Page 154 of Her Beast

“Ah, what a pleasant surprise, Smith—three times in one month.”

Smith grinned as he sauntered into his study looking perfect and elegant dressed in his day attire—clothing Malcolm rarely saw him wearing. “Thank you for seeing me, my friend.”

“Oh, I had a choice?”

Smith laughed. “No, not really. You need to get new locks, my friend. Especially in the employee stairwell.”

“Thank you. I shall pass that along to store security,” he said dryly.

“You are welcome,” Smith said without irony.

“Drink?” Malcolm lifted the decanter with Smith’s spirit of choice.

“Why not? It is still the festive season for a few more days, after all.” He settled into a chair while Malcolm poured them both a glass.

“How did you celebrate Christmas?” Malcolm asked as he delivered the drink and took the chair across from his friend.

“Doing this and that, here and there.”

“As forthcoming as ever,” Malcolm murmured.

Smith chose to ignore his sarcasm. “I just had the most delightful conversation with Miss Harlow.”

“So I heard. I hope you know that all of your creeping about will make poor Butkins gray before his time.”

“I need to keep in practice.”

“Yes, but do you need to practice your housebreaking skills onmyhouse?” Malcolm asked plaintively.

“What are friends for?”

Malcolm sighed. “I give in. What did you and Julia talk about?”

“You, of course.”

All the good humor he’d been feeling drained away. “I hope you’ve not been filling her head with foolish dreams?”

“No, only fertilizing the ones she already planted herself.”

“Goddammit, Smith!” Malcolm slammed down his glass, no longer amused. “You, of all people should understand what I’m about to unleash on her.”

“That is true,” he admitted, unperturbed.

“And you don’t think that might have some impact on whatever dreams she’s, er,plantedabout me?”

“Some, but not as much as you think.”

Malcolm gave a disbelieving huff.

“What? You think she feels any love or affection for Carl Sheehan, Nadine Harlow, or even Thomas and Brian? After what they’ve all done to her?”

“She doesn’t know what they’ve done to her and I plan to keep it that way,” he shot back. “The last thing I want to do is trample the few good memories she might have of them after they are gone.”

“She’s an adult and deserves to know.”

“That isn’t your choice to make,” he snarled.

Smith merely sipped his drink, utterly uncaring of the menace and anger swirling between them.

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