My brows shot up. She got an office? I looked toward Sinclair, who shrugged. The mayor escorted Brooke to the office next to his.
“Technically that space should be yours,” I said to Sinclair. “It’s bigger than the one you have.”
Sinclair watched as the mayor and Brooke entered the office. “I like mine being down the hall. Sometimes when Wyatt comes to see me—”
“Stop. I don’t want to know.” Of course, I already did know. There was no mistaking the satisfied expressions they sported after spending time alone behind Sinclair’s closed door. “What’s he doing?” I asked, working to change the subject.
“She’s the daughter of Mo’s neighbor and apparently a good friend. She graduated from college and needs a job.”
That rankled. “He’s abusing his authority. There are proper channels for hiring.”
Sinclair shrugged. “She’s got the skills. She’s smart and articulate. And we could use the extra hands. You should be happy. You can pass off some of your grunt work to her.”
I couldn’t help but feel like I was somehow letting the office down if the Mayor and Sinclair felt the need for additional help. But I didn’t want to admit I felt slighted.
“It still looks improper,” I said.
“Never mind about her. How’s married life?” Sinclair grinned at me. “Tell me all about the honeymoon.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’d expect that sort of comment from your brother, but not you.”
Sinclair laughed. “Trouble in paradise already?”
“You’re getting way too much enjoyment from this. You know he rubs me wrong.”
“So, he rubbed you?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
I pursed my lips at her. “Of all the people to do this bet with, he’s the worst.”
“First, you could do a lot worse than Ryder. He’s easy-going, which with your temperament will make this little experiment easier.”
She was wrong about that. His easy-going nature irked me to no end.
“Second,” she continued, “I’m not the one who chose him. Ryder volunteered. I have to wonder why he’d do that knowing you as we do.”
There was something in her statement that suggested a deeper meaning.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“You said it yourself; oil and water.”
I shrugged. “He probably just wanted the opportunity to annoy me more than he already does. He gets a perverse sense of joy out of hassling me.”
“What did he do last n
ight to annoy you?” she asked.
“His plates don’t match.”
“No!” Sinclair made an exaggerated horrified look. “How did you ever survive? What else? I suppose he put the mint in the tea wrong.”
“No. That was good.”
“His steak overcooked?”
“No.” I was forced to admit he was a good cook.
“The bed was lumpy?”