Page 27 of The Allure of Ruins

“Why?”

“I took notes,” I said like he was dumb, and really, I was starting to wonder about him. “And I need to get them to you.”

“What?”

“No, not again,” I snapped, seeing the phone under a coil-bound report and picking it up.

“Gimme that,” he ordered, rising out of his chair and trying to grab it out of my hand.

I eluded him easily, taking a step back, and when he came around the desk, I slipped around the other side, barely avoiding getting tangled in the lamp cord precariously draped between the outlet and his desk—the layout was not only poorly executed, but dangerous.

“Stop moving,” he growled.

“You first,” I volleyed, calling my phone from his and storing his number, all the while keeping one eye on him.

Of course when I focused on my phone for a moment, that was the second he tripped on the lamp cord, fell over, and had the really ugly brass lamp come crashing down on his head.

“Fuck!” he roared.

Text sent, I put his phone down on the nightmare of a desk—I had no idea how he found anything on it—and darted for the door.

“Don’t you dare leave me!”

Not where do you think you’re going, or stay where you are, or don’t take one step out of that door! Instead, what came out of the man’s mouth was don’t you dare leave me! He had no idea how important the me was, but I heard it loud and clear.

At which point I spun around, went back, and crouched down beside him. “Please let me take a look at you and make sure you’re not bleeding.”

“Oh, now you’re worried?” He was both surly and sarcastic at the same time. It was impressive. “I thought you were running?”

I exhaled sharply. “Just let me see,” I ordered, reaching for him.

He leaned away. “The lamp’s not even heavy, I’m fine.”

We were both quiet a moment.

“You are aware that your desk is where paperwork goes to die.” He needed to be told and perhaps no one ever had.

“I am,” he snarled. “Why do you think I need an assistant?”

Picking up the undented, unbroken abomination of a brass desk lamp, I watched as he sat up and crossed his legs like he was about to do yoga. Both the man and his office were a rumpled mess that needed help.

“This lamp is hideous.”

“Yes.”

“I’m hoping it was a gift.”

“It was.”

I was glad to hear it. At least I knew his taste didn’t run to horrible.

“The layout in here makes zero sense,” he muttered. “It’s a wonder I’m not dead.”

“Perhaps not dead, but certainly concussed.”

He shrugged.

“I think her name is Georgia.”