“I’m a leprechaun!”
I clapped a hand over my mouth, shoulders shaking, willing the laughter to die.
“That is just sad. It’s not funny at all.” I cleared my throat.
She spun her index finger in my face.
“I’m going to make you laugh.”
“Never.” I took a step back, suddenly feeling like I was too close to her. “I assume you’re in here to leave a snarky note.”
“My notes are not snarky, sir. My notes are sincere. Your notes are snarky and mean.”
“I didn’t leave any mean notes,” I argued.
“You said no one likes my notes.” She crossed her arms.
The motion raised her blouse up.
My eyes flicked down.
Her skirt was unzipped.
There was a surge of fury in me.
Was she doing … having …thatduring lunch hour? The thought of another man’s hands all over her, under that skirt on the zipper, filled me with rage that had no outlet.
Lexi looked down following my gaze.
“Heffalumps and woozles.” She quickly buttoned up her skirt, doing a little shimmy motion to settle it evenly on her hips. “I had a big lunch, okay?”
I rubbed my jaw then held out my hand.
“You want a tip?”
“I want the note.”
Lexi wrinkled her nose, the freckles scrunching up, then walked over to me and slapped a piece of paper in my hand.
Self-consciously, she ran a hand through the fluffy curls of her red hair as I unfolded the paper.
I’m sorry I let Gizzy use your steam shower. He did enjoy himself though. Please accept a coupon for free decorating, party planning, cooking lessons, or other personal improvement as repayment.
“Why would I hire you to do any of those things?” I asked, glancing up from the note.
“Because.” She twisted her hands. “It was either that or a free hug, and I didn’t think you’d go for it.”
“You missed an opportunity to work in a dig about the sad, lonely, empty state of my penthouse.”
“You probably have some lingering childhood trauma or something that’s making you antisocial,” Lexi said flippantly. “It’s not nice to kick people when they’re down.”
She was joking—I knew she was joking—but it would have been less shocking if she’d stabbed me in the gut.
Outside, thunder rolled.
The elevator dinged.
“I think you’d better trot back to Anthym,” I forced out.
