Page 32 of Promise of Punishment

Did she quit working for Lachlan and Emery?

I texted Camila that I wanted to talk to Fable in private. She said she handled it and that Fable is going to her room to change. When I asked which room, she blew me off with her classic I have it under control response. The problem is I don’t. She’ll want to know why I’m making this personal. I’ll deal with her later.

I burst through the door to Fable’s room and close it. She wasn’t in the long hallway, but she’s little so it would take her more time to get here. I also used a secret short-cut so I could have the element of surprise.

I still don’t know what is going on in her life or why William appears to have lied to me, but I’m confident Felix will dig up what I want soon enough.

The first thing I notice is the room is impeccably neat, just like her studio. I can’t stand clutter or disarray either, and like how we have that in common. The second thing I notice is her furball pet, Bear, asleep on a blue cat-bed under a chair near the window. She brought the cat here? I suppose leaving it alone for the weekend wouldn’t have been okay, but then what do I know about cats? This would not be acceptable if it were anyone else or any other cat. Its name alone has me softening, which angers me even more.

A small bag rests on the adjacent chair with a pair of tiny sneakers tucked underneath. The faint scents of jasmine and vanilla linger in the unexpectedly nice room. I’ve only ever been in Camila’s suite. The size is grand, as is the house, but I assumed hers was designed nicely because she runs the place for me. While the rooms aren’t nearly as luxurious as the ones for the Lords or the guests, she put care into these. That’s one of the many great things about Camila. She’s thoughtful. She’s the perfect person for this job, and the perfect bedmate for when I’m here, but my feelings don’t go beyond that—something she’s well aware of.

Fable, on the other hand, stirs emotions in me that make me feel out of control. I don’t like it. I don’t like how her scent triggers memories that put me right back in that garden and shed.

I shove my hands under my arms to hide my fists and wait. A moment later, the door opens.

A messy and fuming, but no less stunning, Fable enters the room. She sees me and halts. Fear devours the anger in her citrine eyes. My aggravation rises even higher, and my lips press together.

“Who do you know here?” I demand in a Scottish accent. Mimicking Sinclair and Rory is something I do often to throw off the guests. It’s easier than trying to fake being American. I don’t want to use my English accent and risk Fable figuring out who I am, even though we haven’t spoken in over half a decade.

Her plump bottom lip drops like she’s about to say something, but no words come out of her mouth.

“We don’t post jobs online. You have to know someone to work here. So I’ll ask again, who do you know?” Like before, I roll my Rs, imitating a Scotsman brilliantly.

She shakes her head. “Not if it’s going to get someone in trouble. I am truly sorry for what happened and take full responsibility, but I won’t drag anyone else into this.”

The nerve! “Are you actually refusing to answer me?” My English accent almost slips out in my anger, pissing me off even more. I step closer, dwarfing her with my height.

She tilts her head back to maintain my gaze, so tiny yet brave enough to stand her ground. “I won’t get anyone in trouble.”

“Even if it means losing your job?”

She hesitates and, for a brief moment, I see the concern she’s hiding so well. “Even then.”

This from the girl who betrayed me to my father? Could be guilt-driven. A behavior she adopted after screwing me over.

The side of me that demands control in all things wants to say, “Fine. You’re done here.” If it were anyone else, I would. Hell, if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t be here.

She keeps her gaze on the mesh concealing my eyes. Her throat moves with a deep swallow, and I can’t help imagining running my fingers down the honey skin of her neck. The outfit cinches her tiny waist and is short enough to show off her toned legs. How would they feel wrapped around my waist? How would that hair feel in my fist, and that plump bottom lip feel between my teeth?

The platform shoes give her a boost and make her legs look phenomenal, but otherwise do nothing to put her anywhere near my height. And still, it does nothing to diminish my attraction to her. It does the opposite. Makes me want to care for and protect her the way she did for me. I doubt she’d let me.

“What is it you want besides a job?” Why the fuck did I ask that?

She blinks, confused. “I don’t understand.”

I don’t either, little angel.

“I don’t want anyone to get fired.”

Not what I was asking, but I can use it. “Including you?” Say yes.

She hesitates again, then nods. “Including me.” Her nostrils flare like she didn’t want to confess that.

“Are you hoping to be a permanent employee here?” As much as I don’t want to hurt Lachlan or Emery’s staff if they lose her, I don’t care enough to stop chasing the plan I just devised. A plan that could get me into a shitload of trouble and will definitely stir talk here as well as piss off Camila, but a plan I see as the only way to get answers and stop this irrational desire I have to taste her. A desire that formed ever since I saw her in that hallway, all grown up and more beautiful than I remembered.

She lowers her gaze and crosses her arms in front. “Is that possible?”

I almost laugh at the stiffness in her chin. She’s showing submission, but she doesn’t like it one bit, meaning she’s desperate. Why? The only reason could be she thinks her job with Lachlan is jeopardized because of me. Or she plans to leave because of me.