Page 19 of Even Robots Die (Even Ever After #3)

Brice

I t’s been three days since I delivered the machine to Florentine’s room and I’ve stayed away all those days.

I didn’t even join her at breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

I let her be.

I’ve had the urge to go, but I restrained myself.

She’s been working all those days from what Daniel and Charles are reporting to me, and I don’t want to change that.

We agreed on terms that I can uphold, but if I end up in the same room as her, I don’t think I’ll be able to contain myself.

I’m going to want to prod and poke at her mental limits just to see that beautiful shade of red on her cheeks again.

I might not feel much lately, but I’m not stupid either.

She’s my only chance at getting my brain back to normal.

And I can’t jeopardize that. Not even to feel something again.

I have to remind myself multiple times a day that if she can do what I need, if she can reverse Michael’s treatment of my brain, then I’ll be feeling a whole lot of emotions again.

Way more than that little rush of pride I have when I make her mad.

I can’t fold now or I might end up with nothing at all.

You’ll still be able to annoy her, the devil on my shoulder tells me.

“She asked to see you,” Charles interrupts my thought as he enters the room I’ve turned into my office since we arrived in the castle. It’s in the same corridor as what she called the ‘mad scientist lab’ and next to the new one that should be finished by tomorrow evening.

“Did she say why?” I ask him.

If it’s about the lab, I might manage to avoid seeing her.

“No, she refused to say,” Charles answers.

Didn’t you want to annoy her just a few seconds ago? That little voice whispers in my mind again.

Am I talking to myself now?

“I’ll go see her later today,” I tell him with a sigh.

“I’m not sure she’ll wait that long,” he answers me with a small smile that tells me he’s sorry to announce this.

I raise an eyebrow at his words.

“She’s already at the door, isn’t she?”

“Yep, I’m here,” Florentine says as she passes her head through the door frame. “I guess now will do.”

It’s not a question, and yet it feels like one. It sounds like she has to make violence upon herself to assert herself, as if doubt is part of her everyday life. Yet, I have trouble seeing her doubting herself.

Maybe that’s because I only ever met her in work related conditions. Not that I was working, but she was.

I’ve been meeting her mainly with brain problems. At least the first time around, it wasn’t about my own brain.

Now it makes it all the more important that I stay away from her.

When the only thing I like lately is making her mad, I don’t see this going where I need to.

“What do you want?” I ask her as I see Charles slip away from the room.

Wise man.

“Well hello to you, too,” Florentine sasses me and I feel a small spark of excitement down my neck. “Since you’re so polite, I will be the same. I need a deposit. I still agree to fix your evil shock machine, but I won’t work on it anymore if I don’t get at least ten percent of what we agreed.”

She crosses her arms under her breasts in what looks to be her go-to move when she’s uncomfortable.

How do I know?

Because I might not be stupid to the point of angering her any time I can, but you remember that devilish voice that whispers into my ear lately? Yes, the exact same voice that tells me to make her mad. That one.

Let’s say I followed the less harmful version of its sweet whispers and I might have wandered in my bat form a bit more than usual.

It’s not my fault Florentine keeps leaving her door open.

It might be my fault I keep sneaking into her room when that happens, though. But her room is right across from mine, and as you might know, bats have excellent hearing, so it makes it so much easier to know exactly when I need to shift.

I have to remember to thank whoever decided to give her the room across from mine.

Oh.

Wait.

That was me.

“I thought you would have already taken it from my bank account,” I answer her, and she stops short on her way to my desk.

“W-what?” she stutters.

She didn’t see that one coming, obviously, because it takes a few seconds before she regains her composure.

“I gave you my bank ID. I’m surprised you didn’t take what you need already,” I answer truthfully.

And really, I’m surprised. I don’t mean to say that I expected her to rob me—not that it would be the full extent of my money since I set up a specific bank account for her to use—but I expected her to spend way more than she has so far.

I’ ve seen the orders she placed, I’ve seen the things arrive, and I’ve seen her use every single tool—yes, remember, sneaky stalker bat—so I know she’s ordering only what she immediately uses. It might help that everything arrives in under two hours and she doesn’t have to order in advance.

But I also know her father, and I would be ashamed to say—if I could feel shame—that I know he would certainly spend more than what is necessary for his job for sure, and I was expecting her to be the same.

But it’s like Florentine surprises me every day.

And the more I spy on her, the more I think that she’s very, very different from her father.

And this has nothing to do with the way she looks, because so far I haven't taken a peek at her undressed.

I’ve been tempted, but something inside of me held me back.

“Is that all?” I ask her in a dismissive tone that makes her close her fists.

Oh, how far can you go today?

“Why are you like that?” Florentine asks, and it’s my turn to be at a loss for words.

I have no clue what she means. I'm not about to let it show on my face like her, though.

“Like what?” I ask in a bored tone.

“An ass,” she says between her teeth and I can see the red slowly spreading up her cheeks.

“I’m only pragmatic. I don’t know your mother, but I know your father. And the Stéphane Beaumont that I know wouldn’t have thought twice and would have taken what he needed on that account.” I say with a shrug.

I can see the exact moment I said something that doesn’t sit well with Florentine. Her mouth closes and the muscle of her right cheek clenches with the way her jaw squeezes. Her hands open and close again before she hits the wood of my desk.

“I’m not my father, you dipshit! And as far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a mother. We weren’t her priority, so she could be dead for all I know. It’s not my problem.”

Her eyes lit up with the strength of those words and I can see how bright the spark of her rage is.

I want her rage.

From now on, her rage belongs to me.

She’s mine, and I’ll keep blowing on the spark until she sets the world on fire.