“As you can see, I’m fine,” I tell her. “In one piece. And I already ate. Thank you, though! Let’s talk tomorrow!”
I try to close the door, but she sticks her foot in the gap. “Why won’t you let me in?” she says, at the same time as Donovan says from behind me, “No, you haven’t. What’s the matter with you? Do you have a pathological aversion to the truth?”
A grin tugs at the corners of Charlotte’s lips. “Who is that?”
“No one. It’s no one,” I say, desperately trying to shut the door. “Honestly, Char, I just need some rest. We’ll have coffee tomorrow, and?—”
But I never get a chance to finish my sentence, because she shoves past me and stalks inside. Where she gets an eyeful of Donovan, standing in my living room with Valentine twining around his ankles, my laptop in his hands, and his trademark scowl on his face.
Charlotte’s grin widens, lighting her eyes.
“Sex spreadsheet guy!” she says.
Chapter
Fourteen
“Excuse me?”Donovan says, his scowl deepening.
I. Want. To. Die.
In a desperate effort to make things right, I blurt, “She said ‘text spreadsheets nigh!’ She’s in an, um, futuristic production ofA Midsummer Night’s Dream. It’s very cutting-edge.”
Oh, no. Where the hell did that come from?
Both of them are staring at me, Charlotte with knowing amusement, Donovan with horror. So, of course, I dig myself a deeper hole. “She plays, um, Thisbe. Right, Charlotte?” I glare at her, daring her to contradict me.
“Of course.” Charlotte’s tone is deadpan. “This is my favorite line:My cherry lips have often kissed thy stones.”
Forget wanting to die. Now I just want to kill her.
“Why…why would you ever text a spreadsheet?” Donovan clutches my laptop to his chest, his expression appalled. “And why would you show up at someone’s door to ask them to send a text?”
Of course, that’s the part that upsets him. Once an anal-retentive data engineer, always an anal-retentive data engineer, I suppose.
Charlotte snickers. “Why, indeed. You are justadorable. Rune, where are your manners? Introduce us, please!”
Right. Because my manners are the problematic ones here. “Charlotte,” I say, resigning myself to my misery, “this is Donovan Frost. He and I areworking togetheron a new project for Ethan.” I emphasize the words, hoping she’ll take a hint.
“You don’t say.” Charlotte pushes the pizza at me and extends a hand to Donovan. “Charlotte Reid, attorney and Rune’s best friend. Lovely to meet you.”
He takes it, sizing her up. “Donovan Frost, data engineer and laptop repairman. I assume you’re the one who bailed Rune out this morning?”
“And you’re the one who crashed a car with her in it.”
I’ve had enough of this pissing contest. “Yes, yes, everyone here has had a stressful day, with me at its epicenter. Got it. Luckily, Charlotte has arrived with pizza and ice cream—which Donovan can’t eat. Alas, poor Yorick, he must depart.” And not a moment too freaking soon.
“That’s fromHamlet, notA Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Donovan says, quirking a dark eyebrow. “And I still have to take a look at your laptop.”
Oh, for the love. “Can you look at it tomorrow? Charlotte and I have to, um, debrief about the play. And we have to stress-eat.” I wave the pizza box. “I’d ask you to stay, but, you know, lactose intolerant and all.”
“So sweet of you to remember.” The words come out in a low rumble that I really, really shouldn’t find as sexy as I do.
“I’mvery sweet,”I tell him, and Donovan snorts.
“Sure you are.” He sets my laptop down on the coffee table, a considering look on his handsome face. “You know what you’re like, Rune?”
“No,” I say, my tone wry. “Do tell.”
