Renard Dreel, presently a fly on the wall, wanted to interject.
He'd rather take his chances elsewhere, honestly.
But the moment he opened his mouth, he nearly choked. How? How could this gorgeous boy be so utterly blind? Calling him—him, the young, good-looking Renard—a "mister"? But calling that woman, who looked every bit a middle-aged clerk, a "miss"?!
He internally screamed.
His dignity limped away. He had to regroup. Regain his footing. Nurse his wounded ego before he collapses completely.
So he forced a cough and waved a hand. "I-it's fine. I'll just get back to work." He bent quickly to scoop up the tablet he had oh-so-carefully given to Luca, hoping—praying—that maybe a few questions had been answered.
But the moment his fingers brushed the screen—
Clack!
A grip like iron clamped down on his wrist.
