“Oh…he does?” Jude looked down at his wrap and began tearing at the paper.
“Hey, do you mind if I take a few pictures of these for my friend who—”
“No,” Jude said, quite harshly. “Don’t take pictures. Uh, look, this is Henrietta’s place, and I’m sure she wouldn’t like it if you did.”
Harris stood and ran a finger along the edge of the table. “You think she’d sell them to me? I mean, if they’re up here, out of view, she probably wouldn’t miss them so much. I’d be willing to give her a good amount for them.”
“Harris, the f*****g furniture isn’t for sale. But I am, okay?”
“Whoa, whoa.” Harris nearly jumped back. He frowned, carefully stepping closer to Jude. “What’s going on? What did I say?”
“Oh, f**k it,” Jude said, bolting out of his chair. His voice was shaking. “Just f**k it.” He w
