Page 25 of Bookworm
To his credit, Adam didn’t interrupt me. Halfway through my story, he sank to the couch that the apartment came furnished with, dropping his head into his hands.
“Okay,” he said after I was done. “This could be worse.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously! What if our rare books had sensors in them?”
“Yeah…” I stared at the book resting on the coffee table. “Whydon’tyour books have sensors? That’s like librarian science 101.”
“Don’t get me started,” Adam grumbled. “The younger staff have been arguing with the old timers about this for a while. There’s never, in the history of the university, been a theft of one of our rare books. So they don’t see a need for it.”
“But they have the technology for the regular books, right? All you have to do is?—”
“Harper,believeme. I know. They would just rather spend the budget building the library rather than protecting it. Which is why when they heard you were both restoration and sales with that rare peacock copy of Pride and Prejudice, they managed to find tens of thousands in the budget for that… but yet, we can never get the funding for the security measures.”
“Okay, but how do theyknowthere hasn’t been a book taken? I mean look at this!” I tapped the cover of Robinson Caruso still resting on the coffee table. “How many times has something like this happened right under their noses? There could be countless books damaged in that room and they’d never know.”
“Oh, they’d know,” Adam snorted. “O’Macklin is meticulous about doing inventory of those books. He combs through them constantly. I’m surprised he didn’t check your bag before you left with him.”
I gulped. “How constantly does he check the books in that room?”
“Constantly enough that I think we’d better get that copy back in that room as soon as possible.”
With a chirp, Jules poked her head out of the bathroom and did a figure eight around my feet. I snatched the copy of Robinson Caruso off the coffee table and gently put it back in my bag. “No ma’am. You are not ruining another book. Not again.”
“Again?” Adam asked. “Wait…” His face went gaunt with realization. “Did she pee on that book? That’s what I’m smelling, isn’t it?”
I winced. “Close, but not quite. She didn’t pee onthisone.”
“Oh no,” Adam said. “Don’t tell me…pleasedon’t tell me it was Pride and Prejudice.”
“Okay,” I said with a shrug. Then I turned to the unopened box of supplies, tearing it open. I pulled out the glue, the press, the nibs, and the India ink, lining them up. “I won’t tell you it was the copy of Pride and Prejudice.”
The room was silent for several beats as I sorted the various materials I needed for tonight’s books.
Finally, Adam broke the silence. “Butwasit?”
Before I could answer, Jules hopped up on Adam’s lap and bumped the top of her head to his chin.
With a sigh, Adam scratched beneath her chin. “You’re a little hellraiser, aren’t you?”
I stood there in awe, watching as my very non-social cat purred and rubbed against Adam. “She likes you,” I said, shock invading my voice.
“You say that like it’s a surprise. I’m usually very likeable. Present company, excluded.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s not that. I just mean, she doesn’t likeanybody. Except me. And I wouldn’t say she even likes me. More like, she tolerates my existence because I’m queen of opposable thumbs; the bringer of the canned tuna.”
His mouth twitched. “Is that your official title? Bringer of the canned tuna?”
“To her? Yes. I’m a vessel that exists solely to feed her and pick up her poop.” I gestured to where she had now rolled onto her back, stretched out across Adam’s lap, purring as loud as a damn lawn mower, as he lazily stroked her fur. “But apparently you’re Sir Strokes A Lot.”
“What?!” He sputtered a cough and the loud sound startled Jules enough to sit up straight in his lap, fully at attention and clearly annoyed that the cuddles had stopped.
My cheeks went red hot, matching Adam’s own flush that tinged the back of his neck and tips of his ears pink. “That’s not what I meant,” I croaked.
“I’d hope not. Kill me now if my nickname becomesSir Strokes A Lot.”
“I only said it because you were stroking my kitty!” I groaned. Crap, I was only making it worse. “Not like mykitty,” I said and did a crude gesture toward my crotch. “But my cat.”
