It had been a dull morning thus far, something not improved by his restless, grumpy mood. Skeeter was in his bloody department and he, Konstantin, had been in no position to tell him where he could shove the job. And the worst of it was that he had no one to blame for his lowly-by-his-standards status other than himself. He had utterly fucked himself – understandably, he had thought at the time – and now he was reaping the downside of his self-imposed mourning. #

Why couldn’t he have just worn an armband and called it a day? Why had he let himself lose the chance to be head of the department he loved so much? The answer, of course, was because he had loved Amelia Evans and losing her had been a wrench to his soul.

Looking up at his surprise visitor, Konstantin smile to himself – at least he had not lost everything of Amelia. Somehow, he had inherited her eccentric, if charming, friend and the very last person to censure him for his sore knuckles.

“Ah, that,” he said, flexing his hand. “I doubt anyone could manage ten minutes with him without doing the same.” He added before: “Saying that he does work here now so don’t tell you brother.”