Page 14 of Orc Me, Maybe

“Did you now? I don’t recall giving an assistant that level of authority. Besides, I was distracted by the fact our toilets might drain into the faerie glade. I have priorities, you see.”

“That’s a tomorrow problem,” she says. “Today’s problem is getting three investors seated in the correct quadrant without offending anyone’s political ancestry.”

As I ready a retort about who’s job that is, I step in fully, eyeing the setup. A folding table with blueprints, colored tabs, labeled folders, three walkie-talkies, and a pot of very black coffee. Not the sterile efficiency of a city office, but not far off either.

“You made all this?” I ask, genuinely impressed.

She glances over her shoulder, shrugging. “Someone had to. You were off handling fire code updates and fighting Groth over waterproof shingles.”

“He was trying to use mushroom spores as filler.”

“Biodegradable doesn’t meanstructural.”

I chuckle despite myself. “You’re scary when you’re like this.” And I admit, quietly, that impresses me.

She smirks. “Like what?”

“Efficient. Organized. Vicious.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she says, walking past me to grab another stack of papers. “I only go for the jugular when people bring me decaf.”

My eyes follow her as she moves. It’s involuntary. Shorts today—practical, rugged, good for climbing over fencing or, apparently, climbing up my thoughts. She’s got a scratch behind one knee and mud caked on her boots, but she’s commanding this space like she’s royalty.

Seems the city girl is adapting.

Took her long enough.

“Stop staring at me,” she says without looking up.

I freeze. “Wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“You’re imagining things.”

She finally looks at me, lips twitching. “You’re very bad at denial.”

I clear my throat, flip the top folder. “Did you seriously prepare allergy profiles for all the investors?”

“Do you want to explain to the centaur from Finway why he’s seizing in the clover patch because of your tuna wraps?”

“You’re scary and thorough. A terrifying combination.”

She beams. “Thank you.”

And damn if I don’t feel something tug in my chest. Not the usual weight. Something lighter. Restless.

“I didn’t think this would be your thing,” I admit. “This camp. The dirt. The chaos.”

Julie pauses. Her fingers linger on the edge of the coffee pot. “Honestly, I didn’t either. But... I like it. There’s something about it. It’s messy. But it matters.”

“It does.”

She looks at me for a second too long. “And you matter to it.”

I feel those words settle deeper than they should. I’m used to people wanting my money. My approval. My logistics. Not... me. Not like that.

A knock on the doorframe cuts the moment.

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