Page 77 of Beyond the Cottage

“Okay…” So she was terrible at reading men. Astonishing, truly. “Good.”

He shook his head as though she’d argued with him. “I mean crush is an inadequate word. I don’t know what the right one is, but my feelings have evolved since we were children. Getting to know you again has intensified them.”

Her head jerked. Hearing him say it out loud hit differently than assuming it.

He continued. “Those kind of feelings don’t matter because I fucked up any chance you could share them. I know it, I accept it. But I want the chance to earn your friendship back.”

She closed her eyes because she suddenly couldn’t handle looking at him. When she turned from him, his face ducked to follow hers.

“If that isn’t possible,” he said, “tell me you’ll keep me around to punish me or to use me, I don’t care. I’d gladly take it because I can’t go without you in my life again.”

Her emotions exploded, spilling like marbles across the floor.

Why did he have to keepsayingshit like that? It was messing with her head. She would not let it get to her heart.

She stood. “Are you finished?”

“Yes.”

Immediately, she came up with several perfect things to say, all of them clever and cruel. She took a breath, ready to lay into him.

What came out was a shaky, “I have to meet Philip.”

Chapter 28

The dining car teemed with passengers chatting over plates of food and glasses of wine. More than a few eyebrows lifted when Gretta clattered in and almost collided with a server.

She steadied the man’s tray before any dishes fell off. “Sorry. But since I’ve got you here, I’ll have a whiskey double.”

The cash she set on the tray improved his demeanor. He briskly resumed his path through the car as Gretta noticed Philip at a table in the corner. She dropped into the chair across from him.

A plate full of crumbs sat between them. He hadn’t waited for her, but that was fine. Tonight, her dinner would come in a glass.

Philip lowered his newspaper. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing.” The server deposited her drink, and she ordered a second one, tipping him for his speed. She took a healthy swallow, unsure how she’d survived the past few days without liquor to soothe her. “What do you want to talk about?”

Philip folded the paper and tossed it aside. “I’d hoped to have this conversation with you sober, but seeing how rare an occasion that is these days, I’ll jump right in. Nat’s taking you off the field.”

Gretta’s glass stopped at her lips. “What?”

“The swamp witch was your final hunt. You’re reassigned, effective immediately.”

The liquor in her stomach churned, threatening to come up. The conversation with Ansel had depleted her, leaving no room whatsoever for this bullshit. “Hold on. Nat sent you here tofireme?”

“You’re not fired, you’re reassigned.”

“Since when?”

“Since that lust witch’s dead body made national papers. I told you, people are sniffing around.”

They’d been sitting on this for weeks, then? All the time she’d spent in Antrelle, working, sweating, getting kidnapped—they’d been planning to can her the whole time? “She had teenagers chained in her basement!”

“Regardless. You’ve left too many corpses in your wake, and it’s jeopardized all of us. Especially Nat. You can’t seem to stop yourself, so he’s doing it for you.”

She finished her drink in one swallow and thunked the glass on the table. “I think you’re full of shit. Nat would tell me himself if it was true.”

“He’ll discuss it with you when we reach the capital. This conversation is a professional courtesy.”

---