Lost. Her. Shit.
How Barbara could work in that mess was beyond Laurel.
‘Okay, Barbara, okay.’ Laurel forced a smile on her face, her eyebrow itching to rise. ‘Carry on!’
Laurel whirled and crashed straight into Nate’s chest. He was obviously made of some sort of military grade metal, because he didn’t even flinch as Laurel ricocheted off him. In fact, he put his arm out to steady her, gripping the top of her arm to stop her swaying too far back on her heels.
That smirk, again.
‘After you,’ she said, pointedly, indicating that he should get out of her way.
‘Okay.’ He shot a beautiful smile at Sylvie, who was watching them with wide-eyed interest
She closed the door behind her, because if she couldn’t see Barbara’s overly laden desk of hideous mess, then surely it didn’t exist. Laurel avoided his eyes, and her shoulders dropped resignedly. There was nowhere else to put him, other than her office. The conference centre was in use, the cafe was a definite no, and the bunkhouse just didn’t have the space.
‘Come with me.’ Like an obedient puppy he was quick on her heels.
It was strangely intimate, letting him into her office. It was the space where she spent the most time, besides her haven of a flat, and she was disturbingly concerned as to what he thought. She flattened herself against the wall as Nate entered, broad shoulders taking up too much space in the room. He glanced around, taking in the pastel paint, the pictures on the wall, the rustic shelving, all designed to help her be in ‘Little Willow Farm mode’.
Before she could direct him to the conference table, he’d put his laptop on her desk and was heading to her ergonomic, perfectly aligned for her spine, cream chair.
‘Uh, no.’ Laurel pushed off the wall and pointed to the conference table.
A flash of surprise passed over his face.
‘Oh.’ He glanced around the room. ‘This is your office?’
‘Yes, and that,’ she pointed, ‘is my desk.’
Did he think that he would get his own office? She’d worked so hard for the dig and provided so much for them. What more could they possibly want?
‘I see.’
He took a long look at her before grabbing his stuff and throwing it haphazardly on the conference table.
Laurel sat behind her desk, tapping at the keyboard to bring her computer to life. She clicked through her emails and tried to focus on the latest online issue of Farming UK.
There was absolutely no need to look across the room at Nate Daley.
‘Is this you?’
Laurel dragged her eyes from the screen to Nate.
He was leaning back in his chair, pointing up at a photograph of her, Jack and Robin outside of the farmhouse, Robin’s pudgy arms around her leg and Jack’s arm thrown carelessly over her shoulder. They looked happy, but it had been taken a few months after their mother had died. Laurel had been trying to hold things together and quite frankly, she had not been equipped. Their dad did his best, but three kids and a time-consuming farm? That’s hard.
‘No, it’s three urchins who wandered onto the farm and Dad thought it was a good idea to snap a photo.’ She looked back to her computer.
Sarcasm she could do.
‘I was just asking,’ he said, defensively. It was silent for a beat. ‘You don’t like me much, do you?’
‘It doesn’t matter whether I like you or not.’ Laurel tapped on her keyboard, writing an email mainly comprised of skdhfoossdfjjdooshciiso so she didn’t have to look at him.
‘If we’re going to be sharing an office, then we might as well get along,’ he said, linking his fingers together on his stomach and turning those blue eyes earnestly on her.
She cut her eyes towards him.
‘Firstly, you’re in my office. We are not “sharing”. Secondly,’ Laurel took a breath, because she wasn’t exactly sure what ‘secondly’ was. ‘I don’t not like you, I don’t know you. I never knew you.’
