Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(108)

“Every resource in the office is at your disposal, Ms. Erring,” the boss said. “Let us know when he wakes up or if you find anything suspicious.” The statement was so solidly delivered that there seemed to be a collective exhale among their group.

The untrained observer would assume the way he commanded his employees was without thought, but Evie knew Trystan Maverine better than most—better than herself, at times. His words of comfort were given without fuss and without flair. They were plain and easy and therefore believable.

Evie’s heart beat faster, in time to his name.

“Thank you, sir. I do wish you hadn’t ordered the rest of the Malevolent Guard on that mission, but I also understand. At least once they return, I’ll have more hands to restrain Fluffy.”

Evie’s blood froze.

Trystan’s every muscle tightened, his dark eyes locking with hers. “Rebecka…” The Villain said, uncharacteristically using the HR woman’s first name.

“Yes, sir?”

Trystan paused and confirmed the white-hot, icy feeling prickling at Evie’s neck.

“I didn’t send the Malevolent Guard on any missions.”





Chapter 67


Evie


Night fell, and so did Evie’s hopes.

“Maybe it’s a misunderstanding,” she suggested as the boss stared out into the distant night sky. “Maybe the lines of communication got blurred.” The rest of the crew had returned to their duties, the ship settling into a comfortable lull as it traveled along the Lilac Sea. The sun’s descent had prompted the crew to light small lanterns around the ship, casting a warm glow over an otherwise dismal situation.

Trystan said nothing, which normally wouldn’t have deterred her. In fact, under the guise of their everyday interactions, Evie would have continued into a babbling session that spilled one or two inappropriate thoughts aloud, but her mind was unusually quiet.

And unusually filled with dread.

After a deep inhale, he addressed her, keeping his eyes on the horizon. “The ship’s cook is baking you a cake.”

She blinked. “A cake?”

He looked at her quizzically. “A birthday cake.”

“Oh.” She paused, rocking back and forth on her heels. “What flavor?”

“Vanilla.”

Her vanilla drop candies. It was one of the most popular flavors when it came to sweets, so there was no reason to suspect that was why he’d chosen it. But the way he gave her a sidelong, searching glance…she knew.

Evie reached out and gently squeezed his arm. She swore he flexed. Or tensed. Either way, there were muscles moving in delightful ways beneath her touch, and she was not one to complain about such things. “That was very kind of you, sir.”

“Don’t remind me.” He shuddered like kindness brought a level of disgust his body could not abide. “In any case, as far as birthdays go, this is a dismal one. The least I could do was mask it with something sweet.”

She leaned up to kiss his cheek, and he went so rigid she thought he’d crack right down the middle. “The cake wasn’t necessary—you’re sweet enough.”

“So, you thank me by being offensive?” he responded dryly.

One of the crew members began playing a jaunty tune on his harmonica, and two more followed with strange instruments Evie did not recognize. It was a playful and light melody that made her want to twirl in circles.

Folding her hands behind her back, she gave the boss a sly glance. “Well, if you’re so determined to celebrate my birthday, where is my present?”

He leaned away from her, sensing the danger in her question. But somehow it didn’t stop him from settling into a resigned, amused twinkle in his dark eyes. “Anything within my power.”

“Dance with me,” she whispered, like they were conspiring, like they were in one of their morning meetings planning a way for him to mess with Benedict, something specifically malicious.

The night air was pleasant, the breeze combing through her hair, and she smiled fondly at how content she suddenly felt. A few of the crew members were skipping along to the music, whistling, some already lost in their cups. Evie held up a hand expectantly, pouting ever so slightly.

Her boss hated pouting, she knew. She had once seen him nearly rip the lips right off a Valiant Guard during a torture session. Something about the vulnerability of it, Evie wagered to guess. Or perhaps it was just outward displays of emotion in general that discomfited him. No exceptions.

Except for Evie, of course, considering she had been in the middle of a mental breakdown when they met. He hadn’t hated her hysterics then.

In fact, he had hired her.

She pouted harder and with a blinking upward glance.

He held his ground for approximately—Evie had begun to count—1, 2, 3, 4…

“Little tornado,” he grumbled, taking her hand and tugging her toward the makeshift dance floor. “Chaos demon. Siren.”

“Add accomplice to that,” she said cheekily, smiling wide at his eye twitch. “Two promotions within the month. Happy birthday to me.” She laughed, her hand settling on his shoulder, and then his came to rest lightly on her hip. The touch was a perfectly gentlemanly one, but it made her whole body shiver. His fingers tightened against her waist, holding her like she was a lifeline, and her body heated in response, wanting more, wanting him. Everything in her was softening. “I’m just teasing. I know it was a slip of the tongue.”