"You have the patience of a saint," I grumbled, slouching into a chair. "And besides, you don't hang out with him 24/7." "Neither will you. It's only 24/6." "Same difference. It might as well be 24/10." She frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."

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My tablecloth was missing in action and long, jagged scratches covered the table's surface.The scratches looked suspiciously like letters. I climbed on a chair and looked at it from above. MINE. Oh, that's great. Fantastic. So mature. Perhaps he would pull my pigtails next or stick a tack on my seat.

— Ilona Andrews