Deirdre found his temperament almost too zig-zagging to make sense. In the past, she could ingratiate with him as much as she wanted, no questions asked. But now, the same things suddenly irritated him.

She ducked, squeezing her shoulders into herself, and cast her sight to the floor to begin feeling and salvaging the documents.

At that moment, Brendan suddenly yanked her arm toward him and, by extension, her entire body. Before she knew it, the force nailed her legs across his lap, her shocked expression facing his visage.

It was a…. rather suggestive position to be in.

Deirdre froze as she sensed Brendan drawing her into himself before he rested his chin on her shoulder.

“God. What must I do, Deirdre?” he asked, surprisingly defeatedly.

Deirdre blinked. Her fingers slipped gently before lacing around his strong, firm arm. She did not find their position repulsive—just awkward.

“You’re not mad anymore?”

Brendan looked up. “What good does my anger do? It doesn’t matter how angr