Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(6)

Sage stepped inside, the loud conversations lowering to mumbles as she began her walk down the middle of the office floor, straight for him. He tried to remain unmoved despite the purpose in her eyes as her hips swayed, and she looked directly at him for the first time in thirteen and a half days.

He folded his arms and leaned against the doorway, waiting, watching, trying for indifference. Meeting the challenge in her eyes with one of his own. Only wavering when Trystan noticed a few gazes from other workers—lingering on the way Sage’s pants clung to her or the way her hands clasped behind her back, on how she thrust her chest up at a soul-rendering angle, or on the small curl of her red lips as she was stopped by one of his finance men. She politely pushed past him when he leered down and whispered something in her ear that made her cheeks pink. It was only a flash of discomfort as she continued past the man.

That was enough.

Finally, he thought maniacally. An excuse to burn every arithmetic book within a ten-mile radius.

Sage’s laugh knocked through Trystan’s inner tirade as she bumped her hip against the finance worker gently. Too gently, if you asked Trystan. She needed to use more force…or a pickax.

Trystan made a note to have one left in her office later with a blue bow on it.

Keeping his distance from her didn’t mean he couldn’t gift her with weapons—that shouldn’t tempt fate or destiny or whatever fucking force decided that together they would be each other’s downfall and undoing.

As if she sensed the turmoil of his thoughts, Sage’s light eyes lifted back to Trystan’s. His practiced stoicism was well in place, if the answering ice in her expression was any indication. She hated when he was emotionless. Little did she know, beneath the blank expression was so much feeling it was practically coming out his ears. It was horrid.

She stopped in front of Trystan, too close for comfort, too close for breath. “Good morning, sir.” Her curls were pinned back with little strands left out, teasing the sides of her face.

She hadn’t addressed him directly in a fortnight, and those three words had his black heart lodged in his throat.

“Good morning, Sage.” Trystan swallowed, almost wincing at the hoarseness of his voice.

Without standing on ceremony, she thrust a small page of notes wrapped in brown thread against his chest. It was then he saw why her hands had been clasped behind her back: it wasn’t simply to torture his senses. At least, that was what Trystan inferred, looking down at her gentle fingers with more curiosity than horror.

“I’ll ask about these documents you presented me with, Sage, but first I think I’d rather address the giant in the room.”

Gods help him, she looked confused as her brow furrowed and her nose scrunched. “What?”

“Your hands,” Trystan said wryly, gesturing at them. His patience was walking a tightrope with no net below.

Surely she knows it is obvious.

Sage looked down, her suddenly white cheeks the only indication of something amiss.

“What about them?”

Trystan’s eyebrows shot toward his forehead. “Is there any particular reason?” He scrubbed a hand down his chin.

“For what?”

“That they’re covered in blood?”





Chapter 3


Evie


In all honesty, Evie’d had more than enough time to wash the blood from her hands before returning to the manor.

But that would not have been half as satisfying as looking her boss in the eyes for the first time in two weeks, her expression even-keeled as he gazed upon her with alarm and concern, an awkward silence settling between them.

That was fine. Evie was well acquainted with awkward. They were old, dysfunctional friends.

“Oh. This blood?” She made a show of examining her hands, turning her wrists, scanning them from all angles. Her acting was exaggerated, bordering on animated, but the goal wasn’t to fool The Villain.

It was to drive him out of his gourd.

She shrugged, privately relishing the twitch in his eyebrow. Brushing a curl away from her eyes, she tilted her head curiously. “Why do you ask?”

The twitch turned into a full-blown jerk of his head, and she nearly jumped with glee. Oh, how she had missed this—pulling emotional reactions out of him until he looked ready to combust.

Don’t torment the boss, Evie!

Unless you think of a super fun way to do it!

“You’re a menace,” he growled.

She smiled demurely as she dipped into a small curtsy. “How kind of you to notice.”

There was a pause as The Villain took a deep, bracing breath. He was hanging on by a final fraying nerve, and one more push could have him snapping like a twig beneath her boot.

She frowned inwardly to herself. What she was doing…it occurred to her that it was rather cruel.

Her frown turned quickly into a smirk.

This charming development in her character was enough to assuage her guilt at purposefully causing discomfort. Usually when she did it, it was an accident, one she made an honest attempt to rectify. Now it was as if the leash on her brain had been untied, and her mouth was all too happy to accommodate her new level of freedom.

This two-week reprieve was kind enough of her. The Villain’s break was over, as was his peace.

With a ragged sigh and locks of his unshorn hair falling into his face, he looked at her with world-weary impatience.