She shrugged. ‘I might be a squib, but I’m not a weak damsel in distress. I’ve managed perfectly well for more than thirty years.’
He held up his hands. ‘It’s your choice. I thought self-defence classes might be something you could benefit from, but I’m certainly not forcing them on you. It was actually Samantha who suggested them, and they seemed a fair trade-off for more help with my dating technique. But we can come to another arrangement, if you prefer.’
As much as Alexander’s approach unbalanced her, self-defence coaching from a werewolf might be a good idea. Mallory pursed her lips. It would be a distraction from searching for a bellarmine jug; a few days’ break might help her to look at Chester Longchamps’ problem with fresh eyes and she could always instruct Boris to keep searching.
‘No,’ she said aloud. ‘It’s a good idea. I’ll have to make arrangements for my other clients first, but I can come back this afternoon to make a start.’
Something akin to triumph flared in Alexander’s expression. ‘Fabulous,’ he murmured. ‘You can stay in the same guest room until the weekend. It’ll save you time commuting. This is win-win for both of us.’
Chapter
Eleven
By the time Mallory had returned home, showered, packed a small bag with enough clothes to see her till the end of the week and spoken to a sniffy Boris, she felt like a new person.
‘I’m never drinking again,’ she declared.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Okay,’ she conceded, ‘I’m never drinkingwhiskyagain. And I’m certainly never getting that drunk again.’
‘Until the next time you need something from Salty Miller,’ Boris scoffed. ‘It’s not even as if he was any help – meeting him was a total waste of time. And Alan North and Freda Vargas were no use. I’ve spoken to both of them and they can’t help.’
Mallory wasn’t deterred. ‘There will be an empty bellarmine jug somewhere in Coldstream. Several, probably. It’s simply a case of finding one.’ She grinned.
‘I’ll do my best,’ he said dubiously, though his expression suggested his best wouldn’t be good enough.
‘That’s all I can ask.’ Her grin widened. ‘As long as we all do our best, there’s no such thing as failure.’
‘You sound like a motivational slogan hanging on the wall above the fireplace of a twee cottage in the Cotswolds.’
‘Live, laugh, love, Boris.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘There are two client contracts that have almost come to an end. What do you want to do about them while you’re off playing with werewolves?’
‘Oh. Uh…’ Mallory tried to think of anything she needed other than the magical jug. ‘Perhaps one of them could provide coffee? There’s none left in the flat.’
‘Coffee?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s what I need.’
The spriggan clicked his tongue. ‘Anything else?’
‘Nothing’s coming to mind.’
‘What about the Wolf Ball?’
Mallory gave him a blank look. ‘What about it?’
He raised his eyebrows patiently. ‘You’ve agreed to attend it with His Furry Highness. What are you planning to wear?’
She hadn’t given it a moment’s thought until now but she suddenly had an inkling as to what Boris meant. ‘Does Gia Vanderlan happen to be one of those clients who is running out of time?’
He smiled approvingly. ‘Yes. You helped her source black jade last year so she could complete a design for a Fae prince.’
‘I remember. How long is left on her contract?’
‘Twenty days.’ Boris looked at her pointedly.
