Mr. Victor Linton, aspiring college student

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When Mr. Ambrose indicates he wants you to do something, it's always a good idea to get right to it, but in this particular situation I was hesitant to comply.

You see, I figured he wouldn't be all too happy about my sudden outburst of affection, and I wasn't really eager to find out just what he thought of it, as I was sure he would not spare my feelings in his verbal rebuttal.

That being as it was, I still stood a chance of not getting fired, and that was a lot more important to me than any kind of contact with Mr. Ambrose. Right?

"Mister Linton," Mr. Ambrose repeated. Was it me, or did his voice sound a little hoarse?

It was definitely time to let go now and face the wrath of the Ice King, but I found that I just didn't bloody want to.

I told my inner voice that, to which it replied: Oh, yes. You quite enjoy being this close to your Mr. Ambrose, don't you? In fact, one could argue you like it a tad too much for it not to mean anything.

I inwardly bristled, because that was simply not true! I was a proud feminist, and I didn't enjoy being close to my Mr. Ambrose at all! He wasn't even my Ambrose! Even though he did feel nice, lean and hard, but in a pleasant way, not so that it hurt. And he smelt kind of nice; a clean, rich, manly smell that was hard to describe, but rather intoxicating.

It was only when Mr. Ambrose called for Karim that I let go. Immediately.

The mountainous Mohammedan basically stormed into the office, only to see me already a few meters away from Mr. Ambrose.

He gave me the stink-eye and asked Mr. Ambrose: "What do you need, Sahib? Is this individual bothering you?"

I glared right back at him. Karim's dislike for me had only grown since the situation with the file, because he blamed me for all the trouble I supposedly had gotten his master (and myself, but he didn't seem to mind that much) in at the French Island. I had tried to explain to him that it was Mr. Ambrose who had made the decision to get on the Nemesis, then into the crate, then go into the military base in the mountain, then steal the file, then picked a boat that would meet a storm. It was his precious file after all... I had only accompanied him.

Karim had replied by muttering something that sounded much like a prayer, and involved the phrase give me strength to withstand the evil powers of the ifrit.

In the end, I'd decided to take it all as a compliment, that he thought I could influence the immovable, incorruptable force of nature that was Mr. Ambrose.

"No, Karim, Mr. Linton just got a bit... Excited."

Oh, bloody hell! He just had to tell his bodyguard about the hug, didn't he? Couldn't just- Wait.

What did he say?

"Are you sure you don't want me to escort the ifrit outside, Sahib?" Karim grumbled, still glaring at me.

Mr. Ambrose nodded curtly, which Karim somehow saw in spite of the fact that he still had an incessant glare aimed at sweet, little me, and the mountainous bodyguard left the office.

My employer then fixed his gaze back on me.

"Sorry, Sir," I mumbled, "I don't know where that came from."

Again, Mr. Ambrose nodded curtly and sat behind his desk.

"Well, Mr. Linton? Get me file 476G!"

***

During my half-hour lunch break, I went to the pawnshop and got my uncle Bufford's cane back, then hurried to the tailor's, to order two suits that would actually fit me. Even though I was already a good 10 seconds late, I still stopped for a bar of solid chocolate in the store near Leadenhall Street. I was feeling celebratory, after all!

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