“Tara must have misheard me.”
“She didn’t. I got you tea.”
“Reagan? Does this work for you?” Lionel asked.
“What? Yeah, I guess I can work from home. It’ll be a bit inconvenient though.”
“We’ll pay you an extra allowance,” Lionel said, rising hastily. She barely noticed, she was too busy scowling up at Tiny. He watched her boss leave.
“Got no spine.”
“I want coffee, Tiny.”
“Not happening. You’re getting grouchy.”
“So?” she grumped.
“You get grumpy after too much caffeine.”
“I do not.”
“And stubborn.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then you crash with a headache. Drink your tea.” He turned to leave, and she glared at him.
“You won’t always get your way, you know,” she said loudly. And the only reason she’d drink the damn tea, which was one of those awful caffeine-free fruity teas, was because she could feel a headache forming.
He just laughed.
Ass.
Chapter Eight
“Hi,” Tara said cheerfully as Reagan opened the door to her apartment. “I’ve brought some forms for you to sign.”
“Thank you. Come in.”
“You okay?” Tara asked with concern.
Reagan forced herself to smile. Actually, she was feeling drained. And stressed. She’d woken this morning to find two ulcers in her mouth, and now there was a headache brewing at her temples.
“I’m fine.”
“Where’s your shadow?”
“My shadow?”
“Tiny.”
“Oh, he’s in the kitchen baking. Do you want some muffins?”
“I do.” Tara patted her stomach. “But my waistline doesn’t. How are you able to stay so slim with all the baking he does?”
“I don’t know. I’ve always been able to eat whatever I liked.”
“You bitch.”