23
“This is a mess.”
Christine leaned forward on her arms. Her expression was grim. He hadn't even known her face could look like that, frowning and tense.
In her heels, she towered over his desk, and he normally really disliked it when visitors stood up and loomed over him in his office. It felt like a power play, and he wasn't caving to any stupid power plays, not from anyone, and certainly not from Christine. But he didn't feel inclined to stand. He was tired. Really, really tired.
“I didn't make the mess,” he argued. “If it's a mess, it's that guy, what's his name—”
“Gunnar.”
“Yeah, right, whatever.” The hell kind of name was that? He’d never heard of it before.
“I didn't make any of this mess,” he repeated.
“What a stupid answer,” Christine responded. “Excuse me, but you're no
