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unprepared

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“Why didn’t you tell me?” Strike asked, frantically buttoning his shirt, a touch accusingly.

“Excuse me for thinking you read the office diary!” Robin shot back, already coiffed and poised.

Strike had no response to this, and settled for a bit of a glare, the sort that would’ve cowed Robin mere weeks ago but which only elicited a raised eyebrow.

“Well, if you hadn’t insisted on multitasking, you wouldn’t have these problems,” Robin said. “Anyway, men this powerful are always running late, at least take time to do your buttons correctly.”

Cormoran looked down and swore as Robin swanned out.