1
Lancelot
I thought I’d learned not to underestimate the creative ways my older brother could piss me off. I was wrong. He was sending me to a library to collect intel on the theft of an emerald necklace from a museum. It wasn’t even a regular library but a snooty one that housed archives and material only available on request. Remington had dared to tell me I couldn’t bring Tony with me. If this place was as boring and dusty as the one Remy used to drag me to when we were in school, it needed some livening up. Tony could do that nicely.
I pulled into the small parking lot which was, of course, already full. There was just enough room for me to squeeze in on the end of a row, so I made myself a spot. I was already doing this errand against my will; I wasn’t going to drive around looking for a fucking parking space.
The stone building was cold and imposing. Tony jumped from my shoulder to inspect the huge marble columns, and I had to call him back. He gave me a stubborn look, but I enticed him with a piece of dried mango. He took it from me, climbed up my side, and returned to his usual spot on my shoulder.
“They’ll be plenty to see inside,” I assured him, not that I intended to stay long. I didn’t like places that echoed with silence. I liked to see the world moving around me. I also liked to do whatever felt right in the moment rather than working on Remington’s schedule, but with Remy engaged and my younger brother, Corbin, now seeing a mechanic and working with him at his shop, I was going to be stuck with more and more errands like this. Maybe it was time for me to disappear for a while. Things were relatively quiet in our world. Tony and I deserved a vacation.
I opened the tall, heavy door of the library and stepped inside. As I’d expected, the marble floor and stone walls gave the lobby the chilly, stagnant feel of a tomb. What kind of person would want to work in a place like this? It was so quiet the sound of a pen scratching across paper seemed as loud as a motorcycle engine.
I searched the main room for the area I was supposed to approach—The New Orleans City Archive. Remy had texted me with the details I needed. The information was allegedly somewhere in the 1918 editions of a little-known newspaper that had never been digitized.
How had Remy described the librarian I needed to speak with? Persnickety? As soon as my gaze landed on him, I knew Remington was right. This man had a good-sized stick up his ass.
He was within an inch of my six feet, but he had none of my bulk. Lean was an understatement. If my stepmother were here, she’d insist on bringing him a sandwich and a piece of cake. His hair was dirty blonde, longer on top than on the sides and ruffled like he’d been running his hands through it. He was wearing a white button-up, khakis, and a rust-colored cardigan that looked like my granpop might have owned it before this guy found it at a thrift store. The expression on his face as he scanned the room let me know he was searching for any rule breakers and was ready to deny them access to his precious materials. He thought he was important, but he would be no match for me.
Despite the chill coming off him and his librarian clothes, I couldn’t deny he was attractive as hell. I wouldn’t mind rumpling up the rest of him to match his hair or tearing off his clothes and finding out what was underneath. He wouldn’t be cold and self-righteous then. I would make him burn.
Tony leaned toward my ear and talked at me. I nodded. “Right. Let’s work our magic.”
The sound of Tony’s chatter had my target looking our way. His forehead wrinkled in what I guessed was disgust warring with anger.
“No animals are allowed inside the library.”
“Not even guide dogs?” I asked as I moved toward him.
He huffed. “If properly trained, then yes, guide dogs are the single exception. We certainly do not allow monkeys in here.”
From the way he was looking at me with his soft blue eyes, I wasn’t sure if he was talking about me or Tony. Rather than annoying me, his disdain only made me more curious about what would happen if I focused all his zeal toward pleasure rather than following the rules.
I glanced at the name tag pinned to his sweater. “Julian, I understand your concern, but Tony here is very well trained. He’s my emotional support animal, so I’m sure you’re required to let him accompany me.”