The inside, Tiffany thought, did not disappoint: it all looked and felt hand-hewn, comfortable with age, polished with long use. There was a door to one side that saidSheriff's Officeover the top, and another to the far side that indicated the courthouse was part of the same complex. A reception desk blockaded doors that led deeper into the town hall, and a woman behind it looked up from an e-reader with an expression of vague surprise. "Steve? Is something wrong?"
"Hey, Sandra. Is, uh, Phil West in? The clerk?"
Sandra, who was in her forties and plump, raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, sure, of course, head on back through the left-hand door. What's up?"
"Really?" Tiffany said. "We don't need an appointment?"
"I could make you one." Sandra put her e-reader aside and reached for an honest-to-God leather-bound appointment book, like it was the nineteenth century instead of the twenty-first. "Oh look," she said brightly as she opened the book, "it looks like Mr. West has an appointment available right now! Your name? I mean, I know your name," she told Steve rather dryly. "I don't know who the rest of this riff-raff is."
"Tiffany Wright," Tiff began.
Recognition immediately flashed across Sandra's face. "Oh, with the construction company! Great! Noah's been in every day for the last week asking when you'd be starting."
"WhoisNoah?" Tiffany asked, mystified, but the receptionist was busy writing names in the book and, with an air of formality, picked up the desk phone to call the town clerk.
"Mr. West? Yes, this is Sandra Casey at the front desk. Your…" She paused, looking at the time. "Your 2:49pm appointment is here." She paused again, then said, "You do now," in another dry tone, and hung up to smile with the same perky brightness. "Mr. West is expecting you. You can go on back."
Tiffany couldn't help a laugh. "Is this how everything works in Virtue?"
"You have to make your own fun when you live in a town this small," Sandra told her.
"I guess so!" Tiffany and Oliver followed Steve through the door and down a surprisingly long hall to knock on another door that looked straight out of a noir detective film. It even had 'Town Clerk' stenciled in arched letters across the half-panel glass. Tiffany suppressed a giggle. She'd grown up in a relatively small town in Texas, but nothing like Virtue in its informality.
A baritone called, "Come in," and all three of them trooped into the town clerk's office to find a rather small round baldingman whose resonant voice didn't match his external appearance at all sitting warily behind the desk. His eyes widened slightly at the three of them, and Tiffany, taking a moment to imagine them from the outside, fought off another giggle.
Steve was straight-uphuge. Ollie was by comparison merely large, but between the two of them, their shoulders nearly filled the room. And then there was Tiffany herself, who presumably looked rather tiny and doll-like in comparison to the two big men. The clerk, Phil West, said, "Can I help you?" in a tone both cautious and curious.
Ollie and Steve both abruptly seemed tongue-tied. Tiffany gave them a heartbeat—especially Steve, since this was his town—and when he didn't manage to say anything, said, "There's been a mix-up about the town square's scheduling this weekend. I'm Tiffany Wright. My company signed a contr?—"
"You?" West's round eyebrows rose above his glasses. "You'reWright Construction?"
Oh. He was one of those. Tiffany controlled a sigh and offered a brief smile in its place. "Yes, I am. So we're supposed to be starting constru?—"
"But you'retiny."
Tiffany did not close her eyes. She did not scream. She did not sigh. It took enormous effort to not do any of those things as she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "—construction this afternoon, but it appears the clerk's office had a previous verbal contract with Mr?—"
"Torben," Steve supplied swiftly.
"Torben for a wedding this weekend, so?—"
"And awoman. I thought I was talking to thesecreta?—"
"Mr. West," Ollie said gently, "I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you."
Tiffany, who was completely capable of fighting her own fights, felt a sudden surge of gratitude toward Oliver for doing soon her behalf. Men so oftendidn'tstep in to correct other men. It was a novel and rather wonderful experience.
West turned red, then angry. "Well, I don't have any record of a wedding for the weekend?—"
"Yes, we gathered," Tiffany said as serenely as she could. "It appears it slipped through the cracks during the transitional phase between the last clerk and yourself. However, as I'm sure you know, a verbal contract is binding in the state of New York, and we're going to have to agree on terms for my team that will allow them to make up the lost work time without losing any compensation."
"In other words," Ollie said, still gently, "you're going to need to authorize overtime while signing off on an agreement that indicates any costs incurred by this delay are paid for by the city, not Ms. Wright's company."
Tiffany had thought Oliver Campbell was the sexiest man she'd ever laid eyes on to begin with. He had now moved into a category of sexiness previously unknown to humanity. He was hotter than the surface of the sun. He would still be on fire at the heat death of the universe. He was incandescent, and she wanted to burn with him.
Maybe that last one didn't sound quite right. Tiffany decided she was sticking with the sentiment, regardless.
West transferred an increasingly outraged gaze to Ollie. "And you are?"
