A Wolf After My Own Heart by MaryJanice Davidson (free romance novels TXT) 📗

If she left it lying around, one of the kids might bury it for her.

“Bye, Lila.”

“Take your time coming back,” she called. “Seriously. No rush. No rush at all.”

“But I will come back,” he replied, and she grinned in spite of herself.

Chapter 23

“Christ, lad!”

“I’m sorry,” Oz replied. “I did warn you.”

They were in IPA’s terrible break room because Berne hadn’t eaten yet (and after the pics, might not for a while), and Annette generally kept two or three courses in the fridge.

The break room was less terrible than it had been six months ago. It was a windowless room about half the size of an elementary school classroom, and it took up the middle of the floor like Mount Doom with a microwave.

Which was fine, or at least bearable. But then Nadia Faulkner’s lunch escaped, mated within the walls, and produced more than Nadia—even five Nadias—could gulp down. The carpet had never been cleaned. Nor the area beneath the sink. Nor the area above the sink. The room’s history, plus Nadia’s lunch teeming everywhere, brought out the apathy in everyone.

All that could be managed, if not for the fact that IPA was staffed with savages.

(“Wait, we have a garbage disposal? Here I’ve been flushing my shrimp shells in the ladies’ room like an idiot!”)

And teaching the savages basic break room courtesy had taken forever.

(“Wait, shrimp shells clogged the disposal? What, I should throw the shells out the window? That’s littering!”)

Then, and only then, had Oz dipped into his private funds and had the place thoroughly cleaned, the fridge and microwave replaced, the old carpet torn out, and converted it from “vile cesspool” to “passable break room if everyone just does their fair share.”

And who better to decide what everyone’s fair share was and call out those who were slacking? Nadia Faulkner, whose escaped lunch had set the whole disgusting business in motion.

Annette, while grateful, had also warned him, because she lived to harsh his buzz. “This was really generous. But your money isn’t going to solve all your problems here.”

“But it’ll solve some of ’em. Frozen Swiss Roll? Only the deeply uncouth eat them at room temperature.”

“Why, yes. I’ll have four. Thank you.”

All this to say they were in the break room, showing Magnus Berne pictures of the plane crash while Nadia was scorching the ears of the poor idiot who threw his half-empty Coke can into the recycling bin.

This was almost welcome, because Oz had been replaying the mistletoe scene in his head on a near constant loop for the last two hours. Her eyes. Her snort. Her gentle touch as she seized his ears and dragged his mouth down to hers.

“And I am shocked, shocked, that I need remind you of such basic recycling etiquette,” Nadia shrilled. “You need to think of others, you wretch!”

Bob Links cowered away from her. “You’re on us to recycle. I friggin’ recycled!”

“Making a sticky Coke soup that congeals on the bottom of the bin is not recycling,” Nadia snapped. “Well. Technically it is. But it’s disgusting and makes everyone’s job harder and it is quite unacceptable and you will cease this behavior immediately.”

“You remember how I’m your boss, right?”

“Irrelevant!”

The hell of it was, Nadia was right. Bob Links was one of the IPA directors, and thus was all their bosses (except David, who was an independent contractor). But it didn’t matter because Links was also a jaded bureaucrat who preferred to keep his head down. (That wasn’t figurative; he’d been caught dozing at his desk more than once.) And he let his staff get away with everything up to murder (and maybe even that—no one had tested that theory so far) as long as their numbers made his quarterly reports look good.

“And stop stealing sugar to sweeten the vile brew you think is coffee,” Nadia added, towering over Links, a good trick since he was taller.

“Using break room sugar packets isn’t stealing!”

“Those packets belong to me, Robert Links! Stop absconding with them. I have counted them and shall know in an instant if you’ve disobeyed me.”

“Ridiculous bullshit,” Magnus muttered as Bob made himself scarce. Then, louder, “Should we be doing this somewhere else?”

“Probably,” Annette muttered.

“Not at all.” Nadia turned to give Magnus an appreciative once-over, and Bob used the chance to lunge for escape. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, you started t’introduce yourself, then saw the state of the recycling bin. Magnus Berne.”

“Nadia Faulkner. No relation to the writer, I’m much more clever.” Nadia showed her teeth and extended a tiny hand. She was dressed neck to knee in sapphire blue, which exactly matched her eyes and made her fair skin seem even paler. Nadia probably went about ninety-five soaking wet, and men underestimated her to their peril. She was Annette’s partner, but as far as Oz could tell, Annette did most of the heavy lifting, leaving all the paperwork and most of the snark to Nadia. “No need to compliment me on my charming accent, either, Mr. Berne.”

“Thank you, lass, I’ll cross that off my to-do list.”

“As for yours…let me guess—Edinburgh?”

“As good as. Currie.”

“I regret meeting under these circumstances. You’re Sally’s uncle, yes?”

“Godfather.”

“Ah. Terribly sorry to hear about your friends.”

“Might not be anything to be terribly sorry about.” Magnus quirked an eyebrow. “Reports vary.”

Before Oz could elaborate, David Auberon, Annette’s fiancé, walked in, looking over his shoulder. “Damn. Bob just scuttled past me like someone singed his ear hair.” He spotted Nadia. “Which, I just realized, makes sense. Is he still throwing half-full cans of Coke into recycling?”

“Perhaps not.” Nadia folded her fingers into small fists, then cracked her knuckles. “Time will tell.”

David fixed himself a cup of coffee, dumped a glug of maple syrup into it, then walked behind Annette’s chair and dropped a hand to her shoulder while he sucked down his homemade caffeine sugar bomb. She reached back and squeezed it (his hand, not the bomb) without looking, still skimming files, and Oz smiled and looked away. Once David and Annette stopped with the “we’re not into