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The man in question slipped in and out of his office, answering questions he deemed important enough, and avoiding me when he felt like it. Always fully dressed, usually in jeans and a shirt, his hair dripping onto his collar and slicked back from his face, blue eyes calm and assessing, as though he expected something from me.
But what?
In the evening, I had taken to settling on the couch in front of the fireplace and curling up with a cup of cocoa and a good book, giving my brain a rest from all the numbers and squiggly lines. On the first evening, less than ten minutes later Bastian had been crouched at the hearth, building a fire, and nearly giving me a heart attack when he reached in to move a burning log around with his bare hands. Dragon shifter he might be, considerate of the jumpy human, he definitely wasn’t. Then he’d settled into a chair kitty-corner to the couch, settling one leg over his knee, brandy in one hand, and a book in the other, one obviously well thumbed by the cracks to the spine and the tattered edges. That first night we sat in silence, the only noise that of the crackling fire and the odd spit of a spark jumping out of the hearth.
The next night it had been less than five minutes before he was building the fire, chasing away the chill of the early evening. Again, we had sat in our designated spots, each pretending to read. I knew I was pretending, and I was pretty sure he was too, unless he read at four words per hour, considering how many times he turned the page. I had spent the evening spying out of the corner of my eye, watching the flames flicker and dance over his strong jawline, outlining his pursed lips, and caressing his furrowed brow. Not to mention the side-ogling I’d managed to sneak in here and there, his body laid out for my eyes to paint into my memory, capturing every broad angle and thick muscle for later. For when I was in bed, alone.
What he was doing? I wasn’t sure, but it felt very much like a truce. A time out from the madness that had consumed us both upon meeting.
It was now the third evening.
The door creaked open, his dark head leaning in. His eyes darted from the couch to where I sat, still hunched over the desk, mocking me for slaving away at a thankless task. His blue eyes assessed me. “You’re still here?”
I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, the sharpness having faded from his voice to be replaced with a good dose of sarcasm and a hint of … I tried to put my finger on it … maybe wistfulness?
“I haven’t made my decision yet.” On impulse, I stuck my tongue out at him, then dragged my eyes back down to my notepad. I’d completed most of my tasks, something that both thrilled and scared the hell out of me, because it meant that I would have to decide soon. Which box to tick? Astrid’s donation had nearly all been allocated, only one small chunk remaining, and surprisingly the clan wasn’t doing as bad as I’d first assessed. Someone had been careful not to jeopardize the livelihood of it’s members, funneling just enough funds into several accounts to hold them over for at least one more winter. The main house and land had taken the largest hit, but I’d tracked down receipts of sales of everything worth more than a few dollars, scraps of paper hidden deep in the bottom of the filling cabinet and tucked into a plain folder, out of sight. Piecing together the paper chain had been hard, but I finally had the big picture.
I knew what he’d done.
“You played to win.”
Bastian had been half way inside the room and closing the door behind him when I’d spoken. He froze at the accusation in my voice. Shrugging, he pressed the heavy wood closed until it clicked, then strode across the room to where his brandy bottle rested. Seconds ticked by as he poured himself a large measure of the molten brown liquid, raising the heavy tumbler to his lips and sipping with all the air of a gentleman relaxing at home. “Don’t we all?” he finally replied, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.
Taking my glasses off, I tossed them onto the desk. “No. I mean you really played to win. You didn’t gamble anything you couldn’t afford, and you didn’t expect to lose.”
“Hmmm. I think you’ll find you’re wrong there.” Liquid sloshed in the glass as he rocked the crystal back and forth between loose fingers, while propping a shoulder against the huge slate plinth that ran the length of the open fireplace.
He might appear loose and relaxed to anyone else, but I’d been watching him for three days now—okay, a little closer than was probably healthy—and I knew his tells. The skin of his throat tightened as he ground his teeth together, along with the fact that he rubbed his thumb along his little finger every single goddamned time. No wonder he’d lost. “Here.” I jabbed a finger at the papers strewn in front of me. “And here, and here. Explain this then.”
“What exactly are you looking for me to say, sweetheart?” His thumb smoothed along his nail, back and forth.
“You took precautions, diverted money so it couldn’t be touched to funnel down to the clan members ensuring their business survived. You sold everything in the house, everything you had to pay the debt, and even when you had nothing more, you still didn’t empty the accounts. You tried to hide it, but you couldn’t. There’s always a paper trail, Bastian.”
He tilted his head, acknowledging my words, then shrugged them off. “And? I still gambled away the family fortune.”
“You’re not as reckless as you’d like to think.”
He took another sip of brandy, appearing to savor the liquid as he swallowed. “Are you sure about that?” It was a throaty murmur, accompanied by a raised eyebrow.
I sat back in my chair, dreams of him admitting everything and falling at my feet in groveling gratitude disappearing in a pop. “Completely. Are you ready to tell me the truth yet?”
“I already did.”
I cursed under my breath, earning a low chuckle. “No. You didn’t. The bullshit about rebuilding the clan … that’s what it was—complete bullshit!”
“Sweetheart, I didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth.” His lips twitched, causing my temper to flare and blood pressure to sky rocket.
“Just tell me, already! I won’t put it in my report. I won’t expose your huge secret, but I need to know, Bastian!” I half shouted. Sliding off the chair, I strode over to him, determined that this time he was going to tell me the goddamned truth. Why the hell should he care what I think anyway? He hadn’t tried to jump me once in the last couple of days, not since that time in the basement. And his rejection stung more than I was willing to admit.
“Why, Faye? Can you not bring yourself to believe that I’m a worthless bastard? Someone who only thinks of himself? Yes, I care about the clan, but it still wasn’t enough, was it? I still lost all our money, dragged our name through the dirt, nearly ended up in debt to the Skyblade Clan, something I would have regretted every day of my goddamn life, if not for Astrid sweeping in and saving the day. She did that, not me. She found a way to buy time so I could figure this mess out, something I was doing until you knocked on my door three fucking days ago!”
Whoa. Information overload. Latching onto the comment that stung the most, I rounded on him, jabbing a finger into his chest and invading his air space. “You are not worthless, and if I ever hear you dismiss yourself like that again, I’ll…” I racked my brain for a suitable punishment, “I’ll pin you down and twist your balls until you say sorry.” Okay, not the most unique threat, but men were … attached to their crown jewels.
He stared at me, as if afraid to blink in case I made good on my threat. “Are you finished?”
“No,” I muttered, but the steam was evaporating as quickly as it had boiled over. I sucked at staying mad; I wasn’t naturally a volatile person.
“Good. You’re ferocious when you’re pissed, aren’t you?” Still eyeing me carefully, he offered me his glass.
