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He doesn’t look up to where I stand at the door to the office, but I can see a spreadsheet on the screen in front of him.
He scrubs a hand over his face, letting out a deep sigh. “I don’t have the patience for you right now.”
“Rude.” I step into the office, looking over his shoulder. I don’t miss the way his spine stiffens with my proximity, and to be honest, it’s a little humorous.
Mason’s not as indifferent as he likes to pretend.
“Your equation’s wrong.”
“Thanks,” he mutters sardonically, erasing the whole thing. “Don’t you have some dirt to victimize or something?”
“Nope,” I answer, popping theP. I step back, giving him a little space. “Everything’s spotless. You could eat off the bathroom floor, though I wouldn’t advise it.” No response other than a shake of his head. “You know, I could probably figure that out.”
“No,” he answers coldly before I’m even finished. “I’ll figure it out.”
I shrug. Fine. He wants to be miserable, then he can be miserable. Who am I to stop him?
“Suit yourself . . . though, spreadsheets were kind of my whole degree in college.”
His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t look at me as he tries, once again, to figure it out.
Five minutes later, the cursing starts again.
“Hannah,” he bites and I chuckle under my breath.
I take my time returning back to the door and this time, he’s looking at me like he already regrets asking me for my help.
He mulls the words over for a moment.
“Can you show me how to figure this shit out?”
I stare at him for a beat, unable to mask the coy smile from slipping out.
“Am I hearing things or did Mason Carpenter just admit he needsmyhelp with something?”
He shakes his head, turning back to the computer.
“I’ll figure it out myself.”
I sigh, rolling my eyes. So dramatic.
“Move over. Let me see.”
I shove his arm and he lurches it back like I just doused him in gasoline and lit a match. He eyes me menacingly before vacating his giant chair and allowing me to take his place.
My feet don’t even touch the ground, a fact I’m only slightly embarrassed about. Mason may as well have auditioned to play a tree in theWizard of Oz.
“Okay, obviously we just need to start over,” I murmur, trying to make sense of whatever he’s done. “Are these the books?”
“Invoices for the month,” he grumbles, sitting a battered chair from the lobby behind me.
Rightbehind me.
The back of my neck burns when he sits down, watching me work.
I never knew simple accounting could be so . . . alluring.
“How do you normally figure this stuff out?” I ask to break up the overwhelming silence.
