4. Traig
CHAPTER FOUR
TRAIG
Imade it to my office before I let myself stop moving.
The door closed behind me. I set my tablet on the desk and stood staring down at it.
I’d said Willa like her name was something I’d been holding onto and finally released.
She’d looked up at me, her brown eyes soft, sunlight filtering in through the front windows winking on her glasses. I’d sworn I could see her pulse jumping at the base of her throat.
I went around my desk and sat down. Cupped my face with my hands. Sighed.
This would be fine.
People said other people’s names all the time. It was part of basic communication. Addressing someone by name was considered polite per human social customs. I’d read the orientation materials Krem had compiled about human workplace standards. Using names was encouraged. It created an intimate—
No. Intimate was not the right word to use in association with Willa.
Grumbling as loud as Fred, though for a different reason, I pulled up a file on my tablet and stared at it before closing it.
Her hair had caught the light from the window. The curls framed her face. I wanted to write down the exact pattern.
I opened my email instead, finding one unread message from this morning.
Ah, yes. The voicemail from the school coordinator, Erika Collins. I’d saved the audio file and transcribed it last night.
I played the message again, and I opened a new document and started typing.
Creature Rescue League Educational Partnership Proposal.
We needed to teach human children about orc creatures. Show them the animals in various environments. Answer their questions. Help them understand that animals from the orc kingdom weren’t dangerous, just different and—
I stopped typing.
Willa was good with people. Children would respond to her even better than they might with Krem, who was big and orc and, to some little humans, a touch scary.
I made myself keep typing, working long past the time when everyone else had left the building.
By midnight, I had seventy-five pages written.
My proposal went through every phase. I’d included planning for weather problems, behavioral concerns with creature species, issues children and adults might raise, and three separate appendices covering safety protocols.
I read through it twice, added a seventy-sixth page with a few more notes, and sent it to myself.
Then I closed my tablet and went to my cabin, where I ate, brushed my tusks, and climbed into bed.
I did not think about how Willa smiled when she saw I'd brought Fred to her.
I spent the next few days refining the proposal in every spare moment, adding an appendix here, tightening a paragraph there, telling myself each revision was the last one.
It wasn't.
A few days later, before Willa arrived, I found Brovish in his office.
As I entered, he looked up from his desk and gestured for me to come inside. Sofia, perched on his shoulder, let out a welcoming peep.
“You’re here early,” he said.
“I have a project proposal.”
“Already?” His tusks showed in a grin. “It’s barely past dawn.”
I set my tablet on his desk and pulled up the document.
“I actually worked here last night.”
He frowned. “All night?”
“Sure. Not the first time.”
His frown didn’t fade. “No, it’s not.” His gaze shot to the door. “Does this have anything to do with Willa?”
“Why would it?”
“No reason in particular.” A sly look took over his face. “It just reminds me of how things were with me and Laina.”
“This is nothing like that.” Nope, not one bit.
“If you say so.”
“I do. A school coordinator called on Monday. Erika Collins. She wants to bring children here. Teach them about the creatures. How they adapt to the surface. I’ve written out how it could work.” I turned the tablet his way. “I’d like to hear what you think.”
Brovish leaned forward, scrolling through the proposal.
He kept scrolling.
“You wrote how many pages for this?” he asked, not looking up.
“Seventy-six. Plus appendices.”
“This is just a proposal, not the final for this educational project.”
“It’s thorough.”
“It’s a full manual.” He looked up at me, his expression too perceptive. “And you wrote this last night?”
“I work quickly when I’m excited.”
“This is…very fast. You’re sure it has nothing to do with Willa?”
“It has nothing to do with Willa. I mean it.”
Sofia launched herself off Brovish’s shoulder and circled the room before landing on the filing cabinet, where she settled and watched us with bright eyes.
Brovish kept reading.
“This is good,” he said. “The school coordinator is going to love it.”
Relief made it easier to breathe.
“I can lead the project,” I said. “I’ll coordinate with the school and—”
“Willa should provide the human element.”
“She does have strong people skills,” I said. “Willa would do a great job with that part of the project.”
“She would,” Brovish said, still looking up at me.
“In a support role,” I added. “I’ll maintain project supervision.”
“Yes, I’m sure you will.”
“I’ve already divided the work.” I pulled up the chart I’d made at one yesterday morning. “I’ll handle the lesson planning, the schedules, and the documentation. Someone else needs to handle the parents and the talking parts. That would be Willa.”
“While you handle everything else?”
“Yes.”
“So you’d be working together.”
“In clearly defined roles.”
“I see you suggested meeting with her three times a week?”
I frowned. “The project timeline requires regular meetings.”
“For months.”
“The school district indicated interest in a year-long program if the initial introduction goes well.”
Brovish sat back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest, and smiled with all his tusks showing.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m allowed to smile, Traig. I live in a state of great happiness with my mate.”
Sofia chirped from the filing cabinet.
The door opened.
Drogar walked in carrying a mug of tea, saw both of us, and immediately grinned.
“Something’s happening, right?”
“Traig wrote a seventy-six-page proposal,” Brovish said. “Last night.”
“Plus appendices,” I said softly, my hands twitching at my sides.
Drogar leaned against the doorframe. “Proposal for what?”
“A school partnership,” Brovish said.
“One where he’ll be working with Willa?”
How could he know that already?
I raked my fingers through my hair, dislodging the tie at my nape.
“She’ll be handling parts of it, yes,” I said. “I’ll need the support.”
“Of course. Support.” Drogar’s grin widened. “Is this about the filing system she fixed?”
“She didn’t fix it,” I said. “She modified one drawer.” I’d noted the difference yesterday morning when I stopped in to make sure I’d returned my label maker to its correct place. It was there, and I had not made any new labels.
Though I’d wanted to.
“If I know you,” Drogar said, “you’ll modify the files back before today is through.”
“I’ll restore them to their intended drawers.”
“While she’s at lunch, I bet.” Drogar’s eyes sparkled. How could he find humor in everything? “I almost want to watch you do it. You’ll keep looking at the door, waiting for her to arrive and catch you.”
“I’ll be ensuring consistency. There will be no need to hide.”
“I bet you’ll hope she notices.”
Brovish watched our exchange with a gleam in his eyes that almost matched Drogar’s.
“He’s been labeling things that don’t need labeling,” Drogar told Brovish. “For you, with Laina, it was alphabetizing everything. For Traig, it’s labeling.”
“I’m always labeling things,” I said. “Why does everyone think my actions are related to Willa?”
Drogar lifted his eyebrows.
“I label things that require clear identification,” I said.
“You labeled the label maker.”
“For inventory purposes.”
“It says Label Maker on the label maker.”
Brovish chuckled.
I wanted to leave.
But I also needed project approval, which meant staying.