Page 18 of A Fae in Finance
I didn’t stop and flung myself at it. The door didn’t open, but itdidknock the wind out of me as I slammed into it.
“Sahir!” I screamed, banging my fists against the wood. Silence.
I slid to the floor and crawled back toward the bed, sobbing so hard that each ragged breath sent me lurching to the side. When I got there, I pulled the blankets down onto the floor with me, and lay on my side, my face buried in the crook of my arm. The waterfall shower—was it just always running?—poured in a soothing cascade. I drowned it out with my heaving sobs.
I cried until I couldn’t breathe, until my throat and eyes and cheeks all hurt.
The tears wouldn’t stop. I reached for my phone, which had fallen to the floor beside me, but no one I called would be able to help me.
And beneath all of it the rage was building—I hadtrusted themand I shouldn’t have.
I had trusted Jeff, and Jeff hadn’t protected me.
Chapter 4
In Which I Explain My Cat’s Name
I woke up from dreams of a stony riverbank and a bizarrely attractive picnic basket, lavishly appointed with a gingham blanket and gloriously curvaceous woven wicker sides.
My feelings about the picnic basket were so vivid and distressing that it took me a minute to remember where I was. I lay on the floor with a pounding head and dry face. I ground the heels of my palms into my eyes but the pounding didn’t stop. I covered my ears, scowling.
The pounding continued.
This, I realized, was because someone was knocking on the door.
With a groan, I heaved myself upright. I had to pee terribly. “Hello?” I called, my voice hoarse.
“Wake up, Miriam. You should eat before your morning call.”
“I’m awake.” I stalked across the wood floor—still in my sneakers—and yanked the door open. Sahir stood outside, dressed in a gray suit with silver threads. His black hair was pulled back into a small bun at the nape of his neck. In one hand he held a large cat carrier, and on the floor next to him was a suitcase that looked a lot like mine.
His hands were both covered in red scratches, and there was a long thin line down his throat like a claw mark.
I frowned at him, then at the cat carrier.
“What is this?”
“You seemed distraught about the cat, so I found your address in the employee records and brought it here.” His lip curled. “Your cat is very irritated.”
“Maybe because you’re very irritating,” I snapped, and dove for the carrier. I lifted it up, arms shaking. Doctor Kitten was indeed inside, staring at me with the disdain he usually reserved for my neighbor’s dog.
“You are welcome,” Sahir said, his lip curling as he glared with an identical expression of disdain at the back of the carrier. “Now leave the cat here, and change into something clean. We will go to breakfast.”
“He needs food, too.” I went back to the bed, nearly tripping over the nest of sheets on the floor, and opened the carrier to let Doctor Kitten out. He just sat there, staring up at me, breathing hard. I put a hand on his back, feeling the warmth of his fur, shushing him in what I hoped was a calming way.
Sahir inclined his head. “Of course he needs food.”
“And litter.” I glared at Sahir.
Sahir’s dark eyebrows had drawn together over his brown eyes, and he looked like a glowering portrait in a very old house. “Miriam, I brought your cat everything he needs.” He waved his left hand, a languid, too-long gesture, and something shot past me. When I turned around, Doctor Kitten’s food and water bowls sat next to the desk. His litter box was in the corner next to the toilet.
“Now change so we can depart, please,” Sahir said, closing the door.
I started to turn back to the door but stopped halfway, because my suitcase had appeared on the bed next to Doctor Kitten’s carrier, unzipped. I snatched up the shirt on top, not caring what it looked like, and scuttled over to the toilet to pee.
Doctor Kitten followed me and rubbed his head against my calves.
He sat on my foot while I washed my hands and splashed my face with water, and mewled when I slid out from under him.
