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He throws his head back and laughs like he swallowed a couple of happy pills on the drive in. Two years ago he wouldn’t have greeted me this way. Ever since his promotion, the guy thinks he and I are buds.
“How’s the roommate?” The jerk gets to the door first and holds it open, still with a cheesy grin. I never would have told him about Hollie coming to stay if it weren’t for his involvement in the case, making withholding the info impractical.
“Roommates. Plural.” Our loafers click across the marbled floor.
“Question stands.” He mashes the elevator button and faces me.
“Both are fine. Probably clearing out tonight.”
He frowns. “You think that’s a good idea?”
“Didn’t say that, but Hollie’s in a hurry to get out of my place.”
“What’d you do?”
My fieriest glare isn’t sufficient to express my irritation. Stupid grin of his doesn’t quite die, but there’s true concern plaguing his eyes. “I didn’tdoanything.”
The elevator dings, and two more early birds step on with us. Ten minutes later, I’m settled in my cushy leather chair with my favorite mug filled with breakroom coffee.
Did I say settled? Hardly. My mind is not where it needs to be for the day of work that lies ahead.You’re a bully.
And proud of it.
Sometimes.
Well, it comes in handy at work.
Staring at the booting laptop, I pinch my forehead. Did I bully Hollie on Saturday? I swear I didn’t intend to. The kid had it right: Freaked. Out.
A knock on the doorframe elicits a low-toned swear before I grant the interruption.
“I heard that.” Walker lurks in the doorway.
Yeah, I might bite. “Need something?”
He sizes me up. “You alright, boss?”
My hand finds a pen and taps it. Once upon a time, I had buddies. Ben is proof. Would that be so bad now?
I nod my chin toward the hotseat in front of my desk. “Shut the door first.”
Door closed, elbows poking over the armrests, Tripp folds his hands. “Rough weekend, eh?”
Tap, tap, tap. The pen marches in place along the edge of my keyboard. The good and the bad of the weekend were swirled together, like peanut butter in chocolate ice cream. Mixed together and impossible to separate.
“Your grandson’s birthday party was this weekend, right?”
Party? Probably things got rocking once the big, bad ogre got booted.
Kicking back, I groan on the inside, letting the chair speak it for me. “Saturday, but my parents cancelled on me and I didn’t want to go alone.”
“So you skipped?” He looks disappointed.
Tap, tap. “Hollie came.”
He leans in. “No kidding?”
The question doesn’t come off as appropriately rhetorical. “You got a problem with that, Walker?”
