Page 12 of Charming the Orc's Mate

It was exactly the kind of straightforward business transaction I’d been hoping for when I first arrived. Clean. Simple. Profitable enough to satisfy any remaining guilt about selling Mags’s legacy.

So why did the thought of accepting make my skin crawl?

I shoved away from the desk, needing to move. To do something productive with my hands before I spiraled into analyzing every heated look and lingering touch from last night.

The boxes piled next to Mags’s desk offered an outlet for my restless energy. I attacked the chaos with perhaps more force than necessary, sorting receipts into piles and tossing half-empty pens into the trash.

A leather-bound book tumbled from beneath a stack of invoices. A sticky note in Mags’s distinctive scrawl clung to the cover:Special order for T. Axebreaker.

My fingers traced the embossed knotwork sprawled across the front, all flowing lines and interconnected patterns. This was what he’d come to collect that first day. I imagined his huge hands caressing the binding, running reverently over the pages as he read. I pictured him hunched over his worktable, carving delicate details into wood. Creating. Breathing life into beautiful things.

My phone buzzed, an unknown Seattle number lighting up the screen. Probably another vendor calling about overdue payments. I answered with my most professional voice, “Carissa Morton speaking.”

“Carissa! Thank goodness you picked up.” Amelia Berdino’s familiar voice burst through the speaker. She’d been my favorite coworker at my first job out of college. “I heard you finally left Grayson’s firm in the dust.”

I sat up straighter. News traveled just as fast in consultancy circles as small towns, it seemed. “Amelia? I’m… managing. How are you?”

“I heard about your aunt. I’m so sorry.” She paused. “But listen, that’s actually why I’m calling. You remember that idea we kicked around last year? About breaking away and starting our own firm?”

“Vaguely.” My pulse quickened. We’d gotten drunk at a corporate retreat and plotted our escape over stolen mini-bar scotch.

“Well, I did it. Or rather, I’m doing it. Already have three major clients lined up, and I need a partner I can trust. Someone who knows their shit.” She paused for effect. “Someone like you.”

The world tilted sideways. “Partner?”

“Full equity stake. Complete autonomy over your clients. No more kissing ass in boardrooms that didn’t want us there in thefirst place.” Her enthusiasm crackled through the phone. “We could build something that’s truly ours.”

Seattle’s familiar skyline beckoned—all clean lines and calculated risks. No nosy book club members. No nasty financial surprises lurking under every stray page.

“I...” My eyes fell on Tate’s email, still open on my laptop. “The timing is complicated.”

“Don’t tell me you’re actually considering staying in—where are you, exactly?”

“Silvermist Falls.”

Amelia barked a laugh. “The monster town? Come on, Carissa. You’re better than backwoods bookkeeper. You were born for bigger things.”

Isn’t this what I wanted? Get the estate settled, sell to the highest bidder, return to my real life?

My eyes dropped to the book still open on my lap and the intricate patterns that reminded me of tattoos trailing up strong forearms.

“I’d need to wrap things up here first.” I ran a finger down the edge of the book. One afternoon of signing paperwork and I could be free. Back to spreadsheets and projections and knowing exactly where I stood.

“Of course! You can have as much time as you need to get your affairs settled.” Amelia’s tone stayed bright. “But I’d appreciate an answer by the end of the week to plan around.”

I thanked her, promised to think it over, and hung up. The smart move was obvious—accept Tate’s offer, negotiate it up a bit, then take Amelia’s partnership. Clean break, fresh start, exactly what I’d planned.

The cursor still blinked on my empty spreadsheet. Numbers didn’t lie. Numbers made sense.

So why couldn’t I make them add up to the future I thought I wanted?

I had until the end of the week to decide. Surely I could allow myself one dinner first. One perfect night to remember when I was back in Seattle dealing with corporate mergers and hostile takeovers.

Just one night.

I touched the book’s spine one last time before forcing myself back to work. After all, I had a business to run.

For now.

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