He’s also not been in any flirty or fun jokey moods. If there wasn’t a room of stuffed shirts five feet away through a glass door right now, I would have chucked my pen at him square in the face. And I would have enjoyed it!
Instead, I give him a sickly-sweet smile and mouth, “Whatever you command!” I resist the urge to stick my finger up at him. Once again, he’s back giving someone else a hard time on the cell; my own vibrates, and I haul it out.
“Emma Anderson.”
“Emma, it’s Rosalie. I need your help with some of Mr. Carrero’s requests.”
She’s been getting it too, has she? What the hell is with him?
“Go ahead.”