Page 42 of Bears Behaving Badly
“Youwhat.” He’d given her such a start that Annette couldn’t make it a question: behold, the flatwhatand all it implied. She remembered David saying something about getting a “numbers guy” to look at some of what they’d found and wanted to groan. Seventeen accountants in the department and Nadia picked Oz Goddamned Adway. In a week of disasters, this could make her top five. “We’ll talk about it later. Will you get out of the way? I’ve got a meeting.” A lie, technically.
“I know what you’re doing, and I’m putting a stop to it right now.”
“That’s adorable.”
“Is letting me help youthatfucking unthinkable?” He spread his hands, which made him look charming and disarming. He used to look like that at 2:00 a.m. when he’d beat her to the leftovers.
And yes. Letting him help wasthatfucking unthinkable.
“This has nothing to do with you, Oz!”
“You keep saying that, and it’s—”
“Jesus, Oz.” Tired of the drama, David was shouldering his way past the werewolf with ease. “Read the room.”
“I am!” He pointed at Annette. “She’s the only one in the room who doesn’t like me.”
“Of course I like you,” she snapped. “I just don’t want you anywhere near my work and demand you stay away at all times.” And then they were in Bob’s office, closing the door on Oz’s indignant face.
Now where were they? Ah. “The iron fist of your Secret Santa apartheid will unclenchnow!”
Her boss, Bob Links, actually reeled backward in his office chair. The flailing would have been spectacular in nearly every other instance. “What the hell, Annette? You said everybody loved it!”
“I have never once said that, Bob. Nor anything close to that. Not once in three years.”
As a rebuttal, the agency director began indulging his repellent habit of fiddling with the hair sticking out of his ears. “Don’t you get it? This is another example of The War On Christmas!”
“It’s remarkable that I can actually hear the capital letters when you say it like that. And I know we go over this every year during Christmas and Easter and sometimes on the Fourth of July for some reason, but there is no war. No one is gunning for Christmas. No one is after Christmas. There’s no sinister cabal holding secret meetings for the express purpose of spoiling your holiday. And I can’t emphasize how deeply,deeplystupid it is that I have to explain this every. Single. Year.”
Bob took a break from braiding his ear hair to steeple his fingers and nod in what he probably thought was a sage manner. “What’s your take on this, Auberon?”
“That the whole thing is fucking dumb. If you’ve got this much spare time to worry about it, could you go do my laundry instead? And we found Caro Daniels.”
“Dumb?I knew you investigator types were chilly, but that’s borderline sociopathic.”
David shook his head. “It really isn’t, Bob.”
“Also,” Annette prompted, “Caro Daniels? The girl who is missing no longer? Who has beautiful penmanship and can help us blitz an abuse syndicate?”
“The Secret Santa program brings us together! C’mon, we’re all overpaid and underworked—wait, that’s not right… Anyway, team building! Right?”
“No.”It’s not polite to disembowel your boss. It’s not polite to disembowel your boss. Think of the smell.Wait. Was that why the break room stank? Were her colleagues randomly disemboweling tiresome supervisors? She couldn’t condone the behavior, though she sympathized with the motivation.
She bent at the waist until her mouth was quite close, then shouted into his tufted ear, “Caro Daniels! Has! Been found! Please! Try to! Focus! Good God!”
He flinched back, making it well worth the loss of dignity and damage to her vocal cords.
“Goddamn,” David said, rubbing his own ear. “You’ve got lungs when you want ’em.”
Her boss, meanwhile, was glaring up at her. “Your annual review’s gonna be more awkward than usual.”
“I’ll incinerate that bridge when I come to it. Listen, David and I had to drop off the grid—”
“But you’re here. I mean, right here. In the middle of the grid.”
“We’re working through a learning curve. Anyway, in addition to Caro—although we didn’t find her so much as she allowed herself to be found, which is a smidge embarrassing when you think about it—we also found incriminating photos at Lund’s loft, which I know you’ll—”
At last, Bob looked alarmed about something besides his compulsory Secret Santa initiative. “You weren’t authorized to go there.”
