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I slide a file from my briefcase. “Had something to take care of.”
“Something on the Walden case?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, wait. You had court for that—”
“Nope. Personal.”
“Personal?”
My head pops up at the incredulity. “Yeah. Personal.”
“Everything alright?”
My chair squeaks as I rock into it. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
He saunters in, stopping in front of my desk. “No reason, just…personal, huh?”
“Don’t sound so shocked. I do have a personal life.”
“You do?”
“Of course, I do.”
“Really?”
I level a scowl across the top of my computer screen.
“You’re not sick or something?”
The pinched concern on his face, like I have cancer or something, might send me over the edge. “Get out, Walker.”
What does he do? He plops into the guest chair, giving me a grave study.
“Don’t you have work to do?”
“Yep. Been plugging away for hours.”
“Good for you.” I shuffle an already neat stack of papers into a precise pile. Take another glance over. “You still here?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I smack the top of the papers. “Yes, I’m okay, but if you ask me that again, you won’t be.”
Instead of cowering, he snickers.
I sigh, righteously indignant. “If you must know, someone asked for my help.”
His eyes flare. “You’re helping someone?”
I pick the papers up precisely so that I can slap them down. “Yes, I’m helping someone. Is that a big deal?” Some might say I yell.
He faux cowers, peering back at me. “No. Surprising is all.”
What, I’m such an ogre that it’s a shock if I help someone? “I’m not a monster, you know.”
Straightening to his lanky height, Tripp rests his hands at his waist. I’m still unused to seeing my most down and dirty agent with a ring on his finger. “Never said you were.”
