Ice and Flames

1. the deal

*Lillian's POV*

"G'morning Mr. Linton." Sallow-face saluted once the doors to the outside had swung shut. I gave him a once-over and shrugged. Was it a good morning? Or more accurately, was it a great morning?

"Great morning to you too..." I responded, trailing off when I failed to remember his name. Blast my horrible retention, if I kept this behavior up, I'd be out of a job in no time. Sallow-face briefly examined me as I passed him but as always, turned back to his work to let me make my way to the staircase.

The staircase. The same stairs as always, the one that produced the same sweaty struggle as always but now more than just a hint of excitement had grown for actually going up the stairs... okay, okay, it was excitement for being near him.

Him. That penny-pinching, unamiable, hoity-toity Adonis had for some reason, unbeknownst to me, become the center of my entertainment and enjoyment. It's not him, per say, that I enjoyed, rather his hilariously minuscule reactions that appeared on his carved, granite face when I irritated him for hours on end.

If you've never annoyed somebody you've hated, then you wouldn't understand the feeling.

You don't hate him, do you? My subconscious mocked. Internally I scoffed.Even if I didn't hate him entirely, in my case... there were many, many other people that I did hate. Which meant, more people for me to provoke.

Yes, please.

I stomped up the stairs swiftly, finally, after having almost three full months of practice. I almost slowed my brisk pace because it was too time-saving for my like, but the first dong from Great Paul rung out as a reminder that saving time was "important" to some people.

Cough, Mr. Ambrose, cough.

I rolled my eyes to myself as my pride wouldn't let me be tardy for work.

See. Inner Lilly smirked. You don't hate him... and you really don't want him to hate you. I huffed at my own folly and picked up the pace. I reminded myself that I only put up with him so that I could become independent but the loud, snarky voice in my head was doing everything she could to convince me otherwise.

In the nick of time I reached my floor. The last gong ran out and to announce my punctuality I greeted Mr. Stone chirpily. "Good day, Mr. Stone."

"Good morning Mr. Linton." He replied.

I continued, "How was your mother-in-law's mutton stew last night?" I asked, my voice a few decibels louder than necessary.

Mr. Stone pulled a sour expression and simultaneously we both let out a chuckle.

"That bad?" I questioned, arching my brow.

"Quite." He laughed.

After a beat, I bid Mr. Stone adieu--a word I picked up during my trip to Dalgleish's Public Resort/Secret Lair--and for good measure I trumpeted my arrival for my employer's own benefit by calling out loudly, "Good morning, boss." over my shoulder in the direction of his office.

As I made my way into my own office I heard a low, cranky grumble. I stifled a laugh and got ready for his onslaught of commands by way of pneumatic tubes.

~

By lunchtime, I had received over thirty new letters, invitations and business proposals for Mr. Ambrose. I sorted out the unimportant letters, like the scented pink notes from the obscure Samantha Ambrose, from the important ones, like the address to Mr. Ambrose from Dimsdale & Co. on Cornhill Road, adjacent to Leadenhall Street.