No, she told the part of herself that wanted to sag against the dresser at those words. Don’t listen to him.
Riley didn’t blame her mom for turning away from curse breaking—mostly she didn’t—but sometimes she wished someone had her back on these assignments. Wished for more guidance, more comfort than the curling pages of Gran’s journal could provide.
She loved curse breaking, critics be damned. But her calling came at a cost. It meant she was alone. Not just here, so far from home, but in life. Always removed. Othered.
It was a cheap shot from the universe, the way Clark looked at her. So handsomely earnest.
“You can’t try to get me fired and then claim to care about my well-being.” If he really gave a damn what happened to her, he wouldn’t have decided his ambitions mattered and hers didn’t.
“Fine.” Clark clenched his jaw. “I knew you’d make everything difficult.”
Ugh. Her blood heated.
“You’re the one who invited yourself into my bedroom!” She hadn’t asked for a fashion consultation any more than she’d asked to have her emotions chewed up and spit out from the moment they’d met. “I’ll have you know that these jeans have survived eight-hour shifts slinging pickleback shots for irate Philadelphia sports fans. That’s right, for the guys who threw snowballs at Santa Claus.”
Clark tilted his head. “Are you saying you’re a bartender?”
Oops. Way to go, Riley. Why not hand him fresh ammunition for his “she’s a fraud” campaign? He would reach for his phone any second now, ready to dial Martin.
“Look.” She folded her arms. “Not that I need to justify anything to you, but the curse-breaking business—not the practice, but the actual charging-people thing—is kind of new for me. And it’s not so lucrative yet. Especially with British jerks trying to get me kicked off assignments.”
Clark lowered his chin, just slightly, in acknowledgment.
“I pick up shifts when I need to, and the bar is actually a great place to find curse-breaking leads. More than one of my clients started as a customer coming to drown their sorrows without realizing their repeated problems had supernatural origins. I’m starting to build a pretty robust referral network.”
“I see,” he said, but his dark brows drew together. “Actually, no. I don’t. You’re obviously enterprising. Why would you place your bet on curse breaking?”
Right. Her choice must seem silly and shortsighted to him.
But the answer to his question was complicated, messy.
Part of Riley pursued curse breaking to honor the Rhodes women who raised her—alone—with limited means and without the luxury of a safety net to fall back on. Another part wanted to help people, to protect them, give them a path to healing.
Some of the individuals she worked with suffered the consequences of a curse for years while well-meaning friends and family told them their experiences came down to nothing more than coincidence or chance. When she took their fears at face value, Riley saw in their eyes, their posture, that they were grateful simply to be believed.
But there was a last part, one she could only admit to herself on dark days—a selfish need to be special. Someone who could do what others couldn’t.
Riley liked who she was when she broke a curse. Powerful, useful, respected. Needed—even if only temporarily.
Yet in her gut, Riley knew none of those answers would appease Clark.
“I think we both know nothing I say will make you see what I do as anything more than a scam.” Clark had already proven that he’d never believe something he couldn’t understand.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he said eventually, but then, as if he couldn’t help himself, added, “But you must know you’re facing an uphill battle. If money is a concern, surely there’s something else you could do? An easier path.”
Riley almost wanted to laugh. How like a man to think he could waltz into her life and provide the solution she’d failed to see hanging right in front of her face.
“You know what? You’re right.” She slapped her forehead. “I should just do something easier. Thanks so much for bringing that opportunity to my attention.”
“Ah.” Clark grimaced, looking genuinely regretful. “That was clumsy of me. I wasn’t trying to insult you.”
Wasn’t he?
“Right.” Riley scoffed. “I’m sure it’s just a consequence of growing up a sheltered snob who’s built a career trading on Daddy’s name.” Her job was dangerous enough without getting repeatedly bulldozed by the last person she’d kissed.
Clark’s face went white and then crimson.
But she hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. Riley let the fumes of her anger drown out any traces of guilt.
“Let’s be clear about what’s happened here. You did your very best to undermine me in front of my employer.” She stepped forward so they stood toe-to-toe. “You’ve insulted my character, my work ethic, and now my intelligence.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to—”
“If you had even an ounce of honor,” she said over his interruption, “you’d pack up your shit and go home. Because I promise I’m not leaving, and if the opportunity arises to pay you back, I’m going to take it.”
“Despite what you think”—his tone was tight, his hands folded behind his back—“I can’t afford to abandon this job.”
Riley recognized the words he’d fed to Martin.
“My career hinges on making something of this mockery of an assignment, but—” His words lost their razor edge. Clark ran his hand through his hair, looking frustrated, like she kept getting in the way of his plans. “It doesn’t have to be a battle between us.”
Ha. Easy for him to say. They might both have something to prove professionally, but without the security of Clark’s father’s money and connections, Riley would always have more to lose.
“I promise you,” she said, feeling the potential of this assignment to make or break her, knowing that Clark’s soft mouth could cut her down as sure as the dagger they’d found, “it does.”
“Very well, then.” His posture changed, hardened, as any attempts to be conciliatory gave way to challenge.
Riley might have done the noble thing, declaring her intentions, but the wicked glint in his eyes said she’d come to regret it.
“Enemies it is,” Clark said, all crisp consonants and barely leashed scorn. “Do your worst.”
Chapter Six
For the record, Clark knew something like this would happen.
Ideally, after throwing down the gauntlet outside Riley’s room, he could have stormed off, metaphorical cloak swishing. But in actuality, they were both headed to the castle—both leaving at the same time—so what transpired was an incredibly awkward walk over. He had a few minutes’ advantage and did his best to hurry without looking like he was hurrying, but he never really managed to pull more than a kilometer or two ahead of her.
“I’ll be working in the music salon today,” Clark told her when they both reached the front gate. “All I ask is that you don’t get in my way.”