Page 13 of Don't Bite The Boss
And I love it.
“Two more weeks at least just in this one bath,” the lead archaeologist, Professor Roy, says now as he looks up from his brushing, “I can see us working here for years at this rate.”
“We don’t have years,” I shake my head, “they want it complete in time for a Summer wedding next year, you have eight, maybe nine months, max.”
“Can’t be done,” he mutters, brushing faster.
I bite my nail and think over what he is saying.
“If you give instruction, perhaps I can hire extra people to undertake more work around the clock,” I suggest.
“More monkeys on site,” he snorts, “no thank you. I’ve already seen two amphorae, priceless artefacts, destroyed by those morons from Sicily you hired last month.”
“Those morons,” I sigh, “were strong young men who did all the heavy lifting – they learned from their mistake. You said so yourself just last night that they are doing well now.”
‘Well, one is. The other has mysteriously disappeared. When I’d discovered he was advertising online archaeological treasures he planned to pilfer, well, let’s just say dinner was Sicilian late last night.’
“Those two, maybe,” he mutters, “but the rest have to be watched like hawks.”
“I’m just saying,” I look at the stars as I think aloud, “that if you show me what needs to be done, I will ensure it is expediated in a very careful and respectful manner.”
“No,” he shakes his head.
“What about your students back home in Utah? Are there any who might like an Italian holiday? Surely you trust them, Professor?”
“Yes, of course,” he mutters, “I have sixty who would jump out of their skins to work on something like this. But they are students, they can’t afford the airfares, let alone accommodation in this area.”
“Leave it with me,” I grin, an idea forming. “If I can get Mr Berrington to foot the bill, and I believe I can, you can catch the next flight back to the States and recruit a team as large as you like. Give the kids extra credit for their digging or something, make it all fit in with your schedule and the university credentials they are working towards. How does that sound?”
“I’d kiss you if that worked out,” he looks up, smiling, pushing his glasses to the bridge of his nose.
“I wouldn’t,” I laugh, “you might get more than you bargained for.”Like a shallow grave.“But in the meantime, give me some hands-on instruction in this mosaic hunt you are intent on spending life on your knees pursuing.”
“No other way,” he says, nodding, immediately back to business, “come on down.”
I descend into the depths of the excavated bath and watch intently as he shows me what to do. In another life, I might actually have become an archaeologist.
‘Hell, what am I talking about, I’ve got thousands of lives to live, providing Solomon doesn’t catch me. I could become an archaeologist.’
After a good twenty minutes of painful warnings and instruction, he hands me a brush, and I get to work.
“Well, what do you think?” Tristan smiles, leaning too close to me on the railing of his, and I use the word loosely, boat, as I stare at the stars on the water and try to ignore how luscious and sexy he looks in his tuxedo.
‘Christ, those broad shoulders…’
“What does Fleur think?” I ask sullenly.
“She doesn’t like boats,” he says quietly, “never has.”
“I thought you met her in Monte Carlo, on a yacht?”
“She was doing a bikini modelling shoot, I was nearby and happened to be able to lend a hand when they had engine trouble, one thing led to another.”
‘I’ll bet it did.’
“I like boats,” I quip, “but I think these waters would look just as good from a dinghy.” I don’t know why I add the last bit, I think I want to annoy him, but I’m not really sure why, after all, it’s not every day you are invited to dine on what is essentially a floating six-star hotel. “And I think I shouldn’t be here. I should be back at the site, digging, now that the professor has left the country on his recruitment run.”
“All work and no play,” he chuckles.
