Surprisingly, they haven’t been terrible…though that might be because I haven’t seen Josh since the truce. According to Barbs, he only came in on his days off or when he wasn’t wiped from a shift.
I had no issue with that. The less I had to see him, the better. Part of me was still embarrassed by how I’d lost my cool when he accused me of not taking my job seriously. We’d hurled much worse insults at each other over the years, yet that one thing had made me snap.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been judged—for my looks and my family, the career I chose and the clothes I wore, the way I laughed too loudly when I was supposed to be demure and asserted myself too boldly when I was supposed to be invisible. I was used to shaking off criticism, but the sneers and side eyes accumulated over time, and I’d gotten to the point where I was just tired.
Tired of working twice as hard as everyone else to be taken seriously and fighting even harder to prove my worth.
I shook my head and tried to refocus on the documents before me. I didn’t have time for a pity party. I needed to finish fact checking a case today, and the clinic closed in three hours.
I’d gotten through half the papers when the door swung open and Josh waltzed in, carrying a small box from Crumble & Bake.
“Oh look, if it isn’t—” My favorite devil’s spawn. I bit off the rest of my words when Josh raised a challenging brow. “My best friend’s brother.”
It would take some adjusting before I curbed my knee-jerk instinct to insult him the second I saw his face.
“Astute observation.” He set the box on the table and took the seat next to me. A whiff of his cologne floated over, mingling with the sweet scent wafting from the box. “Let me guess. You’ve annoyed the rest of the staff so much they banished you to the kitchen?”
“If you had a modicum of observational skill, you’d notice there isn’t a desk for me yet.” I forced myself not to stare at the pastries. Don’t give in to the temptation of sweets. “I’m working out of the kitchen until it comes in. And,” I pointed my pen at him, triumph filling my veins, “you broke the truce.”
“No, I didn’t.” Josh rolled up his sleeves, revealing tanned, lightly veined forearms. A heavy watch glinted on his wrist, and as someone with an odd thing for men and watches, I would’ve found the sight hot had he not been, well, him. “Sarcasm isn’t the same as an insult. I’m sarcastic with my friends all the time. It’s how I show my love.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I was surprised I didn’t enter another dimension. “Yes, you obviously meant to show your love for me with your statement.”
“No, I meant to show my love for you with this.” Josh lengthened his drawl with exaggerated slowness, like he was speaking to a child. He opened the box, and my eyes zeroed in on the cupcake sitting smack dab in the middle.
Salted caramel. My favorite.
My stomach emitted a low rumble of approval. I’d been so caught up in work I hadn’t eaten since my paltry lunch of a salad and smoothie a few hours ago.
Josh’s mouth lifted into a smirk while I shuffled my papers loudly to hide the sound. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of salivating over anything he bought.
“Consider it my official olive branch.” He pushed the box toward me. “Along with me not mentioning how you broke the truce by insulting my observational skills, which are excellent, by the way.”
Only Josh could claim credit for not doing something he just did.
Instead of arguing with him, I poked at the cupcake with suspicion. “Did you poison it?” There was a difference between being civil and buying someone their favorite cupcake unprompted.
“Nah, I was in a rush. Maybe next time.”
“Hilarious. Netflix should give you a standup special.” I plucked the cupcake from the box and examined it more closely for signs of tampering.
“I know.” Josh oozed cockiness. “It’s one of my many wonderful attributes.”
I fought another eye roll. There were probably a hundred poor souls walking around with low self-esteem so Josh Chen could sail through life with an ego the size of Jupiter. Satan must’ve been distracted the day he created his hellspawn and poured a little too much obnoxiousness into Josh’s beaker.
“How did you know salted caramel is my favorite?” I squinted at a tiny black mark on the cupcake wrapper.
A mere scratch from an errant marker, or proof of poison? Hmmm…
“It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.” Josh nodded at the venti drink on the table. “Every time I see you, you’re inhaling a caramel mocha the size of your head.”
Okay, fair point. My love for all things caramel-flavored wasn’t exactly a secret.
“Keep it up and you’ll get diabetes,” he added. “All that sugar isn’t good for you.”
“So you’re feeding me more sugar in the hopes I’ll become diabetic.” I tapped my pen against the table with my free hand. “I knew you had nefarious intentions.”
Josh sighed and pinched his brow. “Jules, eat the damn cupcake.”
I stifled a grin. I was mostly fucking with him at this point, and I really was starving. If I was going to die, I might as well die eating something I loved.
I peeled back the wrapper and took a small bite. Warm, delicious sweetness burst onto my tongue, and I couldn’t hold back a soft moan of appreciation.
Nothing beat a salted caramel cupcake after hours of work.
Josh watched while I ate, his exasperated expression giving way to something I couldn’t identify.
Uncharacteristic self-consciousness pricked at my skin. “What?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I like you a lot better when you aren’t talking. I should bring you food more often.”
“Good thing I don’t give two damns whether you like me or not.” My words dripped with honey. “But if you want to buy me food, go ahead. Just know I’ll inspect every inch before it goes into my mouth.”
I realized my mistake before the sentence fully left my mouth.
Shit. That came out dirtier than I’d intended.
Josh’s face split into a devilish grin.
“Don’t.” I held up one hand, my cheeks warming. “Save yourself from whatever juvenile joke you were about to spew.”
To my surprise, he did.
Josh tapped a finger on the pile of papers in front of me. “You know there are other places you could work besides the kitchen.”
“Like where, the bathroom?” LHAC was tiny, and I didn’t want to impose on anyone else’s workspace. “It’s fine. It’s comfortable in here.”
If you overlooked the ice-cold temperature, rickety table, and stiff wooden chairs, that is. Still, it beat working from the toilet seat.
“Yeah, if you compare it to the Siberian wild.”
I released an annoyed sigh. “Are you here to work, or are you here to pester me?”
“I can do both. I’m a great multitasker,” Josh quipped before his eyes turned serious. “Heard we got a new case today.”
“Yep.” I slid the papers toward him, snapping into work mode. “The Bowers. The mother, Laura Bower, fell down the stairs and can’t work for the next two months. No insurance, so they have a crazy amount of medical bills, and she’s the family’s sole breadwinner. Her husband Terence got out of jail a few years ago but hasn’t been able to find work because of his criminal record. They have two kids, Daisy and Tommy, ages six and nine.”