The One Who Ran Away

Chapter Thirteen

"This looks better, don't you think?"

"No. I picked out the blue border because I thought that one looked the best."

"Are you blind? Black clearly looks better!"

Jo and Greyson stared each other down for a moment. The tension in the room was thick enough to slice out of the air and place on a dainty plate so you could dunk it in your tea. Sparks flew and sizzled in the air. Finally, Greyson blew out a breath, some of his air brushing the stray stands away from Jo's face. She had thrown her hair up in a spectacularly messy bun some time ago.

"Fine," he relented. "Use the black border. But if we fail, I am throwing you under the bus head first."

Jo grunted and quickly saved the change. It was nearing two-thirty in the afternoon. Jo and Greyson had been working almost two hours straight with no breaks. Through the course of those hours, the tension had been growing. Not sexual tension, frustrated tension. Jo was once again reminded this wasn't a romance novel because she was not in love with the "bad boy" and said "bad boy" was just a guy who wore dark clothes and had family issues.

"Well. We're about done, then. Do you wanna take a break and finish later or come back tomorrow?"

"Let's just take a break. Got anything to eat around here?" Greyson stood up from his sprawled out position on the floor and ambled into the kitchen. Jo ignored him and finished saving the presentation. She then snapped his laptop closed and slid off the pink sofa. She stretched for a moment before following Greyson into the kitchen.

"You really don't have anything to eat in this house," Greyson said. He straightened up and shut the fridge door, turning to give Jo a confused look.

"There's an egg in there," Jo defended her house. She crossed her arms and glared at Greyson.

"An egg. As in one, single, solitary egg."

Jo shrugged and dropped her stance. She moved toward the large pantry and found a half-eaten bag of Lay's potato chips. She tossed the bag at Greyson.

"Here. Eat those."

Greyson easily caught the bag and looked down at the close-pin holding the bag shut. "This is all you have? There's nothing to eat in this goddamned house?" He looked back up at her, anger flitting across his face. Jo caught the emotion and felt her own anger boil up inside of her. She stemmed the flow, freezing it swiftly before it erupted.

"No," she snapped. "I have tons of food. I just happened to hide it all because I knew you were coming and I didn't want you to eat me out of house and home."

Greyson gave her a sour look. "Your sarcasm is dully noted. Now is there actually anything to eat?"

Jo stared at him for a moment, mentally debating whether or not to throw him out. "Didn't your mother teach you not to be rude to your host?"

"My mother is dead, as you so obviously know." Greyson's voice dropped an octave. It was the same voice he had used that day when he had chewed out Scarlett for telling Jo about his family's untimely demise.

"That doesn't mean she never taught you," Jo pointed out. She didn't miss the tick in his jaw at her words. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground, but then again, so was he.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you it's rude to not feed a guest?"

"My mother is also dead."

"Doesn't mean she never taught you."

"She died when I was barely two, asshole."

At Jo's words, Greyson's retort slid back into his mouth and choked him. His eyes widened and he blushed something fierce.