Page 172 of Mayhem and Minnie

Although… Thinking about it, maybe it’s a good thing I’m leaving. Getting into a heated argument with her will only lead to one outcome—blue balls. And I’ve had enough time to realize she’s dead serious about the no touching before marriage rule.

I sigh.

Alas, a man can dream, since dreams are all I’ll be entertaining until I put that blasted ring on her finger.

“You’re serious?” Her voice is tinged with skepticism as she takes a step forward, getting too close to me.

Damn, Minnie. Can’t you see I’m suffering over here? A mere whiff of her sweet scent and I’m already sweating.

“Can we just forget that? It’s embarrassing. Hear that, creatures and mummies…” I let out a dry laugh.

She stares at me unblinkingly.

Despite her diminutive stature, she can be quite scary.

Scary hot.

Stop it, Marlowe!

It’s not the time to think about how hot she is, or how close, or how good she smells, or how good her lips must taste…

Fucking hell!

I take a step back and clear my throat.

“I’ll be back shortly,” I repeat and move to leave.

To my surprise, she doesn’t stop me again. She’s rooted to the spot, her eyes on me.

When I get to my driveway, a rental car is waiting for me. I let out a sigh of relief when Minnie doesn’t follow me and I plug in the coordinates for the meeting.

It takes me some twenty minutes to get to the meeting location.

To my surprise, it’s a legit office in an old brownstone with a huge logo on top of the building: Sarah Jade Potions.

Interesting.

Perhaps witchcraft is not as rare as I might have previously believed, nor as controversial seeing that this woman is flaunting it publicly.

Alas, we’re not in the seventeenth century for them to warrant persecution.

Parking my car, I go to the main door and ring the bell.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Marlowe Spencer-Astor. We’ve spoken via email.”

A few moments pass before I hear movement on the other side.

Bolts and locks turn, at least five that I can count—odd. Then the door finally opens.

Sarah Jade is a woman in her sixties with white hair and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Initially, she’s all smiles as she greets me. But as she gets a good look at me, a sour expression appears on her face.

“I’m sorry, I cannot help you,” she mutters, ready to close the door in my face.

I slide my foot forward to stop the door from closing.

“Why? You said you’d help me when we talked,” I say slowly, my attention on her to see what’s brought on this sudden change in behavior.

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