Page 5 of By the Fae

I didn’t need to think about who that would be. “Can I shadow S—”

“No, don’t tell me just yet. I want you to spend a bit of time, an hour or so, with each of them before you decide. After all, you’re going to be working intimately together for the next eight weeks. I want you to really think about who you can benefit from working with.” She cocked an eyebrow at me and flashed an expression I wasn’t sure I understood. “And I’d also like you to consider who might benefit from working with you.”

Forget what I said about August speaking plainly. That was a no-lie-fae-riddle if ever I’d heard one.

There were seven other senior designers besides me. All had offices on the twelfth floor. All were dudes. All painfully attractive. All completely ignored me thus far.

But there was one in particular.

I may or may not have developed a mild crush on. Okay, mild to cripplingly severe.

Seth Calder, a summer fae. Identifiable by his dark skin, dark hair, brown irises ringed in gold, and backwards pointing ears. Glamour speciality: weather manipulation and appearances.

Yeah, they got that bit right.

He was devastating. Everything I’d ever daydreamed my super-hot fae boyfriend would be. Tall, broad, knife-edge cheek bones, chin dimple, devil-may-care week-old stubble. He had yet to acknowledge me, but eight weeks working with him ought to change that. Eight weeks workingintimatelywith him. A shiver of excitement and nerves travelled up my spine.

“I’ve told the boys to expect you at some point this week.” She made a funnyEhhsort of sound. “Some were more receptive than others, shall we say? Let me know your decision on Friday.” She leant back in her chair.

I had so many questions, but I already recognised the dismissal. “Thank you. I’ll be on my way, then.”

“Before you go . . . Some of the lads might not take too kindly to the idea of being shadowed. Especially,” she lowered her voice infinitesimally, “by a human. But you must make sure that you’re sticking your ground. They have a duty to help you. They’ve all been in your position before, all been the new guy. They tend to forget that. Don’t let them get away with being little shits, okay? You give as good as you get. And if they’re still being dicks, you let me know.”

I nodded, already feeling the rising dread. I was no good at sticking my ground, or putting people in their places, or whatever else needed to be done to stop people walking all over me. I was a people pleaser. Categorically shy, conflict averse, introverted. Definitely not the type to stick my ground. Not even the type to ask for what I wanted. Or swear. I didn’t even swear, for custard’s sake. It just felt . . . wrong. Bad. Naughty. I wasn’t naughty. I was so fudging far from naughty.

The door to August’s office closed behind me. I turned my head left and right, looking down the corridor. Seven highly talented and highly intimidating designers also lived on this floor. And I had a decision to pretend to make. I needed to pay each a visit, spend an hour ‘or so’ with each. Learn about their games, learn about their methods, their ethics, about them. I swallowed the uneasiness building in my throat.

I would save Seth until last. For him, I needed to work up the courage.

There was one guy however . . .

If I visited him first, I could get it over and done with. Rip off the plaster. File it away as an hour wasted and move on. Because I absolutely, determinately, unequivocally would not work with him.

No chance in heck.

Chapter 3.

Holly

‘Oread. Oros. Mountain-Nymph. Identifiable by their yellow-golden hair, pale skin, and upwards pointing ears. Lifespan: up to seventeen-hundred years. Glamour speciality: appearances, healing, sexuality. Strengths: generous lovers, highly attuned to natural beauty. Weaknesses: often single-minded, often prejudice against weaker beings.’

That was what my Faecyclopaedia had to say about the first senior designer I visited.

The nameplate outside his office read‘Goldie’. I didn’t know if it was a nickname or his actual name. It was a daft name. A daft name for a horrid man.

I knocked on his door, but the invitation to enter never came. August had forewarned everyone of my visits. They knew to expect me. I knocked again. Still nothing. I took a deep breath, straightened my dungarees, pushed open the door a fraction, and peered inside.

He was there, led on his leather sofa in the centre of the room. Golden-blonde head on one armrest — the one closest to me — and trainer-clad feet propped up on the other. His eyes were closed, one arm behind his head and one hand almost suggestively tucked into the waistband of his retro, wide-legged jeans. The blinds were drawn, the room shrouded in an unnatural darkness. Stuffiness spilled out into the hall.

“Human,” he said by way of greeting, his tone flat, bored even. He didn’t move, didn’t bother to look at me.

Tentatively, I stepped inside and let the door shut behind me. Even though his eyes were closed, I could’ve sworn he rolled them.

“August asked me to spend some time with each of the designers,” I said, removing my cardigan. His office was even too stifling for me. Goldie didn’t respond, so I continued, “Because she wants me to shadow one of you for the next eight weeks.” Still nothing. “So, uh, is now a good time for you? Or should I come back?”

I found my feet carrying me closer to him, until I was standing directly behind his mop of shiny, yellow hair, looking at his upside-down, shuttered, frowning face. It really was unfair how naturally attractive fae were. He had all the typical features that, if they were on someone else, literally anyone else, would have my uterus pining. Cheekbones that could slice through glass. Ruler-straight nose and jaw. Flawless clean-shaven skin. Lips that redefined the word defined, and underneath those tightly locked eyelids, I knew there were the most intense emerald green eyes. He was tall too, though he was currently horizontal, I estimated his height at around six-three-or-four. A whole foot taller than me. And unlike most of the other guys at work, I’d never seen him shirtless. Odd, given what I now know about fae. Yet, I highly suspected that under his plain black, long-sleeved t-shirt was a cornucopia of mus—

“Why are you staring at me, human?”

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