“Because, darling, men love a chase. Plus, after having to watch you mope around my house for months on end, I need some entertainment. Let’s get them on their knees and barking like dogs.”
My jaw drops, and she closes my mouth.
“Now, let me show you the art of not giving a fuck.”
“Morticia, what the fuck is this?” I ask, and I push the glitter off my pants.
“It’s the information for the holiday event with the cupids, obviously,” she says with a roll of her eyes as she turns on the espresso machine.
“I don’t remember RSVPing for anything.”
“Obviously. I did it for you.”
I rub the bridge of my nose in frustration. Morticia has been my assistant for centuries, and in all that time, she’d been nothing short of infuriatingly meddlesome. To make matters worse, she’d stopped fearing me after barely a year of working together.
I’d fire her, but no one would be as good as she is at her job.
“And why in the fuck did you RSVP on my behalf for an event in Cupidale?”
She places the demitasse in front of me, and grabs a scone, setting it next to the hot drink.
“You’ve been insufferable since the Love in the Veil mixer. I figured a bit of pink or holiday passion might help you out of this…” She looks me up and down, clearly unimpressed. “Funk,” she says with distaste.
“I’m not in a funk.”
“No?” she says sarcastically, settling into a seat across from me. She crosses her legs, her long, dark nails tapping against the chair.
“No. I’m just as I always am.”
“Mortem, you’ve been desperately pathetic and depressed. As delightful as those feelings are, I don’t think I can work under these conditions.”
I narrow my eyes at her, taking a slow sip of my espresso before placing the cup down with a sharp clink against the saucer.
“What are you saying?”
“Go to the holiday party or I quit.”
“You can’t quit,” I reply sharply.
“Perhaps not in the mortal sense. But I could allow any reaper with a grievance through your office door. I could stop doing my daily tasks and leave them to you. I could leave all correspondence with the interim Head Cupid for you to deal with,” she says in a monotone voice.
“Why do you care so much?” I ask.
She shrugs her shoulders.
“And if I go?”
“Business as usual,” she says easily, with no emotion written on her face.
“No more interfering in my life if I go to the party.”
“Done.”
“You won’t bring up my personal life again.”
“Done.”
I narrow my eyes further at her.
