“Let’s try this again.” His voice was cold, authoritative. “Who are you?”
“Bryony,” she said at last. “Shall I address you as Maxwell or Mr. Gideon?”
Impertinent baggage. “Mr. Gideon. We are not going to be friends.”
“How do you know?”
Max stopped himself from pointing out that he knew everything that happened between these walls because, clearly, his multi-year streak of controlling and predicting every aspect of his life, his industry, and his surroundings had come to a shockingly abrupt standstill.
He tightened his hold. “Whoareyou?”
“Bryony,” she repeated.
But they both knew such an innocuous name did not come close to answering the question.Allthe questions.
Who the devil was this woman? Why was she in his office? Why was she inbreeches? How did she get here? What the bloody hell was happening?
“You have yet to release me from your iron grip,” she mentioned casually, as if perhaps he had failed to notice that she was still trapped in his arms.
She was reckless. Fearless. Fascinating.
No, he did not like it one bit.
“How did you get in here?” he demanded.
She lifted a shoulder. “The door was unlocked.”
“Bollocks,” he said immediately.
She did not reply.
He glowered at her in consternation.
The door hadnotbeen unlocked. He was certain of it. His staff was far too competent for such irresponsible behavior. They cared about the Cloven Hoof—and keeping their posts—just as passionately as Max did.
Yet what was the alternative? Some chit had happened to stumble across a compatible key in the back alleyway? She’d crawled through the coal chute? Slid down the chimney?
Very well. Someone had failed to lock the door. He would ensure the mistake never happened again.
“What are you doing here?” he growled.
She graced him with an angelic smile. “I adore gambling, which of course led to becoming curious about gaming hells. I figured if one were to tour such an establishment in person, why not choose the best of the bunch?”
Toura gaming hell? He blinked at her bizarre, completely improbable explanation. And yet, something made him suspect her answer was closer to the truth than she wished to let on.
“Why?” he demanded.
“Why not?” She peered up at him from beneath thick, dark lashes. “Because I’m a woman?”
“Because you’re—” Maddening. Unpredictable. Infuriating. Irresistible.
Max snapped his jaw closed and glared at her until he could settle on an appropriate set-down.
“—chaos incarnate,” he finished, infusing his voice with as much disgust and disdain as such anarchy deserved.
She immediately brightened, wide brown eyes sparkling in obvious pleasure. “That is the most delightful thing anyone has ever said to me!”
Max stared at her in disbelief. “I was trying to insult you.”
