‘You could be less clumsy,’ she hissed back, all pretense of a smile disappearing as she knelt in front of him, shoving papers into a pile.
‘It was your fault for rushing me,’ Nate snapped. He was close enough to see the flecks of gold in her annoying whiskey eyes. How did she smell so fresh when it was sweltering in this goddamned cafe? ‘Couldn’t wait to get me alone?’
Laurel’s lips curled. ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’
‘Why else are you rushing me out of here?’ Nate knew full well why she was rushing him, but his frustration was bubbling in his stomach and he couldn’t help himself.
‘You’re pathetic, you know that? Pathetic.’ She scowled, those full pink lips pulled in tight.
‘The only thing pathetic,’ Nate scoffed, ‘was that weak ass,patheticcome back.’
Her eyes flashed with anger, and a fleeting sense of satisfaction warmed his throat.
‘Get your stuff,DoctorDaley,’ Laurel said dangerously. She pushed back on her heels and stood, hands on her hips as she frowned down at him. She was an angry teapot and didn’t have half the gravitas she thought she did.
Nate was furious, both with her and himself. Laurel had rushed him with her prissy, uptight eyebrow, commanding him to move from her precious table; she had thrown him, and he’d allowed himself to be thrown. Nate kept his eyes on hers, realising that the longer he glared at her, the redder she would get.
This was his power play, and he knew it was petty, but he would not let her win. That rosy pink blush flickered up her neck, skittered across her jaw and it was headlights on full beam by the time it reached her cheeks. Nate smirked.
‘Urgh,’ Laurel rolled her eyes and spun on her heel, sweeping her way across the room.
Nate smiled to himself. He was going to make her wait. He made sure his papers were poker straight, secured the two pens in his pocket, and straightened his slightly crumpled shirt before following her across the cafe.
Laurel
How had Nate fucking Daley thought it was a good idea to sit in a busy cafe for an hour and a half, taking up a six-person table? Did he not have eyes? Was he incapable of seeing how busy it was?
He was following her up the stairs and Laurel refused to either speed up or slow down, regardless of the fact that he was probably eye level with her arse. She was going to have to put him somewhere because he was absolutely right; the bunkhouse wasn’t geared for office work.
But what annoyed her more was that her mind went blank at any moment of conflict, no matter how trivial. Laurel could be commanding, snarky, and use that eyebrow to its best effect, but a snappy rejoinder? A withering comeback on the hoof? Nope, not her. Her mind didn’t work that way.
Laurel led Nate along the pastel peach corridor, past the tiny kitchenette area, and stepped into Sylvie’s office.
‘Can I put Dr Daley in here with you please?’
Sylvie looked up from her computer screen and glanced at the man standing behind her, a smile stretching her face. ‘Of course, but...’ she trailed off, wincing apologetically as she gestured to the spare desk in the room.
Nate made an annoying self-satisfied ‘hmm’ noise behind her.
Why was he standing so close? Hadn’t he heard of personal space? She could feel the heat of his chest behind her and his stupid seashore at dusk smell was way too enveloping.
The desk was covered. Absolutely, soul-destroyingly covered with papers, printed spreadsheets, invoices, remittances and notes, the sheer magnitude of which Laurel’s mind could not even begin to fathom.
‘What. Is. That.’
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
‘It’s Barbara, she’s organising, she’ll be back in a minute, she’s just popped to the loo,’ Sylvie said, eyes flicking between Laurel and Nate.
As if summoned from the fiery depths of disorganised hell, Barbara, the part-time accountant, excused her way into the office, pushing past Nate appreciatively and giving Laurel a wide berth.
‘Oh hello, Laurel.’ Barbara pushed her glasses up her nose.
‘Hey, Barbara,’ Laurel said. ‘What you doing?’ She pointed at the paper-covered desk.
‘Oh, you know, just a bit of sorting,’ Barbara said cheerily.
Sorting? If Barbara wasn’t the best payroll clerk and office accountant Laurel had ever had the fortune of finding, who had been at PWC for years before deciding to ease into retirement with a part-time job on a farm, she would have lost her shit.
