Page 12 of Unforeseen Love

“I have a spreadsheet. Everything is in order.” Her words are clipped. Is it bad that I find amusement in her unhappiness with me?

I move past her and open the cupboard on the wall, take a look at the contents, and tick them off my list before moving on to the next one.

She huffs from beside me. “You’re seriously going to check all my supplies?” she says incredulously.

I nod. “Yep. Just crossing the T’s and dotting the I’s.”

From my peripheral, I see her shake her head. “I’ve been doing this job for two years, and I can assure you everything is exactly as it should be.”

Placing the tablet down, I turn to face her and lean back against the counter, crossing my arms, matching her stance.

“I appreciate that, but with the current situation, let's just say, I’m being precautious. I want to give everything a once over, a fresh pair of eyes. It’s my responsibility to make sure no stone is left unturned.”

Pushing off the counter, I reach out and pull one of the lower cupboard doors open and wave my hand in its direction. “I do not doubt your ability or your capabilities to do your job. But it’s not solely on you to make sure we’re prepared.”

She glances at me and then to the open cupboard. “Oh.” This is her only response.

“Besides, no one is perfect,” I say, closing the door. “Not even you, Morticia.”

Her eyes spring to mine, turning into slits.

I’m fully aware my last remark was a little crass, but whatever. Uncle Ewan might think the sun shines out of her arse, but I was top of our class, and she’ll do well to remember that.

“I never said I was perfect,” she retorts, grinding her jaw.

No, she didn’t, but she didn’t have to because she sure as hell acts like it.

I cock an eyebrow and reach for the tablet, but my eyes remain on her, refusing to look away first. I watch as her nostrils flare, and I have to stifle a laugh because it's kind of fun pissing her off. After the shit show my life was in Ireland, winding her up might just be exactly what the doctor ordered.

“Well, I have an embalming to carry out in an hour.”

A luminous haze of perfume envelopes me when she storms past me on her way to the door. “Just make sure you’re done by then.” And with that, she’s gone, leaving the vibrant scent of flowers followed by a cocoon of soft musk. It’s almost a contradiction to her stick up her arse manner. It’s almost happy.

Once I’m satisfied everything is as it should be, I leave and make my way back to Uncle Ewan's office––shit, no,myoffice. That will take some getting used to, for sure.

I pass Sienna’s office, her door is open, and she’s typing away on her keyboard with way more vigour than is necessary. And I realise that’s probably my fault.

Something akin to guilt gnaws at my subconscious, aware I could have probably handled the situation earlier somewhat better. But she just brings out the worst in me. What can I say?

As if she can feel my presence, her eyes rise to meet mine as I stand in the doorway, and I swear she scowls.

“What time are you free this afternoon?” I keep my features neutral, deciding it best to ignore her scowl.

She looks momentarily frazzled and glances to her computer screen and then back to me.

“Any time after four.”

I nod. “I’ll see you in my office at four-thirty.”

Without waiting for her to reply, I turn and walk away, but not before I hear her mumble under her breath, “Yes, sir.” And out of nowhere, my dick stirs to life, and I bite the inside of my cheek.What the fuck?

Back in my office, I notice I have some missed calls. Of course, three of them are from Orla. I moved back to England to get away from her, and you’d think that me ignoring her texts and calls would be a deterrent, but evidently not.

Picking up the receiver, I dial her number––one I have stored to memory.

“Hello?” she answers in that nasal voice of hers. It’s funny how it never bothered me until we broke up, but now it's as annoying as fingernails being dragged down a chalkboard.

“Orla,” I reply.

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