I offer Josh a genuine smile in return.
“Someone steal your stapler again? Want me to go down to cyber and do some snooping around for you?”
Josh scratches at the back of his head. When I first met him, he had a full head of thick black hair to pull on. But last year he shaved it all down to stubble, so now he just scrapes his nails at where his hair used to be.
I spent the first few months pretending not to know who he was because he looked so different. Thankfully, Josh is the type to appreciate steadfast commitment to a bit.
He and I have been friends ever since he became my aunt’s personal assistant. Sometimes he even looks after King when I’m away on missions if Rex can’t.
“Below your paygrade, isn’t it?” Josh pulls a face. “Don’t think an agent of your status should be going on stapler-finding missions.”
“Eh.” I wave a hand dismissively. “Call it a freebie for a mate. Besides, cyber occasionally needs to be reminded there’s a world outside their computer screens, a place with natural light and meals not made in a microwave and oxygen created by trees rather than machines.”
Josh raises his eyebrows at me.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I spin tales of sunlight and horror stories about them dying on their swivel chairs like unwatered flowers.”
Last time I went down to cyber, Senior Agent Quinton Bishop, head of the cyber division, was dismantling a computer fort created by Agent Wesley. Bishop was gesturing animatedly with one hand, in which he held a cheese panini, whilst he berated Agent Wesley for having not gone home in three weeks. Bishop said Agent Wesley’s wife kept calling to ask if FISA had imprisoned or terminated him for illegal hacking because if it was the second, she would need to tell his life insurance company so she could get paid.
Josh is squinting at me.
“Sunlight? In England?” he says disbelievingly. “Seems like a promise you can’t keep.”
“Hey.” I hold my hands up, feigning innocence. “Most of them haven’t been outside for years; they don’t remember what the actual sun looks like. I’m pretty sure I can get away with an extra-large torch or a stage light.”
“At least you have a solid plan,” Josh approves, nodding slowly.
“Absolutely.” I slap the desk. “My numero uno lesson for life is, if in doubt, lie your arse off and hope no one can be bothered to call you on it.”
“Wow. Deep,” Josh says sarcastically. “Better be careful with that shit; I hear the Dalai Lama’s legal team comes down pretty hard on people for plagiarism.”
“I’m quoting Thomas Aquinas, actually.”
Josh squints at me. “Thomas Aquinas used the wordarse?”
I shrug one shoulder. “I’m paraphrasing.”
“Everyword?” Josh asks, incredulous.
“Nah, I’m pretty sure Thomas Aquinas saidnumero unoat least once in his life.” I pretend to be thoughtful about it. “Or maybe he just had it printed on a T-shirt? Like, for church.”
“Very respectful choice of clothing, I agree,” Josh replies dryly.
“Meh, the man wore a wizard hoodie all the time. How much of a fuck are we supposed to believe he gave?”
Josh does one of those snorty laughs.
“Pretty sure it was a robe he probably wore in the thirteenth century, mate.”
I shrug both shoulders this time. For emphasis.
“You say potato.”
Josh gives his head a slight shake, like he thinks that will help him make sense out of the confusing dialogue he’s currently engaged in with me. “I think we’ve gotten offtrack somewhere.”
“Agreed,” I say, flashing him a mock scowl. “How dare you distract me from my stapler-finding inquiries with your philosophical babble, Josh. What would Maleficent say if she could see you now?”
