"You've been keeping track of pack politics?"
"It's my job to know these things. Last year's incident at the Harvest Moon celebration could have been avoided if the coordinator had paid attention to territorial agreements." I pulled up another document on my laptop. "Which reminds me, I'll need a complete guest list with species designations and any current conflicts I should be aware of."
My phone rang again. This time it was the florist about the Whitmore anniversary party, wondering if we could substitute roses for peonies due to a supply issue. I was deep in negotiation about alternative flowers when I noticed the temperature in the room had shifted slightly.
Not uncomfortable, just... different. Warmer when I was frustrated with the vendor's lack of flexibility, cooler when we reached a compromise.
I glanced at Malrik, who was now pretending to organize papers at his desk while obviously monitoring my emotional state.
"So the garden roses will actually provide better color variation," I was saying into the phone, "and they'll last longer in the arrangements. Mrs. Whitmore will be pleased with the change."
After I hung up, I looked directly at Malrik. "Are you regulating the room temperature based on my stress levels?"
"Perhaps," he admitted without a trace of shame.
"That's... actually pretty thoughtful."
"I aim to provide optimal working conditions."
A crackle of static came from my phone sitting on the desk. The screen lit up and went dark three times in rapid succession, despite being fully powered off. I stared at it, jaw tightening.
"Uh-huh." I turned back to my laptop, where I'd started a new document titled "Scorched Gala Planning." "Alright, let's talk about your event. I need numbers, timeline, and a detailed explanation of what exactly you do during your performance."
"Numbers are easy. Roughly two hundred guests. Timeline..." He considered. "The event traditionally begins at sunset and continues until dawn."
"All night?" I looked up from my typing. "That's a twelve-hour event."
"Non-human beings have different energy patterns than mortals. Many of my guests are more active during nighttime hours."
I made a note. "Okay, we'll need to plan for significant food and beverage service throughout the night, plus entertainment beyond just your performance. What about the setup?"
"The ballroom will be the primary space, obviously, but guests typically use the gardens, the library, and several of the smaller sitting rooms. The terrace is popular for... private conversations."
"So essentially, the entire manor becomes the venue."
"Precisely."
I was quiet for a moment, considering the logistics. "Malrik, this isn't just a performance. This is like... a festival for magical beings. Do you realize how complex the coordination is going to be?"
"Is that a problem?"
I looked around the study, with its soaring ceilings and elegant architecture, then at my laptop full of planning documents, then at Sinnamon, who was now snoring.
"No," I said finally, surprising myself with how much I meant it. "It's going to be amazing."
When Malrik smiled. Really smiled. Something warm unfurled in my chest.
"I was hoping you'd say that," he said softly.
My phone rang again, breaking the moment. As I reached for it, I caught him settling back into his chair with what looked suspiciously like contentment.
Maybe working from Ashcliff wasn't going to be as complicated as I'd thought.
Until my laptop gave a sharp pop, a spark jumping from the charging cord before settling as if nothing had happened. I yelped, slamming the lid shut and glaring at it like it had personally betrayed me.
I turned slowly toward Malrik. "Alright. Enough dancing around this. When are you fixing it?"
He arched a brow. "Fixing what?"
