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The beautiful thing about taking the stairs is that no one uses them—not when you’re on the fortieth floor.
I skip down two flights, nearly giddy with my success. The pressure on my chest lifts, and I’m nearly buoyant with exultation.
Until I round the corner and slam into Mr. Ettin.
“Heading out early, Wyn?”
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
A jittery laugh escapes me as I try to act like my world isn’t imploding. “Oh hey, Mr. Ettin. I was just off to use the restroom…in the lobby. So, ah, have a good weekend!”
“A very interesting fact about Boggarts—we can tell when someone is lying. Because we can sense others’ emotions so accurately, it’s like having a built-in lie detector.”
My fake smile wobbles.
If he can sense a lie, what else has he noticed?
“That’s so interesting. I did not know that about Boggarts. Growing up, u?cí—my grandma—told me that lying is how the jackrabbit got its long ears.”
Mr. Ettin steps closer, pushing the long curtain of my hair back. “Hmm, no long ears. I guess you’re not a jackrabbit, just a liar.”
An angry growl wells up inside of me, but I tamp it back because I know the man is just trying to get a rise out of me.
“I wasn’t lying—I am going to the lobby to use the restroom.”
“Uh-huh, and what about our wager? I’d have thought you’d want to go over the campaign’s figures with me.”
He grins, exposing his sharp, pointed teeth, and I swallow as my throat goes dry. Shaking my head once, I try to step around my boss.
“It’s Friday afternoon. I figured you have big weekend plans, and I don’t want to inconvenience you. We can just talk on Monday.”
“Now is fine.”
“N-now?”
His chuckle washes over me, and my knees threaten to buckle. “Yes, now, Wyn. I want to hear you say the words—tell me I won.”
“Why?” I balk.
“You know why. I’m here to claim my prize.”
My breath hitches in my chest as his gaze moves down to my mouth. “I…I don’t think you want to kiss me, Mr. Ettin.”
“It’s Bash, and the fuck I don’t.”
For a moment, my mind goes blank at hearing him swear, and then, I process his words. They send a bolt of desire streaking through me.
“Alright, you won. Happy now?”
“Not as happy as I’m going to be.”
Mr. Ettin—Bash—crowds in even closer, lowering his towering frame until I’m obscured by his shadow.
I inhale sharply, my whole body sparking with tiny embers of need as doubt and lust war within me.
Nerves flare, and I tremble before getting a grip. All Bash wants is a kiss—a tiny, insignificant kiss.
What’s the worst that could happen?
