Page 52 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)

Chapter 52

F lying low to the ground, Gretta wove between squat buildings in the warehouse district. The temperature had turned unseasonably chilly, and the gray sky threatened rain. Men in slickers removed crates from freight carriages, blowing on their hands between trips.

She reached a red brick building with an advertisement for baking powder on the side and landed at its front door. After double checking the address, she pushed inside.

The warehouse had been repurposed into work spaces and art studios. She passed several doors until she reached one whose frosted glass window bore Wallenfang Laboratories crisply painted in gold.

Gretta hesitated, heart pounding. What if he wasn’t there? She’d only come to drop off papers and check out his lab. If he’d decided to avoid her, an assistant could show her around.

Fumbling with the key Nat had sent her, she let herself in.

Ansel paused mid-sentence and looked up from the young man he’d been talking to. When his eyes met hers, all the oxygen blew out the door.

He looked…good. He’d cut his hair, and his chest seemed broader. Apparently, he hadn’t had any trouble eating, after all. Sleep must still elude him, though, because his eyes had dark smudges under them.

To her great disappointment, he wasn’t wearing a suit. His work clothes were rumpled as usual, but they looked new, and his open lab coat was pristine white. A shiny pair of gold spectacles hung from the breast pocket.

The man standing with Ansel rushed forward and took her cloak.

“Miss Fairleaf, I presume!” he said, pumping her hand. His grin displayed sharp vampire fangs. “I’m Emory, Mr. Wallenfang’s assistant.”

“Nice to meet you, Emory.”

“It’s wonderful to put a face to the name. Would you like me to show you around? If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate—”

“I’ve got her.” Ansel came forward. He stopped a distance from Gretta and clasped his hands behind his back. She tried not to think about the last time he’d positioned them that way. “Emory, would you please finish cataloging yesterday’s slides?”

“Of course, sir, right away. A pleasure, Miss Fairleaf, I’m at your disposal.” Emory dipped over her hand. He hung her messenger bag and cloak on a peg and disappeared behind a door.

Gretta smoothed her blouse as Ansel stared at her. Silence fell, stretching for days.

The past two weeks, she’d tried not think about their last conversation, but now it hung in the air like bad perfume. She wasn’t sure which of them wore it, who was at fault. She’d downplayed her feelings for him, falsely believing it would make an impossible decision easier. And he’d been a dick about it.

That didn’t stop her from wanting to pick up his arms and drape them around her.

“He seems like a go-getter,” she said.

“He’s a brilliant chemist.”

She nodded dumbly and glanced around the lab.

Open crates lay scattered across the pine floors, spilling their packaging materials. Woodblock tables held a jumble of equipment, and books had been haphazardly stacked on shelves. The room smelled clean, though. Like fresh paint and floor polish.

“You moved quickly,” she said.

“Senator Grey expedited the process. He owns the building, and it had a vacancy. But yes. I’ve been busy.”

“Me too. It feels good to work again.”

His expression remained neutral, but his eyes burned holes in her.

Face warm, she glanced away. “So…”

“So.”

Would they ever be capable of interacting like normal people? Would he ever talk to her again?

“Um,” she said. “I guess we should get to it.”

He flicked his hand at a relatively uncluttered table. Gretta retrieved her bag and sat on a metal stool, and he took the one kitty-corner. A glass thermometer lay at her elbow. She fiddled with it to occupy her hands.

Ansel’s brow lifted expectantly.

“So,” she repeated, overly bright. “Tell me how you’ve been.” Small talk with him felt strange, but it was better than awkward silence. And simply hearing his voice again filled something empty inside her.

“As I said, busy. Mostly with setting up the lab and hiring. You?”

“Still getting my bearings, since I’m not technically qualified for this job. But I’m learning a lot. You wouldn’t believe how much non-fiction I’ve been reading.” And smut. Lady Lovecock would soon be in tatters.

“You’ve taken to the job well, then. I’m not surprised.”

“I have so far, thanks. Which reminds me.” She pulled a file from her bag and gave it to him. Like a complete twit, she practically swooned when he put on his spectacles.

He flipped through pages. “Schematics?”

“For a bankrupt perfume factory. It needs upgrades, but it’s priced below market and perfect for manufacturing repellent. We can set up a time for you to tour it.”

With a short nod, he skimmed the specs. When he finished, he set them aside and stood. “Have Emory go over my schedule with you before you leave.”

“I was hoping for a tour of the lab.”

Frowning, he checked his watch.

Was he already trying to get rid of her?

“If you’re too busy, Emory can do it,” she said. “I don’t want to keep you from anything.”

“I suppose I can fit it in.”

Despite her best effort to remain professional, Gretta chuckled.

His lips quirked the tiniest bit. “Have I said something amusing?”

“Nope. Fit away.”

He led her to the largest table and explained the equipment he’d purchased. Gretta faked interest in an expensive-looking microscope, bending to peer through the eyepiece. When she came up, Ansel glanced away from her ass.

Her skin heated to an inappropriate degree. He swallowed, and her eyes tracked it, lowering to his shirt’s open top button and the little valley where his throat met his chest.

She was pushing the boundaries of professional behavior, but Nat hadn’t said anything about looking.

She rested her elbows on the table, belatedly recalling what blouse she’d chosen. This time, Ansel didn’t hide where his eyes landed.

