Page 185 of Boom


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Looking almost bored now, Brody said, "How so?"

"Youknow. How you told him that if he fired me, you'd walk off the show." I searched Brody's face for any sign of warmth. "Is that true?"

Sounding colder than ever, he replied, "It is."

Something in my shoulders eased. "Thanks. I mean, that was really nice– "

"It wasn't."

"Sure it was."

"Forget it," he said. "I wasn't doing it foryou."

"Oh." Again, I hesitated. "So, if you weren't doing it for me, whowereyou doing it for?"

"I was doing it for myself."

Was that good? Or bad?With my heart in my throat, I said, "Really? Why?"

"Because it'smyresponsibility, not Mason’s."

I blinked. "Sorry, what?"

"The show," Brody said. "It's nothisjob. It's mine – which means he doesn't fireanyonewithout my say-so."

"But…" I bit my lip. "You stuck up for me."

"Wrong. I stuck up for myself. Big difference."

As the distinction hit home, heat flooded my face.Yes.Itwasa big difference.Huge, actually.

And now I felt so ridiculous, I could hardly stand it.

Of course, I understood what Brody meant. From what I'd seen of Mason, he'd be all too willing to steamroll over anyone to get what he wanted, so it only made sense that Brody would need to push back just as hard.

Even so, this latest news was a serious blow to my hopes – and to my pride, too, if I were being totally honest.

And now I couldn’t help but dwell on the other thing I'd learned on Saturday – first from Waverly and then from Mason.

It was a biggie.

Willow was Brody's sister.

But I was still hoping – and maybe praying, too – that there was some reasonable explanation for Brody not telling me about Willow himself.

In my best-case scenario, Brody and I made up, and I got the chance to ask him nicely why he'd neglected to tell me something so important.

But now, judging Brody's demeanor, the opportunity for niceness was fading fast.

With growing humiliation, I realized that my left hand was actually starting to tremble from holding up the plate of cookies for so long in the same position.

Reluctantly, I looked down at my pathetic peace offering.Cookies, what a joke.Still, I reallyhadmade them with the best of intentions.

It hadn't been a simple job either.

All of my baking stuff was still in storage near Michigan State – my grandmother's mixer, the mixing bowls, the cookie sheets, everything to make perfectly wonderful cookies.

The stuff was too far away to retrieve in a day, especially with no vehicle. So yesterday afternoon, I'd taken a ride-share to the nearest shopping center, where I'd purchased everything to make homemade cookies at a house that wasn't my own.