Page 40 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

Mum and Dad woke up with sore heads on Sunday, but a lavish breakfast got them back on track.

Poor Jude was hit with more of the Lazenbys when Mum insisted on repaying him for his hospitality and invited him for one of her famous Sunday roasts.

Which, of course, meant he got to meet Grandma and Grandpa too.

So that’s it. He’s met my entire family.

And, I admit, when we left my parents and headed back to my place, I was a little worried Jude would try to worm his way out of this relationship we’ve unexpectedly got ourselves into.

He didn’t. Instead, he took me to bed and whispered sweet nothings in my ear as he made love to me.

Then the next morning, he made me a coffee with the new kettle he brought for me on Saturday while I was at the gym.

Then he drove me to work. Kissed me long and softly before he let me get out of the car.

It was the best start to my day, but that’s where my good day ended.

My Monday rapidly went downhill.

Gary was out of the office all day in client meetings, so I couldn’t talk to him about Jude.

A client, Mr. Coldfoot, emailed to tell me he’s moving to the South of France and, therefore, moving his money too, putting a tidy hole in my portfolio, and a Zoom call at ten with Mr. Jarvis that was only allocated an hour turned into two hours, fucking up the rest of my day’s schedule and meetings.

I’ve been chasing time ever since, run off my feet, but I haven’t achieved much.

In fact, thanks to Mr. Coldfoot moving to France, I’ve gone backwards.

At three o’clock, I drop my mobile to my desk on a sigh and go to get myself some needed caffeine.

I watch the coffee trickle out of the machine slowly and add some cold water when it’s done, drinking it on my way back to my desk.

Three more hours to get through. Just three.

I push my way back into my office and nearly throw up what I’ve just drunk when I see someone sitting on the opposite side of my desk.

“Nick?” I breathe, as he looks back at me. “What are you doing here?” My feet refuse to take me to my desk, keeping me by the open door.

He smiles and stands. “I had a meeting.”

“What?” I look back into the corridor, seeing it empty. “With whom?”

“Sue.”

My blood runs cold, everything telling me I’m not going to like what’s coming next. He’s blocking the way to my desk. “Sue?”

“About the new position that’s come up.”

“New position?”

“So how have you been?” He lowers back to the chair, getting comfortable, while I stand like a statue trying to process the bombshell he’s just landed on me. I round my desk and sit, grateful for the huge piece of wood now serving as a barrier between us.

“New position?” I repeat, not wanting to get into idle chitchat.

“You didn’t know LB I have my meeting with Tilda on Wednesday. What’s the rush?”

Jude peeks up through his lashes as he pushes the coleslaw around his plate. “No rush,” he says quietly, straining a smile.

My chewing slows, another chip halfway to my pot of mayo. “Is there something wrong?” I’ve caught him many times these past few days lost in thought, like there’s something on his mind.

“No, nothing.” Another strained smile. “I’m tired, that’s all.”

I don’t believe him. Dropping my chip to my plate, I brush my hands off.

There’s more to it, and it’s not helping the lingering something inside me that’s wondering if I’m reading into nothings and making them somethings.

“I don—” Someone in my peripheral vision catches my eye, making me do a double take and snap my mouth shut.

Fuck. My eyes quickly dart to the table, my shock obvious.

And Jude doesn’t miss it. “What’s up?” he asks.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. “My ex just walked in.” It just falls out of my mouth, like my brain won’t take time to weigh up the consequences of such a catastrophic word vomit. What the hell is Nick doing here?

Jude cranes his neck, every inch of him tensing. Oh Jesus, this could be messy. Nick’s emotional, and Jude’s got a vicious temper.

Mortified, knowing Nick’s seen me, I brave looking up. His eyes are batting between me and Jude. My unease grows. Shit, I don’t know how to handle this.

“Fuck,” Jude exhales, as Nick approaches, his face a picture of disbelief.

“Nick.” Standing from my chair is an effort. My legs shake, adrenaline pumping as my body braces for a showdown.

“Jude, this is Nick Phillips,” I say quietly, once again at a loss. “Nick, this is Jude Harrison.” So I introduce them? Oh God, this is fucking awful.

“Jude Harrison?” Nick says, not with hatred as I’d expect, but in question. I tilt my head. And then Nick mildly inhales, taking a step back.

“Yes, Jude Harrison.” Jude rises, clearly wanting a presence and, God, does he have one, the passive-aggressive possessiveness rising with him. Reaching for his arm, I touch him, trying to interrupt the potential imminent eruption. “That’s me,” Jude grates, his eyes suddenly wild. “Nick Phillips ?”

I want to crawl under the table and hide, but as I look between the men, something feels .

.. off. Jude’s as stiff as a board, his eyes the darkest I’ve ever seen them.

It’s standard Jude in the face of rivalry, but it feels like there’s more.

I glance at Nick again. There’s no hurt in his expression.

It’s more shock, which is confusing because he found out I was seeing someone before, and this was not his reaction.

Except then, he didn’t know who I was seeing.

Now, he does. And Jude is an imposing man.

Jude finds it in himself to back up and lose the crazy radiating from every fibre of his being, flicking me a wary look. My cautious gaze returns to Nick. He does the same, peeking out the corner of his eye at me before quickly looking away.

“Do you know each other?” I ask, the question falling past my lips impulsively.

“No.”

“No.”

I retreat and laugh under my breath. “Are you sure?” There was definitely a sense of realisation in Nick when I introduced Jude.

“We’re leaving.” Jude takes my elbow.

“We’ve not finished eating.”

“I’m not hungry.”

So he’s lost his appetite now? Jude swipes up my bag and tries to walk me out, but Nick moves, blocking us.

“Get out of my way,” Jude grates, his expression deadly.