Things were good. She could relax.
And then she got the mail.
They never put enough cilantro on his quesadilla.
Jude Worthington Strong swiped his mouth with a napkin, the cheap paper catching on his five-o’clock shadow that always sprung up around noon and was the very bane of his father’s clean-shaven existence.
Which meant if his beard were a puppy, Jude would have given it a treat.
Hollis Strong—never “Dad” during business hours—raised dark brows at Jude across the gleaming boardroom table. “Did they get your order wrong again?”
“Nah. I asked for extra cilantro, but it’s no big deal.” Jude shrugged before diving back into the delicious, cheesy concoction. Nothing was ever right—or good enough—for Hollis. Jude had learned long ago to let the little things in life slide. Unfortunately, Hollis had yet to catch on. Besides, Salsa Street’s food was delicious, even without the extra cilantro. He’d taken to eating there once a week, and once his family jumped on board, they’d insisted on creating obnoxious rush orders.
The Strongs had to leave their mark of authority everywhere they went, apparently.
“Figures they screwed it up. I don’t know why we keep going back to this Salsa Street place.” Hollis sprinkled a few jalapenos into his salad.
Jude gestured toward his meal. “Because it’s fresh food, and if the doctor finds out you keep eating burgers and fries three times a week, he’s going to lay into you again.”
Hollis scoffed. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“It’ll hurt you, I believe is the point.”
“Salsa Street is not that great,” Warner chimed in. “The chips are almost always stale.”
“They’re not stale, they’re organic. Besides, you think you can do better?”
“No, but you probably do—Mr. Taco Boy, always helping our housekeeper when we were growing up.” Warner snapped his fingers, thinking. “What was her name?”
Maria. Her name was Maria, and she’d been the only mother figure in the Strong household for most of their childhood until she retired when Jude turned eighteen. Warner knew her name—he was just being his typically rude self.
Jude fisted his napkin. Lately he’d been picking his battles with Warner, and while Maria was worth it—getting Warner to change his spots was next to impossible. “She made good tacos.” The best he’d ever had, actually. Salsa Street, while consistently pleasant, couldn’t come close to Maria’s authentic, four-generational family recipe.
“Well, I’d much rather have the burger and fries. I’m sick of this Salsa Street place—they never know what they’re doing.” His father muttered a racist expletive. His brother, Warner, laughed.
Jude’s eyes narrowed. “For the hundredth time, you can’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not? The walls have ears?” Hollis crunched his taco salad with a fork.
“Yeah. Yours.” Warner flashed a polished smile that earned a chuckle from their dad. “What with that new security system you put in last week.”
Jude ignored his brother. “Because it’s racist. Or at the least, bigoted.” Knowing his dad, it’d be both.
“What, am I on trial now?” Hollis laughed. “Save it for the courtroom, son. You need the practice.”
Jude shoved another bite into his mouth to keep from saying something disrespectful. Some days, he couldn’t believe this was his family. Other days, the framed Ivy League degrees on the walls proved it was in his blood, and escape felt the opposite of imminent.
In fact—if he half closed his eyes, the walls felt like they might be slowly moving together, like that carnival fun house he went to when he was ten. The one that Warner abandoned him in, thinking it’d be hilarious. That night was the first and only time he heard Maria yell. Good thing Warner hadn’t known Spanish back then.
He opened his eyes. The walls, with their custom crown molding and mahogany chair rails, remained in place. But the weariness of his load felt a dozen times heavier.
Hollis tossed his napkin on the table. For someone who didn’t like Salsa Street, he sure had devoured that entire salad. “How’s the Blackwood case coming?”
Speaking of heavy loads. Jude couldn’t muster the energy to mask his sigh. “It’s coming.” His dad had given him a complicated scandal on purpose as training, and it was taking most of Jude’s post-work evening hours to investigate thoroughly. And he wouldn’t even get credit for it.
“How enlightening an update.” Hollis’s tone dripped with sarcasm. His attention shifted to Warner. “What about the Steiner case?”
Warner straightened in his seat. “It’ll be wrapped and ready for trial in three days.”
Jude fought the temptation to roll his eyes and settled for finishing his quesadilla in two forceful bites. The way they seasoned their chicken was exactly on point. Cumin, cayenne pepper. He chewed slower. What else was he tasting? Maybe—
“You still with us, baby brother?” Warner tilted his head toward Jude. “Who is she?”
“Who is who?” Jude shoveled in a forkful of rice and beans. He knew who she was. Well, her username anyway—ColorMeTurquoise. But Warner had no idea he’d been chatting online with a woman the last few weeks, and he’d like to keep it that way. Besides, he hadn’t been thinking about her anyway. Leave it to Warner to think he knew every—
“The girl on Love at First Chat.”
Jude’s eyes narrowed, and he dropped his plastic fork. “You’ve been monitoring my internet usage at the office?”
“I just said the walls have Dad’s ears.” Warner spread his hands wide. “Regardless, personal time should be for personal time, am I wrong?”
“You’re not the boss.” He immediately hated how petty that sounded. But Warner had crossed a line with the privacy invasion, and now his heart pounded faster than at the final lap of a 5K. His conversations with ColorMeTurquoise were one of the highlights of his evenings—the last thing he wanted was for Warner, of all people, to poke his haughty nose where it had no business being.
Warner bristled. “Maybe I’m not the boss yet.”
“Hey,” Hollis said, “I’m still very much alive and well over here.”
Warner ignored him and pointed at Jude.
