Page 79 of Beyond the Cottage

She thumped her elbow on the bar and put her chin in her hand.

She’d need to look for a new job fast. She lived cheap and had savings, but it would only go so far. The most difficult part would be finding something that gave her enough time to keep hunting, plus enough income to foot the costs. Jobs like that weren’t easy to come by, especially when one’s resume consisted of a single, highly niche field.

Nat would probably be willing to embellish her work history, but hell if she’d ask him. She’d clearly misjudged their relationship. They’d been friends since she was practically a kid, yet he didn’t respect her enough to fire her in person. For all Ansel’s faults, he would never abandon her like this. If anything, she was going to need a crowbar to pry him off when they got to the capital. He’d asked her to punish him, to use him, rather than leave him.

She dropped her forehead to the bar. She was supposed to beforgettingher shit day.

Gretta polished off her drink and ordered another.

Chapter 29

The parlor door banged open, and Ansel lowered his book. He lay on the chaise with his feet hanging off the end, since the damn thing was little more than doll furniture. He sat up and turned on another gilded lamp.

Gretta hunched in the doorway, clumsily unlacing a boot. When it came off, she stumble-spun to shut the door.

Ansel removed his spectacles and set them aside. “Hey.”

“Sorry,” she loudly whispered. Her backside landed in an armchair as she attacked her other boot.

He glanced at the clock. Philip had retreated to his chamber hours ago, and Ansel had settled in to read shortly after. He’d worried when she didn’t return but knew she wouldn’t care to have him check on her.

Now he wished he’d done it anyway.

She yanked off the second boot and braced a hand on the floor to keep from spilling from the chair. Her legs crossed awkwardly as she stood. Ansel leapt to steady her. She smelled so strongly of liquor, he wondered if he’d get a contact buzz.

“Sorry,” she repeated. “I’ll be quiet.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. Are you alright?”

“Fine.” She swayed, and he grabbed her arm. “Everything’s fine. Got fired, but…it’s fine.”

“Philipfiredyou?”

“Nat told him to. I was sick of them, anyway.”

She seemed to get her bearings, so he let her go. Instead of heading for her room, she slumped into the chair again and dropped her forehead to her palm. Waves of hair had escaped the pins and ribbon, falling in a silky veil around her face.

Ansel crouched at her feet. “What happened?”

“Said I’m undisciplined,” she slurred. “And a pigheaded asshole. It’s only brandy though, I’m fine.”

“Philip called you an asshole?” He’d gut the prick with his own knife.

“Dozen madder,” she yawned. “I’ll get a diffrin job.”

Ansel didn’t follow any of this. Why would the senator fire her the day after she found Isobel?

There was no point in pressing about it now. Gretta’s eyes drooped, and her chin fell to her chest. Would she rather be carried to bed or have that cloaked fuck discover her like this in the morning?

It wasn’t much of a dilemma. Whatever had happened at dinner, he’d be damned before he gave Philip any further reason to insult her. Living with his father and Jonas had given Ansel plenty of experience handling the inebriated.

He cupped her chin and lightly shook her shoulder. “Wake up, Gret.”

Her eyes opened, darting around the room. “What?”

“Time for bed.”

Focusing, she planted her hands on the armrests and pushed out of the chair. He helped her stand.

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