“Did you bring more mail from—” She clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes going wide when she saw me. A squeal escaped her lips. Miles’s fingers flexed against my back as if he was trying to find purchase on my skin. “Isla Davenport, this is Annie.” I lifted my hand and waved. “Hi.” She mumbled something colorful in what I guessed was Berber, and pawed around her desk for something. I leaned into Miles’s arm. “Is she going to kill you with spreadsheets?” Isla clasped a worn paperback to her chest. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. West.”