“What have you been working on?” she asked.

“I’m still tweaking the repellent. I also intend to develop additional methods of application. Skin creams and powders, most likely.”

“I’ll look into cosmetic partnerships. Someday, you’ll be richer than Nat.”

He shrugged, expression shuttering. Moving away from her, he capped the microscope and stacked some papers. Gretta heard the wrap-it-up music playing.

She grasped at anything to keep the conversation going. “Anyway… What do you think of city life? I imagine it’s been an adjustment.”

“It’s dirty, crowded, and the costs are daylight robbery. Good food, though.”

“Did you try pixish yet?”

“I did. It’s light for my tastes, but I enjoyed it. A new acquaintance turned me on to trollish food, actually.”

Gretta suppressed a frown.

Who had he been dining with? Acquaintance could mean anything; his new barber, an old man from down the street. A lovely woman he picked up at the pub.

“You’re making friends, then?” she asked. As he studied her face, she forced a just making chitchat expression.

He languidly leaned on the table. “I’ve met people.”

“Good for you.” She pushed the words through her tight throat. “Where are you meeting them?”

“Here and there.”

“I’m surprised you have the time.”

He shrugged with a cocky smile. “One makes time when properly incentivized.”

Were her eyes watering? She’d known he’d eventually replace her in his bed, and she’d lost the right to care when she chose the repellent.

But did he have to do it so damn soon ?

Blinking fast, Gretta picked up an open notebook and pretended to read. As she turned a page, he shifted closer.

“My notes,” he said, tone softening. “On magic’s effect on cells. I’m revisiting your idea about publishing.”

“Hm.” She flipped another page, nearly ripping it.

He came up behind her, so close she felt his body heat, so close she scented that dark, comforting whatever-it-was he smelled like.

Reaching around her, he gently took the book from her hands. “Easy. I only have the one copy.”

“Mm-hmm, yep. Sorry.” She spun, her nose an inch from his chest.

They weren’t touching. No rules had been broken. But he took up the whole room, absorbed all the air. To breathe again, she slid to the side, escaping.

“I guess I should get going,” she said, lifting her blouse’s neckline. What the hell had she been thinking when she put it on?

Ansel stood still. Though her eyes were fixed on a chalkboard full of equations, she felt him watching her.

“Gretta.” His voice came out deep. “Look at me.”

Clearing her throat, smoothing her skirt, she looked at him.

He tilted his head. A little furrow appeared between his brows, like he was working something out.

Then, all business, he removed his spectacles and hung them from his pocket. “Would you like to inventory the silver?”

She wanted to get the hell out of there, but she refused to let her emotional hangups keep her from doing her job. “Okay.”

Maintaining his distance, he led her into a sparsely furnished office containing a desk, a chair, and a cabinet-sized safe. He closed the door, clicked the lock, and opened the safe.

“Whoa,” she said when he revealed stacks of silver bars. “We’re going to need better locks. How much is this worth?” She turned to him—and stepped back.

His aloofness was gone . Naked, predatory hunger had replaced it.

He came closer. Startled and exhilarated, she retreated. When her ass hit the desk, he braced his arms on the edge and leaned in to scent her neck, keeping a dust mote of space between them.

Her body came alive. “What are you doing?”

“Not touching you.” His nose drifted higher, but only his breath grazed her.

“We can’t,” she exhaled. “Remember?”

He looked down her low-cut blouse.

“You have to stop.” Please don’t stop! Take it out of my hands and touch me.

He pulled back. “Is that really what you want?”

No! “…Yes.”

He pushed off the table and turned away, breathing deeply. She stayed on the desk, not trusting her legs.

“What are we fucking doing, Gretta?” he asked the wall.

“Um. Working?”

He spun to face her. “Is that what this feels like to you? Because to me, it feels like something else entirely.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m surprised you noticed. What with all the friends you’ve made.”

“I thought you’d be pleased I made a friend or two.”

“I’m pretty sure the term you mean is fuck buddy.” Or girlfriend. Did he have one already?

Cool again, he slipped his hands in his coat pockets. “If memory serves, you gave me leave to seek my pleasures elsewhere. Have you reconsidered?”

“It’s not like I can stop you.”

“ Would you stop me?”

She clenched her jaw.

He lunged forward, slapping his palms down on either side of her. “Would you stop me, Gretta? If I told you a different woman fucked me every night, would you give a shit? Or is this just another of your games?”

Her mouth fell open.

“Answer me!”

“Alright!” she cried. “I’d give a shit! The thought of someone else touching you makes me want to fucking puke . Are you happy?”

His body froze around her. She lifted her chin and gave him her profile.

“I see,” he said. “Thank you for your honesty. In that spirit, I feel I should make my own confession.”

“I don’t want to hear the details. I should go.”

“Do you know what makes me want to puke? The thought of anyone touching me but you.”

Her face whipped to him.

Did that mean he hadn’t fucked anyone else? Or that it had been harder than he expected?

“Allow me to clarify,” he said. “The acquaintances I’ve made are members of the science society. Since you and I parted, the only thing that’s touched me is my own hand when I think about you. I think about you so much, I’m not certain my median nerve will recover.”

Gretta had no idea what a median nerve was, but she caught his gist. “Really?”

“Yes, Miss Fairleaf, really.” He stepped back, shoulders rigid. “Now show me your tits.”