“Yeah. You?”
“Confused,” I answered. “But fine.”
“Same.”
I found a packet of super-strong ibuprofen. As much resistance as my body boasted because of my sacred blood, headaches weren’t off the menu.
“Crystal shades, eh?” I said, fetching a bottle of water from the huge fridge.
“The fragments have been taken to the High Coven’s lab,” he answered, his tone as cold as Blue Orchard snow.
“Cool.” After I gulped down the pills, I told him about my trip to the fae woman’s domain.
He swigged his beer, sliding his free hand into his pocket.
“Fucked up,” I added. “Seriously fucked up.”
Ollie nodded slowly, his gaze kind of withering. “Just like everything else.”
An awkward atmosphere hung like cobwebs around us.
I rubbed the back of my neck, the pain in my head increasing. “I’m hitting the shower and then I’ll be back to talk some more about this.”
He put the beer down. “My mum will fill me in tomorrow.”
I stepped forward. “You’re not staying for the meeting?”
“Nope.” He moved toward the door. “I’m glad you’re alright, Isaac.”
And just like that, he left me alone to wonder, yet again, why he seemed to hate me so much. He never gave Riley icy looks, never treated anyone else in this mansion with the same indifference.
Whatever. That was his problem. I’d done nothing deliberately to piss him off. At least, I didn’t think so. Anyway, I wasn’t about to start spiraling over the guy. Hard pass to overanalyzing every detail and obsessing over someone like him. Why waste my energy? Sometimes you met people you didn’t gel with in life. You can’t like everyone, and you certainly can’t please everyone. A cursory glance at some of the comments on my social media pages was evidence enough.
I went to my room.
Under the hot spray of the shower, I began to feel better. The tension in my body unknit, the force of the water pressure on my head chasing away some of the ache. I allowed myself to be calm, centering my mind into a zone of peace. The Brambles had beenteaching Riley and me about meditation. A useful tool for witches like us, helping to pull me up from pits of rage. Yoga did too, which I’d practiced for years.
Two of my biggest flaws were pride and impatience. Actually, make that three things when you threw in stubbornness. Those negative traits gave me the reputation of being a bit of a diva, which was only a tad true. Yes, I could be difficult at times, but only when I came up against idiots fucking me about. I wouldn’t stand for half-stepping in anything—I was a massive perfectionist who wanted every part of my work to be at a gold-star level.
And what was so wrong with that? If it made me difficult, so what? At the end of the day, who got the brunt of any backlash if things went wrong? Oh, yes. Me.
I lathered shampoo into my hair, scrubbing the touch of the fae woman away.
Look at me now, though. Failing at my career, neglecting my agent, going beyond half-stepping. What seemed important before now took a back seat in a stretch limo. Not that I wanted to lose my career. I loved my job and all the opportunities it’d given me. But my priorities had changed.
Massively.
Ugh. My mind was about as empty as a bustling ant colony. I finished showering, dried off, and slipped into something comfortable—my favorite pair of navy Prada sweatpants complete with matching sweater.
Time to discuss the bullshit of the night. Goodness me, what a lot to untangle.
I hurried down the stairs, bumping into Ollie again at the bottom.
“Oh!” I squeaked, bouncing back up a step. “What are you…” I swallowed a nervous ball, my cheeks heating. “What are you still doing here?”
With his shirt now closed, he was back in witchcop mode. He wore his blue beret at a jaunty angle, adding to his sex appeal, the smell of his citrusy cologne stirring every lusty beast inside me.
Can you please get a grip?
