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Harrison’s bark of laughter caused a man walking past them to jump, but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize.
“This is the second shirt I’ve had ruined in two days,” he said, shivering. “I’m going to run out of clothes.”
“I fail to see an issue with that,” Hayley said, a gleam in her eye.
How he wanted to follow down the path where that gleam lead.
Then she continued, “With your wardrobe, it’s a kindness to destroy them.”
* * *
Normal was a terrible word. What was normal to one person was strange to someone else, and people were historically shitheads to anyone who wasn’t normal.
So, yeah. Fuck normal.
In his experience, strange was almost always infinitely better.
But this week?
Harrison would have given his left nut for normal.
He didn’t even believe in karma. Waiting for comeuppance was a one-way street to disappointment. But what else could explain why he was suddenly facing the consequences of his actions? From the moment Hayley had walked into that room, he’d done nothing but fight her. Getting dunked in a fountain was the least he deserved.
It was a testament to Hayley’s kindness that she put up with him.
Her gaze snapped up to him as he stepped into the meeting room, her eyes widening as she stilled. “What are you wearing?”
He threw himself into a chair, ignoring the way her shoulders shook with repressed laughter.
Harrison scowled harder.
“You know, normally when a woman asks me that, she’s a little less amused.”
When he had sent Monday’s shirt to be laundered, he expected — irrationally, it turned out — that it would be returned without issue. Instead, he had been sent an apology note and a very bright — and tight — pink sweatshirt, with the phrase “it’s how you use it that counts” encased in a heart.
A few days ago, he’d never evenheardof a Valentine’s festival, and now it was the bane of Harrison’s existence.
“Contrary to popular belief, no amount of brooding will help us finish this manuscript faster. So you can take your dark and sexy artist act elsewhere.”
“You think I look sexy?” Harrison winked, feeling victorious when Hayley’s cheeks darkened.
“You look ridiculous.”
“I don’t know; you said sexy first.” He leaned back, propping his feet on the table. “Maybe we should talk about this.”
“Maybe,” she said, closing the distance to push his feet back to the floor, “we could focus on the job at hand so that we might finish the script.”
“How hard can it be? We’re almost done.” He gestured at the mosaic of notes littering the wall. “In fact, I bet I could finish this on my own.”
Hayley stood between his legs. “Come on, Harry. I thought you knew better than to bet against me by now.”
“Rewriting history again? I won that last round —”
“On a technicality.”
He shrugged, pleased. “Don’t care. Still counts.”
“I seem to remember you conceding that point once.”
