I hadn't even managed to do anything when the door burst open. It slammed against the wall, sending the poor remote flying somewhere across the office.
Great. Now I'd have to find the damned thing later. Possibly piece it back together.
I lifted my eyes.
Of course, it was Michael. No one else would barge into my office without knocking.
"Sorry," he said, already grinning. "Hands were full. Might've pushed a bit too hard. Your office will survive, I hope."
There was a teacup in his hand.
Fucking tea addict.
"For God's sake, Michael." I snapped upright in my chair and planted my elbows on the desk. "Could you learn to knock? Or is that too difficult?"
He strolled straight across the office without a hint of shame. The tea in his cup sloshed with every step. I watched him and waited for the moment his tea would spill over the rim, forcing me to call the cleaners.
He picked up the teaspoon from the saucer and pointed it at me.
"What could you possibly be doing that needs a ceremony at the door?" he said. "Planning another takeover, or hiding someone in here. A mistress, perhaps?"
I pressed my fingers to my temples and narrowed my eyes.
"I'm working. I work here. Unlike some, I've no desire to be distracted. If I make a mistake, your family will pay for it. You should know that."
He only smiled, sweet and careless, not a grown man at all, more a boy playing at charm in front of an older brother. Or perhaps his parents. God knew.
He had on a light shirt today, the collar undone. I couldn't remember the last time he'd worn a jacket. Light trousers as well, with a belt, something scribbled across it; I couldn't quite tell what.
I exhaled. "Do you even understand this is an office, not some seaside resort? You're a businessman. Pull yourself together. Find a jacket, button your shirt. You look entirely improper."
Michael didn't answer and settled himself on one of the chairs in front of my desk. He set his cup down on the table, still holding the teaspoon in his hand, waving it about as if he were conducting an orchestra.
"Same old Edward, nothing new. Constantly annoyed, always nursing some grievance." Then he pointed the spoon straight at me. "Still suffering with that headache, are you?"
"I'm always annoyed when you come barging in, nearly taking the door off its hinges on your way into my office. As for my headache, what gave me away?"
"The circles under your eyes," he said, redirecting the teaspoon towards my face. "They're so dark I thought someone had taken a swing at you."
The pain in my head flared at his remark. I pressed my fingers to my temples again, massaging them, hoping for even the slightest relief.
"It doesn't change," I muttered with a sigh. "I'm like some old man, hoping the weather might shift and do me a favour. Perhaps spring will make it a touch better. Not a single tablet does anything for it anymore, so if you've come to pester me, you've picked a very bad moment."
He shrugged, picked up his cup, dropped the spoon into it, and began to stir. I watched him do it, listened to the faint clink of metal against the sides of the cup. The only thing I wanted in that moment was to snatch it from his hand and fling it after the remote.
He took a small sip of his tea and went on, "You know, someone else in your position might take a break. A day off, perhaps. With you in this state. Step outside, get some fresh air, soak up a bit of sunlight, vitamin D, or B, or whatever it is."
"There's no sun," I said. "There are clouds, slush, and wind. Why would I go out there? You want me to catch a cold as well?"
He tilted his head and studied me for a while, as if I were some insect under a microscope.
"You do sound more caustic than usual," he said.
"I'm not caustic," I snapped, not attempting to hide my annoyance. "I'm just tired."
He gave a faint smirk. "If you say so."
The headache certainly wouldn't pass, I thought. Not with this idiot turning up whenever he pleased, tapping away with his spoon, prying over every little thing. My mood wouldn't improve, and neither would my patience.
"Right, get to the point. What the hell did you come here for?"
"Oh, right. I nearly forgot." Michael perked up at once and started waving that spoon again. "I came to remind you we're expected at the baroness's reception in a couple of days. You haven't crossed it out of your calendar, have you?"
"Ah, hell. Not another evening with that dreadful woman," I muttered. "Last time was torture."
Michael's smile widened, far too pleased with himself. "You don't want to go, then? And yet you will. You'll put on that impeccable suit of yours, mind your manners, and stand there looking perfectly composed. Suffering so very elegantly. You won't refuse, will you?"
Of course, he had come here for this alone, to watch me suffer and enjoy every second of it.
He set his half-finished tea on the edge of my desk. "So, the headache hasn't gone anywhere, has it?"
"Of course it hasn't," I replied sharply. "It's not going anywhere while you're here, getting on my nerves."
"Right," he said, amused. "Well, let's hope your dear spring finally arrives and takes pity on you. Might even ease that head of yours."
He stood and gave a careless wave in my direction. "See you."
The door slammed behind him.
When would he learn to use a door without making a scene?
My gaze shifted to the abandoned cup. Or perhaps he could learn to clean up after himself. Better yet, stop dragging that nonsense around with him.
With a heavy sigh, I opened my calendar and added a note so I wouldn't forget the dreadful evening waiting with those unpleasant people.
I could only hope the pain in my head might ease off a little, or at least not be so unbearable.