Randall #03 - Sherwood Ltd. by Anne R. Allen Read Free Book Online Page B

my rebuff of his kiss. He returned to earnest paper-shuffling.
    I fought the panic. I needed to trust this man, because I had nobody else to trust. No point in terrifying myself. Maybe he was just a little drunk.
    “I’m afraid I’ve had no sleep for days. And lots of your nice beer…”
    “Of course.” He lifted a pile of manuscripts and unearthed a paperback that had been hidden underneath. “Just one more thing before we call it a night. I thought you might like to see this…” He presented me with the book, designed in an understated palette of black and cream and silver. In an elegant engraver’s font was the title “ Good Manners for Bad Times—a prescription for the 21st Century by Camilla Randall.”
    A thrill shot through me. A book—a real, solid book—with my own name on the cover. Not even a mention of the Manners Doctor. Just “Camilla Randall.” It was as if I was reborn—as myself.
    “It’s perfect. I don’t know what to say… I didn’t know you’d have it done already. I love it.” I gave him a gentle hug.
    This time he was the one to pull away. With a businesslike smile, he yanked on the lower part of the couch, opening it flat with a triumphant thump.
    “It’s a futon. Very comfy. I bought a new duvet—and a pillow.” He opened one of the office cabinets to reveal a wardrobe full of men’s clothes and some bedding on a shelf. He plopped down the bedding—all in a pretty green design. It was still in its store packaging.
    I was finally getting it. “I’m going to sleep in your office? But what about your staff? What time do they arrive for work? I’ll be in the way…”
    Peter gave me a reassuring smile. His eyes—a glowing green-gold in this light—sparkled at me.
    “Tomorrow’s Sunday, lass. The place will be a tomb. No one rises till noon. And the lads are used to me sleeping in here.”
    “This is where you sleep? Where will you go…?”
    “Dozens of spots in this place. I’ll probably have a nice sleep in the canteen. Two couches in there. No worries.”
    I had plenty of worries, but an urgent need overrode them all “Um, could you show me the way to the bathroom first…?”
    “You want a bath?” He shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint. We have a shower, but there’s no heat in there. You might want to wait until morning…” He must have seen the horror in my face as I pictured trekking to some outhouse. “You mean the bog? The loo?” He gave me an indulgent smile, as if a request for indoor plumbing showed an amusing cultural quirk. “Come with me.”
    He led me down another narrow corridor and pointed to a door stenciled with the faded word “Ladies.” He pushed it open to reveal a couple of ancient sinks and two stalls, with the nicotine stains of the ages on their walls. The place smelled of cheap aftershave and mildew.
    “It used to have two toilets, but I converted one to a shower. I’ll have to remind the lads to knock before they go in. They’re rather used to this being an all male enclave on weekends.” He turned toward the door opposite, stenciled with the word “Gents.” He started to go in, then turned back to me. “Are we happy bunnies then?”
    I nodded out of politeness. After a quick—and chilly—wash, I walked out to find him gone and the lights turned out. I had to feel my way back to the office where I was to camp—camping was certainly what this felt like. I might be living like some rabbity forest creature, but I couldn’t describe my mood as happy.
    When I reached what I hoped was the office, I felt around for the light switch in panic, fearing I might have wandered into some other wing of the factory altogether. Or some other dimension. Or world. I half expected to see some of Harry Potter’s cohorts, a mad hatter, or Robin Hood himself.
    But the fluorescent light hummed to life and I saw I was indeed back in Peter’s cozy office, where the bouquet of daffodils now sat on a file cabinet, looking cheery in a beer