The paperwork was to blame.
If the Chief Super hadn’t demanded that, it being the end of the year, all of the CID paperwork had to be up-to-date,
then Gene and Alex wouldn’t still be stuck at their desks while the rest of the CID rabble were at a joint New Year’s Eve party with Fenchurch West at a club somewhere near Soho.
Gene took another sip from his glass of whisky and glanced across the office.
Alex was sat at her desk, head bowed, chewing on the end of her pen with an expression of intense concentration on her face.
He shifted uncomfortably, his trousers suddenly too tight and his mind filled with pen envy.
He and Alex had been dancing around each other for months; neither of them having the courage to take the final step.
Cursing his cowardice and the fact that both of them were stuck in the office instead of sharing a bottle of Bolly at the party, Gene went back to the report on his desk.
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