No more pretending.
Whatever this is between us—it’s already happening.
9
SYSTEM CRASH
GREG
Magnus Trainor’s computer is on the floor.
And not just on the floor—more like in several distinct pieces on the floor.
The tower’s side panel is popped off, a chunk of casing cracked, cables splayed like spaghetti. The monitor face-planted so hard the screen cracked like a spiderweb. The mouse cable looks like it’s been chewed through.
I blink. “So, uh… what exactly happened here?”
Magnus, CEO of Labyrinth and all-around perfectly pressed, stands behind his desk looking uncharacteristically rumpled. His horns are tilted, his tie’s loosened, and—most alarming of all—his calm corporate smile has been replaced with something approaching sheepish guilt.
“Sorry. Jamie and I were going over some… reports, and um, well, moving things around and, well, um, I’m not exactly sure how the computer became a victim.”
I cough into my hand. Loudly. “Okay. Well. Moving past how the computer died and focusing on the fact that it’s dead, I can have you set up with a replacement by tomorrow morning.”
Magnus exhales. “Greg, you’re a miracle worker. Can you make sure my files are restored too? I’ve got a client presentation tomorrow afternoon.”
“Absolutely,” I say automatically. Then, because I can’t help myself, I add, “Though maybe next time… keep the equipment off the battlefield.”
Magnus looks like he’s debating whether to blush or roar. “Duly noted,” he says finally. “Sorry about this. Again.”
“All in a day's work.” I smile and gather up what’s left of the system, trying not to notice the faint scent of cologne and something muskier in the air. I don’t envy Dex, our floor’s custodian, a dragon with an engineer’s heart and a label-maker addiction. He’ll take one look at this disaster and sigh smoke rings of disappointment.
By the time I get back to my desk, my cart’s full of wreckage. I’ve just started imaging a replacement tower when I hear footsteps in the hallway.
Sean’s voice.
“Greg?”
Just hearing his voice makes my pulse tick up. He leans through the doorway—collar loosened, sleeves rolled, messenger bag slung over one shoulder. His hair’s slightly tousled, like he’s been running a handthrough it all day, and gods, I wish that hand had been mine.
“Hey,” I say, trying not to sound like I’ve been replaying the night in the server room every spare moment since it happened. “Burning the midnight oil?”
He grins. “That’s my line. You, on the other hand, look like you’re settling in for a long one.”
“Magnus’s computer met an untimely death,” I admit. “Apparently it… fell off his desk.”
Sean raises an eyebrow. “Fell.”
“Yup. Gravity’s a menace.”
“Was he alone?”
I give him a pointed look. “When he called me? Yes.”
He laughs, a bright, warm sound that fills the tiny space. “Poor Greg. Always the cleanup crew.”
“Someone’s gotta keep Labyrinth from imploding.”
“Want some help?” He smiles, a slight, barely there smile, like only half his face is on board.
