My Dad’s office has become my happy place.
I never imagined I'd say that about a room overflowing with ledgers, shipping manifests and enough coffee cups to suggest that Locke and I are personally keeping the Colombian economy afloat.
"I'm telling you," I say, peering over the edge of the spreadsheet in front of me. “Color-coding a criminal enterprise’s documents doesn't automatically make you organized."
"It does too,” Locke says.
"It absolutely doesn't."
"It does if you're right."
"You know," I say thoughtfully. "I'm beginning to think you enjoy being right."
"I'm beginning to think you've only just noticed."
“Good God, you're impossible."
"So I've been told.” He grins at me. “Usually by you, in our bed, as you beg for me to stop teasing you, and just f**k you already.”
My face
