Max Remy was not impressed. What's more, she did not find the situation amusing at all and couldn't comprehend just what, exactly, Toby was finding so funny about the fact that she was dripping from head to toe with bright pink paint.
Bright. Pink. Paint.
It wasn't her fault, either. No, no. It was most definitely his fault. And bright pink or not, Max decided that the best way to deal with this situation was to place both hands on her hips, cock one to the side, narrow her eyes, and yell – loudly.
"Who hangs paint on a door so that the next person that walks in will be drowned?" she seethed. "Especially bright pink paint!"
Actually, she would have looked rather frightening had it not been for the paint.
Toby shrugged in reply, a steady smirk on his face. He was rather pleased with how the whole thing had worked out. He had thought the "bucket of paint on a door" only worked in movies – apparently not.
"This isn't funny, Toby!"
At this, he looked her up and down, taking in her dripping clothing and dyed hair. Typically, (and idiotically), he laughed. "Oh, but it is!"
"You'll regret this."
Toby knew that he probably would. Both Max's temper and threats were things to be wary of. And as soon as she hopped into the shower and was no longer pink, she would be coming after him. But oh…
"The look on your face was worth it."