Rustling papers and pen scratches echoed against vast bookshelves and a cherrywood desk. This sound was accompanied by idle keyboard typing.

Ambrose raised a brow as he searched the desk for something. His hands halted their typing of numbers and words. He took up a pen and harshly tapped the other’s side. “Get off the fucking desk,” he chided, there was a flicker of mock seriousness in his brown eyes.