“Right. You’re right. I should…go. I’m going to go. Good day.”
I rush out of the break room as fast as I can, resisting my desire to shift into my unseelie form so I can scamper off on four paws. Instead, I find solace by closing the break room door, placing some tangible divide between me and the man who just rejected me. Pressing myself against the wall beside the doorframe, I cover my face in my hands. I only hope no one is looking down this hallway from the editorial floor. I can’t bear to face a soul right now. The only thing that could make this worse is if Brad Folger ends his tea break early and finds me out here. As soon as I gather my bearings and regain the strength in my legs, I’m running back to the studio.
Araminta’s laughter circles my head. “That was so embarrassing.”
I’m about to utter a groan of agreement when a male voice shatters my every thought. “Tell me about it.”
Dropping my hands, I turn to find a figure leaning against the wall on the other side of the doorway.
I may have thought the only thing that could make this situation worse was if Brad emerged from the break room, but I was wrong.
Thisis the worst thing that could happen.
Because the last person I would have wanted to witness my humiliation is Monty Phillips.
“Hello, Daffy Dear,” he says with his most annoying grin, one that puts a dimple on full display. I blink, willing for him to disappear, for this all to be some awful hallucination, but his presence only grows more certain. My eyes sweep over him, taking in his navy suit, his loosened cravat, and the open collar of his shirt that reveals the base of his throat. His gray eyes glitter with mischief while his pale blond hair settles in loose messy curls around his face. He leans against the wall with an air of indifference, ankles crossed, one shoulder propped against the door frame. He holds a stack of papers under one arm and flips an unlit cigarillo between his fingers with his free hand—a habit I know well.
For a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. That we’re back where we were two years ago, managing The Heartbeats Tour together and forging a bond that felt at least a little like friendship.
My heart stutters and then starts into a stampede, emotions clashing within me. I don’t know what to process first. My embarrassment over what he just witnessed? My anger that he has the audacity to stand there so casually, as if we haven’t been estranged for almost a year? Or that tiny spark of excitement that leaps at seeing him again?
“What the hell are you doing here?” I snap. I’m surprised at how quickly the words leave my lips. There’s no thought. No need to rehearse the right thing to say. Probably because I’ve never worried about that with Monty.
His dimple deepens as a corner of his mouth lifts higher. “There’s that charming little spitfire I remember. Pray tell, who was that awkward woman in the break room just now?”
I shrink down. “Did you see the whole thing?”
“Every filthy inch.”
“Why do you have to put it that way?”
He chuckles. “I’ve never seen you like that.”
I doubt that’s entirely true. While I may not have trouble being myself around him, he’s witnessed a handful of uncomfortable moments. Maybe they were only uncomfortable for me.
“She was soooo awkward, wasn’t she?” Araminta says.
He tilts his head at the sprite. “Who is this? A new hire?”
“A pest,” I mutter.
Araminta curtsies in midair. “Lady Araminta of the Shining Waters. I’m Daphne’s best friend.”
Monty puts a hand to his chest as his eyes lock back on me. “Ouch, I see you’ve already replaced me, Daffy Dear.”
His words set off some dark sharp part of me. The hunter. The killer. The tiny beast with deceptively sharp teeth. It chews up every tangled emotion brewing inside me until only anger remains. I scoff. “Were you ever my friend?”
The hand that has been flipping his cigarillo goes still and his grin falters.
The sight reminds me of a small rodent catching the first glimpse of the shadow in the underbrush. The predator stalking its prey. It emboldens me. “I don’t know what kinds of friends you have these days, but mine don’t ignore my offer to catch up and then forget about me for a year, only to show up to laugh at me.” I fold my arms and turn on my heel, echoing the same cold words he said to me all those months ago. “Nice knowing you, Monty. See you around.”
Araminta lets out a low whistle, followed by her tittering laugh. “Wow, she hates you.”
A satisfied grin tugs my lips as I stride down the hall. Is this what it feels like to get the last word in? To be bold and brave and clever? To be?—
“Daph.”
I’m almost at the end of the hall when Monty’s voice roots my feet in place. It’s not merely him saying my name that makes me stop. It’s his serious tone. The edge of desperation in that single syllable. I’m still halfway in hunter mode, my senses attuned to easy prey. Monty’s voice triggers that awareness, urging me to strike the killing blow, but it no longer feels satisfying. Now it only fills me with guilt.
