Mr. Brighthall Wants It All to Himself
“How was I supposed to stay asleep after the racket you made? Besides, what are you making?
Because something is definitely burning.”
“Nothing.” Brendan wore a self-conscious expression, not unlike a thief. In fact, he quickly put the
blame on Mrs. Engel.
“It was Mrs. Engel! She forgot to turn off the stove before she left, and I smelled it burn. It’s basically
coal now.” Deirdre was skeptical. Mrs. Engel would never do something so careless.
” Oh, really? Or were you trying to play chef again?”
Brendan knew his lie was coming apart in real-time, so he just told the truth. “Fine. I asked my mom for
the recipe for the chicken soup she made for you yesterday because you seem to like it. I thought
maybe I should make one for you every day. But… I didn’t expect cooking to be so hard.”
Deirdre was stunned. Amusement crept into her face. “Why are you so obsessed with something you’re
not cut out to do?”
Brendan looked down, his eyes transfixed on her slightly plump lips. “It’s not an obsession or anything.
I just… want to do more for you.”
Deirdre took a sharp breath and rolled her eyes. “You’re doing more for me by not adding to my
troubles, okay?”
She jostled him aside and headed toward the kitchen. “Are there any cooking ingredients left?” “Not
much left.” Surprise flitted through Brendan’s eyes. “You’re going to cook?” “What else am I gonna do
after you make the entire house smell like a fire department’s calling? Honestly, if you can’t make it,
don’t fake it!”
Though Deirdre’s annoyance was plain to see, Brendan relished it.
Somehow, it dispelled every trouble in his mind. He threw his arms around Deirdre’s waist from behind
her and grazed her neck with his lips. “I really wish we could live like this now and forever, Dee.”
Deirdre froze. Then, she countered sharply, “How about you talk about this after you do something
about Charlene?”
She pushed out of his arms. “What else is left?”
Brendan scanned the lone slab of meat at the counter and answered, “We still have some chicken.”
“Chicken?”
“Yeap. And it will be delivered shortly.” He pulled out his phone and called Sam.
“Buy a chicken home within half an hour.”
Sam wailed to himself as the call ended. How was he supposed to get to the mansion within half an
hour? Still, duty compelled him to immediately make his way to the nearest market.
Deirdre shot an accusatory look at Brendan. So… he was not even going to hide the fact that he was
lying now, huh?
Brendan acted as though he did nothing wrong. “I’m just saying, we have the right ingredient to make
some creamy chicken mushroom soup.”
Deirdre left him hanging. Lucky for her, cleaning up the kitchen was itself a perfect chore for someone
to perform when they wanted to pointedly ignore someone.
Brendan helped a little, and half an hour later, Sam finally showed up at the doorstep with Brendan’s
chicken.
Brendan was displeased. “You’re late.”
“Sir, I came from-”
“Excuses.”
Deirdre shot Brendan a look and decided to help Sam out of his pickle.” Did you manage to grab
something before all this rush? If not, stay here for a bit. Once the chicken mushroom soup is done,
you can have some too.”
Sam, admittedly, missed Deirder’s cooking, so he nodded straight away. Before he could vocalize his
intent, though, Brendan suddenly interjected.” No. He has work to do.”
Sam froze. Work? When?
Brendan saw through his confusion and pressed on. “Have you found the mole, Sam? How did that
person get hurt? Has your investigation revealed anything yet? I don’t pay you to enjoy life drinking
chicken soup.”
“But…” Sam faltered.
He realized it now-Mr. Brighthall wanted the whole thing to himself. If he refused to play ball now, he
would doom himself into joining Brendan’s hit list over a stupid bowl of soup.
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