Official Town Business (Fox & Oakby Murder Mysteries Book I)

Et Tu, Brute?

"No, Mr. Oakby. Still no boyfriend," Imogen reported diligently. 

The man studied her for a few seconds, and then nodded to some unknown thoughts of his.

"The Americans are arriving tomorrow. Is everything ready for them?"

Imogen gave the Mayor a surprised look. He'd stopped questioning her organisational skills about six months into her employment. Given the Americans were important, she still couldn't suss out why he was asking.

"Yes, it's all prepared. Do you want to see the itinerary?"

"God, no! Of course not!" 

The Mayor waved his hand at her. Imogen felt even more confused. Why was he asking then? And why was he still standing scrutinising her? Did she have something on her face?

"There's that dinner with them, right? At the end of their visit?" he drew out. 

Imogen shortly thought that it had been perhaps the longest she'd seen him make eye contact with a person without rushing back to his phone or his papers - except for that incident on the floor of the library. Although, technically he'd had his eyes closed then. He closed his eyes when he kissed, she'd seen the thick black lashes flutter. To Imogen, this knowledge seemed endlessly important - and perfectly endearing.

"The dinner is booked," Imogen answered.

"And you're my plus one, right?"

Oh.

"Um..." Imogen squirmed on her chair. 

Due to the lack of a Mrs. Oakby, and-slash-or any obvious significant other, the Mayor indeed had normally had Imogen as his plus one, for all sorts of formal events. She saw herself at those events as a sort of a stand for his papers and his briefcase, when he needed his hands free, to cut a ribbon or something.

This time, though, it was a tad different.

"I'm not attending the dinner, sir," Imogen mumbled. "It's just you and the city planning committee minus Mr. Fitzroy since he's still in mourning."

The Mayor gave her a long look - and then one thick black eyebrow slowly crawled up.

And that was when Imogen was reminded of the fact, which she tended to forget due to his constantly disheveled hair, and his habit of bumping into furniture, and his complete inability to remember the simplest everyday things. The Mayor wasn't daft, childish, or the vague two-dimensional romantic fantasy of Imogen's.

"You're my assistant, Imogen. The bypass is beneficial for the city, and the success of the project belongs to all of the Town Hall administration."

Imogen would like to feel appreciated and habitually loved up at the moment, but unlike him she just couldn't disregard the question of status and the difference in their social standing.

"Well, Mrs. Harris isn't attending either..." she mumbled.

"Mrs. Harris is a clerk. You're the second in command in this town."

Imogen gasped and gawked at him.

"I am not!" she yelped, and he suddenly crossed the room in three giant steps, leaned in, and kissed the top of her head.

"Of course you are." He then ruffled her hair, and headed back to his office. "Let me know the colour of your dress, I need to match my tie," he threw over his shoulder. 

Was that a cheeky grin, the glimpse of which she seemed to have caught in the corner of his lips?!

And some sudden nettle woke up in Imogen, her nose still full of his cologne, and the warm and fuzzy feeling spreading through her.