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“Do the other tenants create pet food as well?” His brow furrowed.
“For your information, our food is edible by humans. We use fresh and fine ingredients.” I lifted my chin. He could do whatever his business was, but should leave ours to us.
His expression remained unchanged.
“We might open a store.”
I grimaced. “Not anytime soon,” I quickly amended. We were still finding our groove. Somehow, if Lincoln knew of our plans and that we never got it launched, I’d be embarrassed at the failure.
I’d be ashamed if anyone saw us fail, but something about him knowing . . . it would cause double the shame. Maybe that was because he was so successful.
“Where would you locate it?” he asked as if I hadn’t just told him we weren’t ready.
“No idea. We just tossed it around this morning.” I finished my donut, chewing more aggressively than necessary. So much for a relaxing break.
“You should make Muffy your dog. Then we could bring you food for him every day.”
Whoa. I often wondered about the workings of Eric’s mind and where some of his thoughts came from. This one was most definitely not happening.
“I don’t have time to care for a dog.”
What Lincoln didn’t say was that he didn’t have the desire either.
“You make time for what you want to do.” Another of Eric’s pearls of wisdom.
Lincoln appeared to be at a temporary loss for words as he let that nugget soak in. “You must have a dog, considering you’re in the dog supply industry.” His tone dripped with triumph. The you of his statement didn’t feel as if it included my brother.
What he should’ve said is “Lexie, how do you consider yourself an expert at preparing dog food when you don’t have one of your own?”
That was what he meant. And it was fine if he wanted to be judgy like that.
I perked up and shielded my eyes. “Oh, I think I see Mrs. Johnson. It’s been lovely to see you as always, Mr. Hollingsworth, but we must get back to business. You understand.” I flashed him the fakest smile I could muster. One that meant go away, ass.
He continued to block Eric’s doorway. “When do you have time in your schedule for a visit to the tailor? Would Sunday morning be suitable?”
“Yes!” Eric answered without considering anything else.
And because of his excitement, I couldn’t protest. That wouldn’t be fair to him just to spite Lincoln.
“I’ll text you the time I’ll collect you.”
“We aren’t trinkets,” I said smartly.
He tilted his head. “No, you most certainly aren’t.”
“Lincoln, I’ve been waiting for you for fifteen minutes. Don’t waste more of my time carousing.”
He stiffened at the harsh words and seemed to steel himself before he turned around. When he stepped away from the van, the older version of Lincoln stood on the sidewalk. So that’s where he learned that pissed off expression.
Wordlessly, Lincoln stalked away in the direction of Mrs. Johnson’s building. From the moment of locking eyes on his father, I’d been unimpressed. Pretentious. Jerk. Two words that seemed to sum him up, if I had to. I’d lived with people like that.
You’ll never amount to anything, Lexie. You . . . and him.
As much as I despised our horrid parents, maybe they weren't as bad as Samuel Hollingsworth. Maybe.
