Page 91 of The Fake Out

“What?” His fist fell to the table, rattling the dishes. “What’s there to think about?”

A lot of things. Starting with how wrong it felt when he’d made the offer. I couldn’t pinpoint the problem, but my gut was telling me to think it through.

“It’s a big decision,” I hedged and left it at that. I couldn’t even begin to explain the way my intuition was nagging at me.

“It comes with a big raise, right?” Chris dropped his elbows to the table and hit me with his patented grumpy face. “More money means you can afford a place in New York. You’d be stupid to say no.”

“She hasn’t said no, and it’s reasonable for her to take time to think it through,” Emerson gritted out, his jaw rigid and his eyes harder than I’d ever seen them. I wasn’t used to the look. Mad Emerson wasn’t a norm.

While I thought Chris would be as shocked as I was about Emerson’s obvious change in demeanor, he only scoffed, like he hadn’t even noticed it. “Since when do you believe that? You’re the king of just act on an idea.”

My heart panged at the flash of hurt in Em’s eyes. Sure, he could be impulsive, but typically only when it came to run-of-the-mill things that didn’t matter. Like jumping up to hug someone when he was excited or offering his help without a second of hesitation. But saying he never thought things through was grossly unfair.

With my hands balled into fists on my lap, I forced myself to focus on the table while I worked to get my temper under control.

My focus shifted to Emerson’s white plate, only then noticing that he wasn’t eating the same thing we were. But the grilled chicken and broccoli made sense. He wouldn’t have fried pork when he was focused on being at the top of his game.

“No,” I gritted out, throwing figurative daggers at my brother.

“No?” His eyes flashed with the same kind of challenge I’d seen from him all my life.

“No, he’s not the king of just act on an idea,” I growled.

That single sentence made my brother sit back, his jaw dropping.

“Don’t pretend to be shocked. Why do you think you two are such good friends? You are both focused and have consciously made choices and sacrifices that have driven your careers.”

A warm palm covered my fist in my lap. At his touch, my body released most of the tension it was holding tight to. Emerson slipped his fingers into mine and gave me a squeeze, silently communicating his gratitude. I couldn’t look at him. If I did, I had no doubt my brother would pick up on the fact that he was holding my hand.

“And now I’m taking time to make smart choices with my own career. So don’t give either of us shit.” My voice was calmer, but I kept my expression hard.

Chris worked his jaw back and forth, his eyes moving between his best friend and me. After he’d scrutinized each of us a couple of times, Emerson went rigid next to me.

“Chris, she’s right. You wouldn’t want her to jump into a shitty job. So let’s eat, and maybe the hangry will go away.” Avery rubbed my brother’s shoulder. “Anyway, congrats on the offer, Gianna. If you decide it’s what you want to do, I have no doubt you’ll be great at it.”

“I never said she wouldn’t be,” Chris mumbled.

Emerson was still wound tight, like he was ready to spring at any second and he’d yet to release my hand. The awkward way he’d positioned his arm so the contact wasn’t visible above the table had to be uncomfortable, so I loosened my hold, ready to release him, but he kept his fingers locked around mine.

Across from me, Avery was forcing a smile so hard that her face must hurt.

“Oh, guess what?” she chirped.

It took a pretty decent amount of willpower not to snap at her. The atmosphere was still tense, and my defenses were still raised high, but none of that was her fault, and I could appreciate her efforts to smooth things over.

“What?” I fought against the resting bitch face, shooting for cheerful.

My efforts must have been a little too over-the-top, because Emerson squeezed my hand and cleared his throat in a way that sounded almost like a chuckle.

I side-eyed him, and sure enough, he was totally fighting a laugh. His eyes danced, and he finally released my hand to cover his mouth.

I rolled my eyes. Me smiling wasn’t that funny.

“You actually want us to guess, Blondie, or are you going to tell us?” Chris shoved another bit of pork into his mouth.

She smirked. “Sorry. No. I just got distracted.” With a shake of her head, she straightened in her seat. “Wren’s going to run her first art auction this weekend, and she has extra tickets.”

“Cool.” I finally dug into my dinner. The moment the pork hit my tongue, the most incredible flavor burst in my mouth. Damn. No wonder Chris liked this so much. Quickly, I scooped another bite.

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