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I laughed, dropping back onto my bed so my head bounced off my pillow.
Me: Maybe. Maybe not. Who has to get breakfast from the deli tomorrow?
Cameron: …I want to say me.
Me: No. Totally not too early. What time can I expect you?
Cameron: Oy.
Me: Oy?
Cameron: One half of ‘oy vey.’ It’s when you’re too professionally hot for me to finish a sentence.
Me: It might be too early for a line like that.
Cameron: Alrighty then. I’ll be in just after you at nine.
Me: I like cream cheese bagels with ham and coffee and cinnamon rolls.
Cameron: It’s too early in this professional relationship for you to demand things.
Me: Next time you’re in and Cynthia Carlton calls, I’m patching her right through.
Cameron: Cream cheese bagels with ham and coffee and cinnamon rolls it is.
Me: Hahahaha.
Cameron: I’ll make sure there’s a lid firmly on your coffee so it doesn’t explode everywhere this time.
I stared at my phone screen. He was my boss, but what a smartass fuck he was.
Me: Next time I’ll spill it on you. And it won’t be an accident.
Cameron: I don’t keep spare pants at the office.
Me: Why do I need to know that?
Cameron: Casey once brought Tilly to the office and there was a vomiting incident. She needed to know.
Me: I’m not a newborn likely to vomit on you.
Cameron: You just threatened to toss coffee on my pants. I thought you should know so we don’t find ourselves in a position where I’m wandering around in my underpants.
Me: …Bring extra pants.
Cameron: I’m not three. I don’t need extra pants.
Me: Ok. So I need to buy extra pants. What size are you?
Cameron: This is entirely too personal.
Me: Does Casey know?
Cameron: 34 waist and as long as possible in the leg.
Me: I’ll bring the pants and you bring the breakfast, and I’ll sort out your entire desk.
Cameron: Can you leave your best friend at home this time? I’m not a steak, and she looked at me like a T-Rex eyeing up a triceratops.
Me: Science says a T-Rex wouldn’t attack a lone triceratops. Horns and all that.
Cameron: How do you know that?
Me: Netflix.
Cameron: I don’t know how to respond that.
Me: Cream cheese bagel with ham and coffee and a cinnamon roll.
Cameron: If you don’t show up tomorrow wearing rubber gloves, I’m not handing over your breakfast.
Me: If we weren’t mere days into this I’d threaten to show up in a lot less than rubber gloves.
Cameron: …I don’t think it’s safe for you to wander around in your underwear.
Me: Me either. So I’ll see you in rubber gloves with milk in my hand.
Cameron: And I’ll bring you breakfast and coffee… with a lid.
Me: Ha. Ha. Ha.
Cameron: See you tomorrow, Mallory.
Me: See you tomorrow, Cameron.
CHAPTER ELEVEN – MALLORY
I pulled the offensively yellow rubber gloves from my purse as I headed up the stairs. They were seriously uncomfortable to wear, but a deal was a deal, and I was really in the mood for a cinnamon roll.
The tension had still been rife at home this morning before I’d left, and I’d taken an extra long shower this morning to avoid having to spend time with my family, save for the kiss I’d dropped on my mom’s cheek before I’d left.
I couldn’t believe they were barely talking to each other because of one text message.
I snapped the second glove on and scanned the office. I’d waited until now because I hadn’t wanted anyone to see me wearing them—I was pretty sure my colleagues downstairs already thought I was a little weird. There was no need for them to have that idea totally confirmed.
Cameron wasn’t here yet, so I set my purse behind my desk and shrugged off my blazer. It was warm as hell in here, and it only took me ten seconds to decide to lean over and let some cooler outside air in.
The window swung open far faster than I thought it would, sending a gust of air hurtling in and knocking a stack of papers off my desk. I stopped, legs as far apart as I could get them thanks to my dress, with my arms out, one toward the fallen papers and the other toward the window.
The phone made my decision for me.
I snatched it up. “Good morning, you’ve reached Cameron’s Reid’s office at Reid Real Estate. Mallory speaking, how can I help you?”
“Good morning. I’m interested in the property you have on Canyon Close. Would I be able to arrange a viewing for this week?”
“Absolutely,” I said, dropping to the chair and grinding my teeth as another gust came in the window and scattered the papers across the office even further. “Let me open the diary and see what Mr. Reid has available. Do you have a particular day you’d prefer? Times?”
I rested the phone between my ear and shoulder and simultaneously reached for the window and the diary.
