An Enchanted Spring: Mists of Fate - Book Two by Nancy Scanlon Page B

breakfast, if you’re amenable?” Aidan remarked a few minutes later as he grabbed a roll.
    She choked on her orange juice, and gratefully accepted the napkin from his outstretched hand. “Okay. I can head into the apartment and salvage what I can while you finish up at the auction house.”
    “No,” he replied easily.
    She didn’t fight him, and he considered it a small victory.
    The silence stretched.
    Finally, Emma asked, “If I wanted to stay here, would you try to force me to go with you? To Boston?”
    Aidan considered for a moment. He could tell her the truth, but he didn’t want to alarm her. “No.”
    She visibly relaxed. “Thank you.” Silence again. Then, “I have a condition.”
    He poured himself a cup of coffee. As if that would change anything, lass. “Oh?”
    “Yes. Separate hotel rooms, and I pay my own way.”
    “If you prefer,” he replied casually. Absolutely not happening. He needed to keep her close; locks were easily broken. His sword, however, was not. He felt a moment’s regret for lying to her. But her safety came first.
    “I admit to feeling a little lost here,” she said with a small laugh. “I haven’t had a morning off in eight years.”
    “Pretend it’s a weekend,” he suggested, buttering a thick piece of toast.
    “I work weekends.”
    “Okay. Pretend it’s Christmas.”
    “Believe it or not, I worked Christmas, too.”
    He stared at her a moment, and he suddenly understood why Price’s comments to her the night before had been so upsetting. “You must have truly loved your job.”
    She smiled sadly. “Not the clients, no. But I loved feeling needed, and people who do bad things always need people like me to fix their screw-ups.” She took a bite of her pancakes and swallowed, a thoughtful look crossing her features. “I never stopped to think about how my work prevented them from ever taking responsibility for their actions.”
    “That can’t be all true.”
    She shrugged. “Maybe not. I worked with a lot of individuals, but I liked working the corporate clients more. I am very good at spinning words, and I have very good judgment.” Her gaze dropped to her hands. “Most of the time, anyway.”
    “Car’s ready when you are, my laird,” Cian interrupted, joining them at the table.
    “Thank you, Cian. We’ll be down shortly.”
    They finished eating in silence.
    • • •
    While Aidan made arrangements for shipping his items at the auction house, Emma waited in line for coffee across the street. After returning to her apartment earlier, she needed a pick-me-up. Everything was destroyed, but nothing was stolen. It was as though the act was done simply to frighten her. Instead, all it did was make her angry. Thankfully, her safe was untouched, still in its hiding place. Aidan hefted it down the stairs, and Cian loaded it in the car.
    Cian sat at a table, looking for all the world as though he were reading his phone, but she knew better. Emma glanced around the line of people in front of her. Seven deep, and the man at the counter had a long and involved order. She wasn’t in a rush; Aidan had said he would be about a half hour, as he had forms to complete.
    “Excuse me…Miss Perkins?”
    A tall man stood next to her, his long dark hair pulled into a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck. It didn’t fit with the suit he wore; he reminded her of a Wall Street finance professional gone rogue. He had a small beard, just enough to be called one, and his blue eyes were very dark, the irises rimmed with black. He said in a quiet voice, “We were told that you had money for us. I’m here to collect it.”
    Emma stared at him in shock for a full minute before realizing the line was moving. She moved up, hoping Cian could see her around the display of coffee that blocked her and the man from view.
    “I’m sorry, Mr.…?”
    “We know you bought a whole lot of stuff last night at a pricey auction,” he replied, ignoring her. His tone was clipped. “He