Page 75 of Apprentice to the Villain

“A wig!” he repeated, raking a hand down his face before tugging on the ends of his hair. “Why would you do this? Why would you risk yourself in such a reckless, obtuse manner? Please explain exactlywhatyou were thinking!”

She folded her arms and said the most dangerous thing she could think of. “Come now, sir. Pleading is beneath you.”

In Evie’s experience, there were different levels of anger. Annoyance, irritation, and then came the real stuff. She’d finally hit the highest point on the boss’s anger threshold: the quiet kind.

There was such a harsh coldness to him that Evie almost grabbed hold of her arms to push her goose bumps back in.

“Are you implying that I am a hypocrite?” he demanded in a whisper.

She wasn’t sure where her boldness had come from. Yes, she’d always been one to say exactly what was on her mind, but usually she tempered it, withheld it, or analyzed it ad nauseam. Always so desperate not to offend, so worried she’d say the wrong thing. But she never worried about how her words would be taken with Trystan; he somehow always knew exactly what she meant.

But his coldness after she’d nearly kissed him changed everything. It made it easier for her to say, “‘Implying’ would mean I am merely alluding to your hypocrisy. No, sir. I’m telling you that youareone.”

“I could fire you for insubordination.”

The words should’ve scared her, but it was so obviously an empty threat that she looked to either side of her in a show of confusion before shrugging and replying, “Do it.”

He sputtered. “I-I’m not actually…going to fire you! I just cannot believe you’d ever be so defiant.”

She gave him a dubious look. “Really?”

He groaned and pressed his head against the brick wall above her, bringing his body much closer than it ought to be. “No, I believe it. I suppose I even expected it.”

She bounced on her gem-studded heels, which were pinching her toes so uncomfortably she’d have blisters the size of crystals come morning. “Well, now that we’ve gotten our niceties out of the way, follow me.” Despite the pain, the heels made a satisfying clicking sound on the cobblestones as she walked, making her stand straighter.

“The whole purpose of this little excursion was to question Mr. Gully about your mother’s whereabouts. Where could you possibly be going?” he asked but followed immediately behindher.

“My home—or the place I grew up, anyway,” she said with a steadiness she was proud of. Her relationship to their family cottage had been altered so drastically, she wasn’t certain how to feel about it at all. It was difficult to hate a place where the etchings of how tall she’d grown year over year still stood in the doorway. “And I already questioned Mr. Gully.”

They moved through the main village square, his hand on the small of her back as they bustled through a thicker portion of the crowd.

He spoke sarcastically into her ear, sending a shiver through her. “Well, don’t leave me in suspense, Sage. What did you find out?”

“Mr. Gully never even met my mother.”

“I hope you didn’t just flat-out ask him and draw every ounce of suspicion to yourself.” Well, now he was just being insulting.

She rolled her eyes, brows coming up to salute her hairline when they passed a crowd hovering over Rick, who was gripping his knee and crying. “My goodness! What happened to him?”

“How should I know?” He responded far too quickly for comfort, but she let it go, because it was actually fairly pleasant to see that little weasel in pain. She wanted him to hurt more. As if it knew, her boss’s gray mist that only she could see hovered above Rick, pressing harder on his knee. Rick cried out harder as well, and she turned on her heel to face her boss, who’d halted, looking confused as his mist returned to him.

“Sir, why did you do that?” she asked, feeling a strange hum in her dagger and then her scar.

He cleared his throat, putting a hand to the small of her back, urging her to continue. “I didn’t… Never mind it, Sage. Come on.”

They moved off the main path, their footsteps now softened by grass. She slipped her heels off, lest she sink into the dirt—that,and her toes could only take so much abuse.

“I merely said I had always admired Nura Sage’s collection,” she informed him, “and what a travesty it was about that poor woman. I couldn’t get him to shut up after that. It’s easy to encourage people to gossip about my family in this village. We were the object of censure for years.”

The Villain did not seem to appreciate this. “That is what happens when people are bored of mundane existences. They have to pick at extraordinary ones.”

She stopped, running a hand down her dress. “I’d hardly call my family’s history extraordinary.”

“I was referring to you.”

How she was expected to not attempt to jump him—again—right there was beyond her. It was like dangling chocolate in front of her face and telling her to just look at it. But she knew she had to respect whatever professional boundaries he was choosing to put up. “That’s kind of you.”

“It’s not kind,” he pressed, blessedly distracting her from the cottage cropping up in the distance. “It’s simply true. Though I don’t know how you could reveal your mother’s name to that man and not worry he’d recognize you on the spot. It’s a small village.”