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And yet, she couldn’t help herself.

“Careful, Matthew,” she began. “Your Malfoy is showing.”

She didn’t know about Sir Cadogan in Harry Potter. But she certainly remembered the antagonist.

To her sheer delight, she managed to coax a few snickers from the group. Matthew, however, turned a deep, delicious red. Like an apple ripe for the picking.

“Now,” she said, “if no one else has any questions, I’ll excuse you all to go about your work, take some more time to read through your packets, and prepare a bit for when we meet individually. Sound good?”

Half of them nodded, and the other half stared at their papers still with bewildered stares. Matthew merely kept his gaze on her.

“Thank you all again for coming,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”

She gave a nod, then the group stood as one and filed toward the door.

Winnie rolled out the tension from her neck the moment their eyes left her, and she stacked her belongings together before noting the others speaking with Matthew as they left the room.

He nodded at them reassuringly, worried brows across the mark, and Winnie shook her head, her teeth clenched. There they all were, seeking reassurance from their boss after the big, bad Winnie shook up their lives.

This faire, the festival—whatever the heck they all wanted to call it—was never going to work if he continued to undermine her. They needed to know she was in charge now, and Matthew needed to be the one to tell them. Otherwise, who knew what revolution would be on her hands?

Honestly, as the American, wasn’t she the one who was supposed to revolt?

She cleared her throat. “Matthew?”

All eyes fell on her, a few people darting out the door to no doubt avoid being caught in the crossfire.

“Yes, Miss Knox?” he asked.

How she hated that. It was as if he was trying to elevate her above the others. “Can I speak with you for a minute? Alone?”

Matthew audibly sighed, and the others left him with hesitant glances as he rejoined her at the front of the room.

“You beckoned,” he said, hands behind his back.

His hair wasn’t pulled into a bun today. Instead, it looked even more like the knights in the movies. Long enough to reach his ears, curly, unkempt—yet perfectly appealing.

Winnie knew she ought to keep their conversation civil—to speak with him in a light, teasing manner as she had the day before or to be as calm and polite as she’d been throughout the meeting.

However, her irritation over his lack of respect had mounted all morning, and frankly, she was over it.

“You can drop the act, okay?” she said, her lips void of any smile as she folded her arms across her chest. “I know you’re upset with me for being here and for the changes I’ve made. But this is our reality now, so we may as well stop fighting each other on everything, or it’s going to be a very long, very miserable few weeks for us both.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “Or I just need to outwait you.”

Good grief. The man was utterly impossible.

Instead of rising to his bait again, however, Winnie raised her chin. She was the consultant. It was her responsibility to put out the fires that she’d started—whether she’d done so inadvertently or not. And she knew exactly how to do just that.

“I’m sorry,” she stated.

Matthew narrowed his eyes, obviously trying to decipher if she was lying or not.

She didn’t blame him for being suspicious. Not when they’d argued only days before about her refusing to say sorry for words she believed were justified. While she still felt the same way, she also knew that nothing softened a person more than a heartfelt, truth-based, excuseless apology.

And Matthew needed a little softening.

“Really,” she said. “I’m sorry about all of this. I’m sorry that your dad gave me this job. I’m sorry that I accepted it. And I’m sorry that you now have to work with me, a tasteless American who likes A Knight’s Tale, has never read Harry Potter, and could not care less about getting her centuries correct.”