Page 2 of Fairies Never Fall

“Maddox? I called a couple nights ago.”

“Sit, please,” he says absently, waving a hand.

I take the seat across the desk from him, fighting not to bounce my knee. His fingers zoom over the keyboard and he stabs the keys with intense focus. Finally, he finishes with a flourishing click and leans back in his chair, sighing.

“Bureaucracy these days,” he says, giving me a look like I’m meant to agree. “Never thought this would be my life, huh?”

“Uh,” I say blankly. “Yep.”

“You’re not here about that.” He shuffles through a stack of paper and my stomach tightens as he pulls out two sheets of paper stapled together. My resume is a pitiful half page. At this point, recruiters usually flip to the background check.

Maddox does this, pinching the paper flat where it’s stapled and squinting. He lifts his glasses, then settles them back down. My knee starts to jiggle.

“Hmm. Looking for a job, are you?”

“Yes? Like I said.” I can’t help the sharpness that leaks into my voice. I wish he’d just get it over with. But I alsoreallyneed a job. “I’ll take anything. Labor. Service. Hell, I’ll clean toilets.”

Maddox pushes his glasses up. “Lived in Greenriver long?”

I frown. What’s that got to do with anything? “My whole life.”

“Never wanted a change? An adventure?”

“A couple years in prison kind of put an end to that,” I tell him, crossing my arms. Immediately I regret the attitude. Maddox’s eyebrow twitches and his eyes glimmer.

“I might have something. Behind the bar, a few shifts a week.” He flips the papers with my resume and background check over and scribbles something on the back of them, then he hands them to me. “Go to this address and tell them you’re from Owyn Maddox. If it doesn’t work out, come talk to me again.”

He lets the paper fall to the desk when I don’t take it. Slowly, I drag it closer. There’s an address written on it. Once again, I don’t recognize the street.

“That’s it? No interview? What about my —” I shake the paper slightly and it rattles. I hate drawing attention to it, but it’s usually the only thing they care about.

“Your charge?” He purses his lips. “Possession with intent to sell. You would’ve been, what, eighteen?”

“Nineteen.”

“Any plans to reoffend?”

“God, no.”

He shrugs. “Do the trial period. See how you like it.”

He settles his glasses back on his nose and turns to the computer, and I have the distinct feeling I’ve been dismissed. Dazed, I shuffle back down the hall.

Someone else is in the waiting room when I return — he catches my eye right away. Tall, slim, and blond, the newcomer hovers by the reception desk with a pinched expression. At the sound of my boots his eyes flicker to me.

He has brilliant blue eyes, strangely bright. His gaze hooks on me briefly. A spark lights up in my gut, one I recognize.

One I’ve steered clear of since Jasper.

He looks away just as quickly. I tell myself I’m not annoyed by the dismissal. I know I don’t look like much these days.

The receptionist bounces into view again. “Mister Pine! I need you to sign some paperwork — Mister Maddox always forgets —”

He waves a pen at me frantically and gestures me to the desk. The stranger glides past, and I catch a whiff of something faintly flowery.

“I’ll go in now,” he says. His voice is crisp and lilting, with an accent I can’t place. It sounds as posh as his silky shirt looks.

“Oh, wait!” The receptionist hurries after him.

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