Page 30 of Rough Around the Hedges

Bruce sighed and stepped back, pulling the door open properly. “Please come in, Miss Matthews. His Grace is waiting in his office for you.”

“That’s more like the treatment I expect. Good job, Bruce.”

“I get chills every time I have to be nice to you, child,” he replied dryly. “Follow me. I’ll take you there.”

“Why? I know where I’m going.”

He shook his head. “The duke has selected another room to use as his office for the time being. You’ve not been there before, so stop arguing and do as you’re told.”

I huffed as I trudged along after him, clutching my file to my chest. “Of course he has. I bet he’s chosen a room I’ve never been in just to throw me off kilter.”

“This may come as a grand surprise to you, Rose, but not everyone is out to get you.”

“Mm, I have years of school bullying that says otherwise.”

“Weren’tyouthe school bully?”

“If finishing fights makes me a bully, then sure.” I shrugged. “I never threw the first punch, though.”

My mother taught me many things, one of which being the words I’ve lived my life by until now:you don’t start fights, you finish them.

Now, did I have a history of provoking arseholes into throwing the first punch?

Maybe.

I’d never tell.

A girl had to keep some secrets.

It was a part of my feminine charms. Since I didn’t have many of those, I had to work hard on the limited few I was in possession of.

“I remember there being far more victims of your punches than you being punched,” Bruce said.

“That’s because my daddy taught me how to dodge and then break someone’s nose in one hit.” I grinned. “It’s not my fault if the other kids couldn’t hit hard.”

“You’re so hard to argue against. A trait from your mother.”

I fought back a laugh. He was indeed correct—my mother had the gift of being able to verbally demolish anyone who crossed her path. She’d really missed her calling as a politician, to be honest.

There was nobody who could bullshit quite like her.

A fact I knew because I was an adult who, sadly, had to pay attention to the self-serving pricks in politics every now and again. My mother put even those rats to shame, and that was truly saying something.

Bruce sighed and knocked on the door in front of us.

“Yes?” Oliver’s voice echoed from inside.

Bruce pushed the door open and poked his head through the gap. “Your Grace, I have Rose Matthews here for your meeting.”

“Ah, let her in. Would you bring us two cups of tea?”

I poked Bruce’s arm. “Do not bring me tea.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, stepping to the side and holding the door open. “I know how you feel about tea, Rose.”

I nodded my head. “The only good tea is lemon iced tea.”

“With vodka in it.” He finished, then sighed again. “I think I have a headache.”

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