Page 17 of Beyond the Cottage

He eyed her rugged garments and recalled the dagger he’d lifted from her. His industry aside, it was highly unusual for pixies to seek employment outside their colonies, let alone have a job that required weaponry. While her personal details weren’t his concern, she piqued his curiosity.

“I’d think you’d at least consider an additional source of income. In exchange for two weeks of your production, I’m offering fifty percent of the sale price before expenses, plus room and board. Believe me, it will be a small fortune.”

“I don’t care if you offer me the deed to the chancellor’s mansion. My answer ishellno.”

Ansel closed Seven’s book and set it aside. “I understand your reluctance, Miss Hacker, but I urge you to consider my offer logically and free of emotion. This deal benefits us both.” And if she refused, he was fucked.

She tucked her lips between her teeth, restraining them. It lasted all of three seconds. “Piss off, psycho.”

Ansel’s eyes narrowed. He sank back in his chair.

Perhaps a different strategy was in order. He’d rather not resort to outright intimidation, but he wasn’t averse to reminding her of their positions. “You seem to think you have leverage here. I believe I’m the one with the handcuffs.”

“You might have the upper hand now, but you have no idea who’s going to come looking for me.”

Does she have a boyfriend, then? A husband?

Ansel dropped the questions in a mental acid bath. “He won’t find you here. You’d do better to negotiate with me.”

“Lab Coat, I promise you’re going to beg us to hand you to the police.”

“As I said, he won’t find you.”

“Obviously, you don’t know what trolls are capable of.”

“You’re boyfriend is atroll?”

She gave Ansel a puzzled look, and he snapped his mouth shut. Whatever species she favored, it wasn’t anything to him.

“This is pointless,” she said, “and I’m sick of going in circles with you. What happens now?”

Ansel quietly gave it thought. There had to besomeway to gain her cooperation, he just needed time to find it. In any case, their conversation had indeed ceased to be productive.

Cuffs in hand, he rose and rounded the desk. She shot to her feet, putting the chair between them.

“Wrists, Miss Hacker.” He ignored the tightness in his chest.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“My compliments. Wrists.”

“Fuck you, swamp trash.”

Ansel froze, clenching the cuffs.

When her eyes fell to his white knuckles, she brightened. “Have I hurt your feelings? Are youinsecureabout being swamp trash?” The little brat was smiling.

Ansel stood straighter, letting his shoulders broaden. “You have a rather big mouth for someone so diminutive.”

“Testy today. Did you run out of moonshine, or did your sister get tired of fucking you?”

He looked her up and down with a sneer. “Do you need a booster seat at the dinner table, or do you sit on the troll’s lap?”

“My money’s on the moonshine. Not even your sister would fuck you.”

“Give me your goddamn wrists.”

She spat in his face.

---