Steeling my nerves, I knocked softly and smiled when she glanced away from the ledger.
“Tessa, what are you doing down here?”
I entered the room and stood on the other side of the desk. “I was on my way to bed, and I got a little lost. But when I saw you in here, I thought I might stop in and see if you were interested in having tea with me tomorrow? Just the two of us. It might be a good opportunity to get to know each other better.”
Her brow rose, and she snapped the ledger shut then stacked it on top of another. Gathering them both in her arms, she rounded the desk.
“I’m afraid I’m too busy tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay. I understand. Well, maybe…”
She angled her chin, and her lips thinned, challenging me to continue.
My cheeks flamed, and I couldn’t keep the tremor from my tone. I sounded like that weak mouse Edward alluded to on my first day.
“I realize I’m probably not what you expected, but I assure you, I’m not like other witches. I know you ran into trouble with one, and my heart breaks for what you went through with Sophie, but if you would just—”
“The answer is no.”
“I see.” I bit my lip hard so it wouldn’t tremble. There had to be something—some small, insignificant thing we could connect on. Maybe if I could convince her we were alike in some way?
She started for the door, and my gaze landed on her brooch. Jackpot!
“You know, it’s funny. My mother had a brooch almost exactly like that one. The cat’s eye stone is my favorite. You and I have similar tastes.”
“What?” Cynthia came to a halt so quickly her right leg gave out beneath her, and she nearly stumbled. I reached to steady her, but she lost her grip on the ledgers, and they dropped to the floor.
Picking one up, I glanced at the rows and columns of itemized figures, then I handed it back to her. “I said my mother used to have a similar brooch. Is that the one Mae said you lost?”
Her gaze dropped to the piece of jewelry pinned to her bodice. She spoke slowly, her tone laced with sarcasm. “I have more than one brooch, Tessa.”
My insides shriveled. Why wasn’t there ever a giant, witch-eating crater to fall into when you needed one?
“Yes, of course you do. Yours just reminded me of my mother’s, that’s all. I thought it was something we had in common.”
Damn, this was not going well. Nothing I said was making her see me in any other light besides the horrid witch keeping her son from the perfect job and, apparently, a more suitable candidate for his wife. I really should resort to a spell. Magically force her to like me for the next three days, then hope I never have to see her again. But it wouldn’t work because, in the end, I would never be good enough in her eyes, and I was terrified that one day, Derrick might look at me the same way.
The silence had become so unbearable that I was thrilled when she flashed me a tight smile and said, “If you’ll excuse me, Harold wants to review these files before bed. Good night, Tessa.”
She swept from the room, and it wasn’t until her footsteps faded down the hall that I realized I still didn’t know how to get to the main staircase. I pressed my fingers into my eyelids and groaned.I hate this trip!My fingers came away damp, and I wiped the tears off on my skirt.
Crossing to the window, I stared into the night. Ice pelted the glass, and the wind howled. I’d never felt so trapped in my life. Trapped by the storm, by my inability to fix things with Derrick’s mother, and by my fear that everything I loved was going to unravel.
What was I going to do if she refused to accept me? Would Derrick be forced to choose between me and his family? He was already faced with the choice of remaining my partner or advancing his career. All I wanted was to be a part of his life, and the thought of our relationship ending was unimaginable. But I couldn’t be the thing he had to choose at the cost of everything important to him. It wasn’t fair—to either of us.
The door creaked behind me, and I tensed but didn’t turn. Honestly, at this point, I hoped it was a ghost in chains—because at least they’d be having a tougher night than me.
Footsteps trudged across the room, and a cabinet door opened, followed by the sound of clinking bottles. Andrew uncapped a decanter of whiskey and splashed the amber liquid into a glass. Frowning at the amount, he tipped the bottle until the whiskey touched the brim. He closed his eyes and tossed back a deep swallow.
“Can I have one too?”
Andrew choked on the drink, sputtering and slapping his breastbone. “Bloody hell! You scared me. What are you doing over there?”
I shrugged. “I’m lost.”
Pulling a second glass from the cabinet, Andrew poured and held the glass in the air. I took it from him and let the liquor burn a path down my throat.
“Another?”
