I knew what he wanted to say, so I cut him off. "You're the assistant, Genis, you're the one who should be keeping the files organized so that they aren't all piled in one place." Genis bit back whatever saucy remark I could tell he so desperately wanted to fling at me and reluctantly turned around to begin pulling folders and papers out of the drawer. "Good boy."
"You never told me what you wanted me to do with the Delaney file," he said at length, looking back at me again.
This was a blatant lie--I'd told him full well, and multiple times at that, that I'd wanted him to stick it under the D's and never ever speak of it again, but the little snot thought he was a riot and, in his boredom, had taken to bringing it up any chance he got over the past few weeks. The Delaney incident was the last bit of real work I'd seen in a while, about four months ago, security detail for a dame by the name of Jeanette Delaney and her expensive family jewelry while she was in town. A real tomato she was, too, sleek, dark hair, gams up to her eyes, an absolute knock-out in a red dress. She'd thought I was a knock-out, too--not that that was all that surprising, I mean hey, most of the dames around here feel the same way--and after a while she'd wanted me to start guarding her body a little closer. And then a little closer. And then I got close enough to realize that "Jeanette" Delaney, to put it gently, had a couple of extra family jewels under that red dress that she'd neglected to mention when we were discussing my contract.
"Well?" asked Genis, one hand brandishing the offending file and the other planted on his hip. "Where do you want me to put the Delaney file, huh?" He waved it back and forth with a sneer on his little face. I was about to tell him exactly where he could shove the damned thing when a series of loud woodpecker raps on the office door caused us both to jump. The folder flew out of the boy's hand and its contents soared out and scattered themselves in a disorderly heap all over the floor. I yelled at him for making a mess and hoped he hadn't noticed that I'd hit my head on the wall behind me.
The door opened without waiting for my okay and let a young blond girl into the office. "Mr. Wilder," Colette said, the words rushing out in a near-breathless tumble, "there's a puppy here to see you!"
"...What?" I rubbed the back of my head. That must've been one heck of a bump--there was no way I'd just heard her right.
Colette the secretary is a bubbly young dish of eighteen or so, full of energy and prone to letting her mind wander all up and down gods-know-where if she isn't careful. I've gotten used to her girlish whimsies, for the most part; you've got to be able to do that sort of thing if you're planning on working with someone for a good while. This, though, this "puppy"... even I'll admit that it caught me off guard. It had put a huge, childish grin on her pretty round face, a saccharine smile that was so warm and fuzzy it would melt the ice off of a wild lobo's back. She rocked back and forth on small, sharp black shoes that squeaked on the office's floorboards with each and every bounce; her short fingernails were practically gouging shavings out of the door frame, as if by tearing out the white paint in an attempt to restrain herself she might be better able to curb her overflowing enthusiasm.
"A puppy, Mr. Wilder!" she continued, fighting valiantly to choke back a giggle and failing quite miserably. "It's a really, really adorable puppy, too! It's the sweetest little baby puppy you've ever seen, it's just so fluffy! I think it's a Pomeranian, you know, with the cute little triangle ears and the itty bitty paws and the poofy tail -- oh, the tail! It's so colorful, Mr. Wilder, it's like it's got a big little feather duster rainbow attached to its precious little bottom! I think she must have used some sort of special dyes on it to get it to look like that--"
I was just about to try getting my head around the phrase "big little feather duster rainbow" when one of the words that followed it demanded my undivided attention. "Wait... she? Who's 'she', Colette?"
Colette's petite face flushed a bright red for just a second, but she got her wind back within mere moments. "Oh, right, sorry! The puppy brought a lady with it, too, Mr. Wilder. The lady says that she wants to see you and that it's very important."
Well, well... a lady who wanted to discuss something very important. This was certainly welcome news, music to my ears. Of course, the last time a "lady" wanted to discuss something important I ended up five seconds and some dropped suspenders away from pitching woo to John "Jeanette" Delaney, but what were the chances of that happening again, right?
...right?
