Portia put the phone down and returned to the more mundane task before her—packing knives for shipping—but her mind was still on social media. She wasn’t exactly surprised that people were into her story. It had been funny. But she had underestimated just how many people would be into it. She’d sent the video of Tavish she’d finally gotten him to agree to with her second post. If her friends’ reactions in their group chat, and the people already ENHANCE-ing her selfie to try to get a glimpse at Tavish’s were any indication, it would do even better. She needed to put the finishing touches on the armory’s site before that post went up.
“Do you have a telekinetic power that allows you to pack the boxes while standing there and staring into space?” Tavish made his way across the office and dropped a box of finished knives onto the table in front of her.
She’d grown slightly used to the Jerk Lite version of Tavish, so she didn’t even flinch.
“Do you think it wise to annoy me before handing over a box of knives?” She smiled sweetly at him.
He huffed. “If you’re as good with a knife as you were with that spray, you’ll end up stabbing yourself, too, lass.”
Portia rolled her eyes at him. “Never gonna let me live that down, are you?”
“Nah.” His mouth quirked up the tiniest bit, as if his smile were struggling to lift the weight of his Portia-induced frown lines but couldn’t shoulder the impossible task.
“I wasn’t staring into space, anyway. I was working,” she said, pushing her curls back behind one ear. “I was trying to think of a new marketing strategy.”
“What strategy is that?” he asked, his brows knitting together. “The do chat on MySpace strategy?”
Portia gasped and bought her hand to her chest, feeling an actual jolt of shock at the anachronism. “MySpace? Really?”
He just stared at her.
She picked up her phone to open a social media app that wasn’t from the Mesozoic era. “Look. I wrote a blog post on my sister’s site—unlike me, she has her shit together, and her site is extremely popular. So all these people reblogged it and shared it on social media, then the armory got all these new followers, and . . .”
Portia trailed off, as she was too busy watching Tavish wave his hands around his head like he was being attacked by a swarm of bees.
“I told Jamie and I’ve told you—I don’t know about this internet shite. I don’t care about this internet shite.”
“Tavish, I know your line of work might confuse you, but this is the twenty-first century. You’re . . . well, you’re not young, but even my grandmother has been using the internet since I was a child. Internet access has been classified as a human right. Enough with the acting like it’s some newfangled concept you can just avoid. It’s a business tool.”
“I can find the information I need for my research in books. Made of paper,” he countered. “I check my email when I have to. I don’t need to spend hours killing brain cells with pictures of people’s lunch or videos of wee kitties playing with a ball of yarn.”
“Oh my god,” she said. “You hate kitten videos, too? You are a monster. And FYI, baby donkeys are the cute animal of choice right now.”
“Noted,” he said. “Thanks for that lesson, but maybe you could get back to packing? In the real world, people have paid real money for these products and they’re expecting them.”
He seemed aggravated and not just at her. Portia plucked a knife from the box, grabbed one of the leather pouches it was to be packaged in, and slid it inside. “Speaking of that . . .” Talking about money was so gauche, but she had to. “I know I mentioned my internet searches of Bodotria Armory before I took the apprenticeship, but I looked at finances yesterday. Sales are down. A lot.”
His mouth twisted. “I suppose Jamie let you look at that?”
She nodded, trying to hide her annoyance. “Yes. He showed me the online bookkeeping system.”
Tavish ran a hand through his hair, the strands shifting from black to grayer, and back again. “You know, when I was an apprentice, I did what I was told and didn’t go sticking my nose into my master’s business.”
Portia could have really told him about himself, and his use of the word master, but chose to take the honey route over the vinegar. “When I spoke to Jamie about this apprenticeship, we agreed that I would help where I could. For me to do that, I need to know what we’re working with. What happened a year ago to cause such a sudden drop in sales?”
“Fuck if I know. Everything was going fine, and then it wasn’t.” If he had some big secret he was hiding, he had a great poker face. He seemed exasperated, not defensive. “Several of the largest buyers—castles and historical sites around the country that we’d done years of business with—just up and severed ties. I got stonewalled when I tried to find out why.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered.
“You weren’t able to sweet talk anyone into buying again? Hard to imagine,” she said.
He stalked the few steps that separated them and the smell of leather and steel and almond soap enveloped her. “Has it occurred to you that I know how to interact with people in a cordial and pleasant manner?” he growled.
“Not once.” That wasn’t exactly true—she’d seen him be gentle with Jamie, and Cheryl, and his students. He was gruff to be sure, but he only seemed to tap into his special reserve of assholeishness whenever she was around, even though she was trying her damnedest to help him. “I have to ask, do you even enjoy your work anymore? Do you want to survive this slump? Because you aren’t acting like it.”
“Look, princess—”
“Actually, my best friend is the princess. She’s one of the hardest working people I know, so if you’re using that as a derogatory term think again. I’m in a fairly high tax bracket, but nowhere near royalty.”
His gruff expression scrunched into one of confusion. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, although I guess tax brackets in the US would be different than they are here.”
“No, about the princess—fuck’s sake, never mind. Look, Miss High Tax Bracket, I know how to run a business. I’ve done pretty damn well at it. I don’t need some stranger waltzing in here and acting like I’m incompetent.”
Portia pressed her lips together to prevent the first thing that came to mind from slipping out. This was why she’d only dealt with men in blocks of time that could be measured by hours and were capped with “have a nice life.” Any longer than that and you had to put up with tantrums like this.
“Let’s rewind to when you first stepped into this room.” She moved her index fingers rapidly around one another in a circular motion, then pointed one at Tavish. “The only person acting like anyone is incompetent is you. I’m asking you about sales because I need to know if there’s a specific situation that needs to be addressed in our marketing. You say there isn’t, so there isn’t, but you can’t get annoyed every time I ask for information. Pretending a problem doesn’t exist doesn’t make it magically go away. Lord knows I’ve tried it.”
He was just looking at her again, in that way that he probably looked at a defective sword before throwing it into a scrap heap, then ran his hand through his hair with a frustrated growl. “I’m just not used to this. I really didn’t expect you to be so . . .”
“Competent? Irreplaceable?” Portia didn’t think she was any of those things, but fake it till you make it was a key component of shaping the new her.
“. . . meddlesome,” Tavish finished.
“And I didn’t think you would be so . . .” Portia’s gaze darted to his face, and the silver hair at his temples, and his salt-and-pepper scruff, and that full mouth, and suddenly everything she had been trying to ignore about him stuck an arm out and clotheslined her as she tried to run from her attraction to him.
Oh no. Way to fucking go, Portia.
Tav was staring at her, waiting for her to finish her sentence.
“. . . tall,” she finished, unable to think of another descriptor that wouldn’t reveal her for the loser she was.
Tav quirked a brow. “Tall. Right.”
Redirect! Redirect!
“You still haven’t let me know what I’ll be doing at the exhibition this weekend. I made graphics and I’ve been promoting it on social media and getting a great response. I think I’d be really good at doing sales, despite your supposed ability to be cordial.”