Page 37 of Lovesick
“Lizbeth, I need my desk,” Mark said as he descended the ladder minutes before lunch was ready.
“Too bad,” she replied.
He stopped, then blinked. “What?”
“I said too bad.”
“But I need to work.”
“Then work in the attic.” She shuffled through a few more papers without looking up. “I have been working nonstop on this ridiculous pile of papers all day, and am about to finish. I will not stop.”
I cracked a grin. Mark stumped by a beautiful woman—delightful.
“But I need to work,” he said.
She finally looked at him. “Why?”
“Because my computer is there.”
She used a folder to gesture to the folding table. “You can work there.”
His eyes almost bugged out. “You’re kidding.”
Her less-than-amused stare suggested otherwise. I bit my bottom lip to keep from laughing. Maybe lovewasreal. Watching her defeat Mark in a verbal battle—this was positively twitterpation.
“But...”
“You contracted me to do a job, and you initiated that job by puttingall this paperworkright here. If you didn’t want me to work here, you shouldn’t have put it here. Because you gave me no other expectations, timelines, or milestones, I took over the job, created the rubric, and am proceeding as I see fit. That means you will defer to me. If you need your computer, I will happily reassemble it for you.” She jabbed a finger at the folding desk. “Over there.”
Mark blinked. I snorted burning-hot coffee, then hacked as it scalded my throat. Neither of them looked at me. Finally, Mark held up two hands.
“Right. Got it. I can probably figure it out later in the attic.”
Her megawatt smile returned in a flash. “Great! I should be finished with this part by Friday.”
“Lunch!” I called.
Mark waved me off as he shoved his wallet into his pocket and grabbed the Zombie Mobile keys. “Have a meeting in town, but thanks, JJ. Save it for me, and I’ll eat it for dinner.”
“Thought he had to work on his computer,” Lizbeth muttered.
It was a struggle to contain my utter validation and amusement. “Buckwheat waffles with real maple syrup, a berry reduction, and fresh butter await you.”
Lizbeth’s head popped up. She appeared in the kitchenette seconds later, eyes closed, taking a deep inhale.
“That smells...”
“Amazing?”
“Yes.”
“Have a seat, and it’s yours.”
It didn’t escape me that Mark had left us alone in the office at least until lunchtime, and I felt relief. Lizbeth was far tenser when Mark was flittering around, throwing ideas left and right. She’d get used to it, eventually, but in the meantime, less Mark meant a smoother ride.
“So.” I reached for the pure maple syrup I’d bought in Vermont. “How are you feeling?”
“Overwhelmed, but okay. Mark saves everything.”
