real? What the hell can I do for Brady Pruitt, heir to billions and social media prince?
“I’m serious. Listen.” He leans in again, catching my hand, his eyes dancing with an energy that’s as intoxicating as my cocktail. “If you’ve stalked me online, you know I had a rough reputation growing up. Too many rich-kid parties and girlfriends I went through like eating grapes. Since then, I’ve been working overtime, getting my shit together. I promise you that shit chapter’s closed now. Only, my family’s been riding me hard to settle down. Get married. Look responsible. My father can’t be the public face of our brand, not since he wound up sick. They made me take over, and they want me to do it right. All for the almighty optics again.”
“So that’s it,” I whisper. “That’s why you’re with Blondie McBrat.”
“Nancy, yes. I’m sure you can guess they think we’re a match made in heaven—but you saw what she’s like.”
“Holy shit, yeah. I thought you guys were dating.” I make a gagging sound.
He chuckles roughly. “Fuck no. I’ll never be that hard up.”
The roughness in his voice rumbles through my bones.
I don’t like where this is going.
“Sooo, what are you suggesting?” I ask.
“I need to buy time. Enough to keep my family from climbing up my ass before I’m ready to launch my product line, find my footing, and rebuild my reputation with old-fashioned grit.” Those big blue eyes are midnight now, dark with determination. “I need a ruse. You need money. That makes us perfect partners, if we team up and—”
Panic.
I throw my hands up.
“Whoa, whoa. How about no?” I lean away from him. “No way, Brady. If you think I’m signing on to some wacky fake-engagement thing with you, count me out. Sorry, I’m not your girl.”
A slow, inappropriately sexy smile spreads across his lips. “Not even for a million dollars?”
A million—
Oh. My. God.
My vision starts spinning with zeros.
I’m glad I’m not the fainting type like poor Elle, or I’m pretty sure I’d be sliding off this stool boneless and face-planting on the marble bar.
“Nope, I—” I stop, staring at him. “Did you really say a million?”
“Seven figures. Count them, Sass. I told you: This can be a mutually beneficial relationship.”
Holy shit, I can’t do this.
That’s crazy money. Certifiable. And it comes with strings attached that originate in hell.
Worse, his offer tells me I should have listened to my instinct.
I knew I should never have gone out with him.
Does he seriously think he can bribe me into some sleezy romance arrangement worthy of a bad reality show?
Woof.
My instincts were right.
Brady Pruitt is a giant selfish dickprint.
“No thanks,” I strangle out. Then I start digging in my purse, thankful I have a few bills to throw down on the bar for my partial tab. He can figure out the rest for this humiliation. “Absolutely no fucking way. I’m out of here.”
And I’m moving like a bullet, bolting through the crowd as I hear him call, “Lena!”
This is so not my day.
Now, instead of moping around at home, I get to drag myself back with my tail between my legs.
And I’ll spend the night wondering why every man in this city really is a selfish psycho, and when I became a magnet for bad intentions.
VI
A Dog’s Dinner
(Brady)
Under ordinary circumstances, the lab lights me up like nowhere else.
It’s the place where the future unfolds, and that makes me feel more at home than—well, home.
No matter how nice my condo is, everyone thinks they can drop by and interrupt my flow. Ungirlfriends (Nancy Loomer), my mother, old friends, and cousins who pop in a few times a year.
If I don’t want to be seen, there’s nowhere to hide.
My parents’ house hasn’t felt like home, either, not since I came back from serving Uncle Sam.
It may be beautiful, but it’s stuffy, all old-world money and suffocating obligations. Imposing as hell and cut from an age where the wealthy in Seattle rubbed it in with the biggest castles and flashiest cars imaginable.
It’s also the place where their rules and expectations reign.
If I don’t follow them to the letter of the law, they bring consequences crashing down on my head like an avalanche.
It’s easier to avoid it entirely, unless I have a good reason for showing up.
Then there’s the lab.
It’s this small local place, looking more like a college lab than a state-of-the-art facility for world-class R&D. I contracted them with my vet nutritionist to help formulate my test products a few months back, and ever since, I’ve found myself damn near living there some days.
Luis is with me today, too, frowning over the notes we’ve been given.
“Any questions?” The lab tech, Grace, a lanky brunette with serious eyes and a ponytail pulled tight across her head, looks at me expectantly.
“Heirloom grains?” Luis asks.
“Mostly barley. A little goes a long way for a dog’s gut health, supposedly,” I say shortly.
“It also pads the calorie content and possibly balances the flavor profile. Anything packaged for storage inevitably loses a little.” Grace smiles, but I note the missing confidence in her voice.
Great. Nice knowing she thinks we’re making progress.
As I said, under normal circumstances, the lab is my favorite place.
But when we’ve been pushing our brains to their limits to make the pet food affordable, palatable, and marketable, it’s a tight balance. It feels like a place where dreams go to die.
Maybe that’s a little overdramatic, but it’s exactly how I feel.
Without warning, Lena crowds my brain.
The way she felt in my arms as she buried her head in my chest—this iron woman suddenly a naked cactus without her thorns.
Then I had to open my dumb fucking mouth and shit up everything.
The raw anger in her eyes.
The ugly emotion boiling out behind her beauty.
The scorn I deserved after I betrayed her trust.
What was I thinking?
She’s combative by nature and guarded as hell. Maybe if she wasn’t so standoffish to begin with, I wouldn’t be so bothered.
Hell, I like the way she fights for her passions. The clinic means a lot to her, and the second after its dilemma broke her in front of me, I put my entire shoe up my ass.
Those eyes.
Those big, brown, beautiful eyes, spinning with disappointment.
That fucking hurt, and yes, I’m keenly aware there’s no one else to blame.
I wouldn’t pretend to date me for a million dollars either.
Jackass idiot.
I deserved far worse than the way she stormed out like I lit her on fire. Plus, the awkward looks from the bartender and the patrons around me.
Maybe they saw a clueless donkey sooner than I did, bleating selfish promises at a woman he barely knows like he’s the miracle in life she’s been waiting for.
Luis looks at me sharply and clears his throat.
I forget he can read my mind. He’s the only one who knows about that disaster, and he’s spent enough time around me to know how fuckups eat me alive.
“Right,” I tell Grace, my brain filling in the parts of the conversation where I zoned out. “If they’re ready, bring the dogs in. We’re not getting anywhere if they don’t like it.”
