“If I have to.” It’s not like my red boots will be any better. If anything, they’ll kill me faster.
There has to be a pair of snowshoes around here somewhere. I’d be lucky if I was able to walk a foot in them, much less miles and miles.
“You’ll risk loss of limb and life, and for what? To prove you can do it? To defy me?”
He’s right. He’s not worth getting hypothermia for. I hold onto the hot heat of my anger because I can’t show how hurt I am.
It’s not like I had big holiday plans. Just the usual: lounging around my apartment, cursing my finicky radiator, working on my email, then taking the subway to Rockefeller Center to buy an overpriced hot chocolate and people-watch—the way I used to do with my mom when she was alive.
It’s not fancy, but it was our tradition. And now it’s all I have.
I thought about changing it up this year, but I didn’t realize I wouldn’t have a choice.
And now here’s the Dread Lord, looking smug, like he’s glad I’m stuck here.
“You can’t quit,” he says.
My resolve hardens to titanium.
“I require several months’ notice.” He looks down his nose at me. “Perhaps longer. A few years.”
“I got your notice, right here.” I show him the middle finger of my right hand. I add my left hand, for good measure.That’s right! Double bird, baby!
The Dread Lord’s face is still blank, but his eyes burn like coals. He’s not happy.
“You got it?” I ask sweetly, then stomp away.
I can’t believe he did this to me. Actually, I can. He has no regard for anyone’s feelings but his own.
There was a time after Marty’s funeral that I thought he had a heart. He was kinder for a few months. Almost human. After a particularly grueling weekend where we found a workaround to the new U.S. tariffs, he even thanked and complimented me.
Well, not vocally. But his expression did soften, and he gave me a nod that I took to mean,Well done, Welelsley.
But it didn’t last. This Tuesday, I didn’t read his mind in time to reschedule his personal trainer, and he nearly took my head off.
It doesn’t matter that he’s hot. It doesn’t matter that his insults are better crafted than most people’s compliments. It doesn’t matter that the perks of the job are awesome. I can give up the private chef and unlimited credit at the fashion houses in the Lord Ltd. portfolio. It was nice watching Thrusters games from the owner’s box. My mother was always a Thrusters fan, so when Piers bought the team, it was like a dream come true.
I’m done.
I head in the direction of the kitchen. I need breakfast first, and there’s something labelled “Nantucket pie” in the fridge. I don’t know what that is, but the glazed cranberries on top looked delicious.
I don’t go far because on the way, I find a speakeasy-style room with a full liquor bar. I’m not much of a drinker. I’ve had plenty of opportunities at fancy dinners, galas, and grand openings of this or that museum or opera house, but I’m always working, so I never imbibe.
But I’m a free woman now, so… seventy-five-year-old scotch? Don’t mind if I do.
Before I can find a proper Glencairn glass, the Dread Lord finds me.
The hairs on my neck stand up, but I refuse to turn around and acknowledge him. He calls my name, and his voice is soft, caressing.
Is he trying to charm me? After I flipped him a double bird?
I don’t trust it.
He steps close. The scent of his cologne, along with his body heat, surrounds me. He’s so warm. I close my eyes against this assault on my senses and elbow him in the ribs.
Mistake. His abs are as hard as marble, so all I do is bang my funny bone. “Ow.”
He turns me around, a frown creasing his handsome face. “Are you all right?”
