“I don’t know. I like romances, usually the dirty ones.” And suddenly he was choking, spraying part of his drink across the table.
He brought another brightly colored handkerchief, this one yellow, to his mouth. “My apologies—I wasn’t prepared for quite such an honest answer.”
She shook her head at him, tsking with disapproval. “And yet you’re fully aware you’re conversing with me.”
He nodded, looking resigned. “Fair point.”
Swallowing a disgusting mouthful of whatever was in the wooden cup, Evie began to search the room. “So where is this elusive tavern owner who daylights as a clockmaker…for bombs?”
“He’ll be here.” His mouth set in a grim line. “He always arrives a few minutes after eight o’clock.”
“You’ve been here before?” she said, voice tinged in surprise.
“No, but my people have.”
Ah, his guards.
“Not that I’m complaining, but what use am I in this situation?” It had been gnawing at her all day. In truth, over the last few months, she’d discovered many hidden talents about herself. Conversing in a social setting was, unsurprisingly, not among them.
“You’ve been here before,” he said pointedly.
“How did you— Never mind. So what?” she questioned.
“So an unfamiliar face arriving here alone to see the tavern owner would arouse suspicions, and I want no strings left untied.”
She thought he had to be exaggerating, but when she looked to the rest of the room, there were more than a few curious eyes on them, on him. Or it was possible that everyone else in the room was as obsessed with his face as Evie often was.
Don’t be obsessed with your boss’s face, Evie!
“But why me?” she pressed. “Surely others in your employ have frequented this establishment.”
Evie wasn’t certain why it mattered, but she was addicted to feeling useful. Without it, what value did she hold?
“Because there are very few I can trust right now, and you just so happen to be one of them.” Any flattery she would’ve felt at the statement evaporated when she saw his eyes flash to the gold ring tattoo on her finger.
He didn’t want to trust her—he had to. She wasn’t sure why it made an unpleasant difference, and yet it did.
Plastering a wide smile on her face, she took another life-altering swig of her drink. “So people see you with me and how ordinary I am and then poof! Disinterested.”
She chuckled to herself about the apt description but froze when she looked up and saw that his eyes had grown cold.
“You’re chronically underestimated by people.” He removed his cloak, finally, to reveal an off-white starched linen shirt. In contrast with his dark hair and eyes, the shirt was a clear effort to blend in that fell like a heavy wheelbarrow…over a cliff. “We’ll use that to our advantage.”
“You say that as if you’re not one of those people,” she said, nervously twirling a lock of hair around her finger.
“I would never make the mistake of underestimating a woman like you. It would be a fatal one.” His eyes were molten, his chin hard and unyielding.
Her heart pounded against her chest. It was the best compliment anyone had ever given her.
But she was snapped out of her reverie when The Villain’s back straightened, his entire body tensing. “He’s here.”
Evie’s head whipped around, despite him hissing at her not to, only to see a man so unlike what she’d imagined that she bit her lip to keep from expressing her shock. The tavern owner was young, with a friendly face and a dimpled chin. His smile was wide and open—he looked kind.
“That’s him?” Evie asked in disbelief.
“Call him over, as if you know him,” The Villain said, hard eyes not leaving the man across the room, who was now greeting and smiling at patrons.
“I don’t even know his name,” she hissed back.
“Malcolm,” The Villain said with absolute venom behind each syllable. “Just call him over casually, perhaps say—”
“Malcolm! Over here!” Evie yelled, standing slightly from her seat, cupping her hands around her mouth.
The Villain put two fingers to his temples. “I’m angry with myself for even trying.”
Evie ignored the people around her looking on with annoyance that she’d drawn their attention. She stuck her tongue out at one of them, and she thought her boss might faint.
Looking up from the group with twinkling eyes as they caught on to her, Malcolm picked up a pitcher of ale and made his way across the room.