𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 | ᴀ ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ

Chapter 25

I WALK INTO HERMIONE'S OFFICE like a soldier storming the beach at Normandy. She's at her desk writing rapidly on a yellow legal pad.

"I'm back. Miss me?"

She doesn't look up. "Desperately."

Sarcasm is the oldest defense in the book. I play along. "I knew I was wearing you down. What put me over the top? Sister B?"

Hermione pushes back from her desk and crosses her legs. She's wearing new shoes. I didn't notice before. Black Mary Janes with a wicked high heel and a strap around the ankle. Good God. They're the perfect blend of naughty and nice. Sweetness and sex. And my poor neglected cock convulses as I picture all the fantastic—and semi-illegal—things I could do to her in those shoes.

I've never had a fetish, but I'm thinking about starting one.

Hermione's voice drags me away from my impure thoughts. "No. It was the visit from your sister, actually. Subtlety doesn't run in your family does it?"

Uh oh. I was afraid of this.

"Pansy has deep-seated psychological issues. She's unstable. You shouldn't listen to anything she says. No one in my family does."

"She seemed completely lucid when she was here."

I shrug. "Mental illness is a tricky thing."

Her eyes squint doubtfully. "You're not serious are you?"

Crap. No lying.

"Technically, she's never been diagnosed. But her ideas about justice and revenge are certifiable. Imagine Ginny...with a decade more experience to perfect her technique."

Hermione's face goes slack with understanding. "Oh."

Yep—welcome to my world, sweetheart.

"She brought me coffee," Hermione says. "Should I drink it?"

We both eye the Starbucks cup on her desk suspiciously.

When I was thirteen, I auctioned off a pair of Pansy's underwear in the boys' locker room. Dirty ones. When she found out through the grapevine of older sisters, she played it cool—never let on that she knew. And then she spiked my Coco Pebbles with chocolate-flavored laxatives. I didn't leave the bathroom for three days.

Now, I realize she's not carrying that kind of grudge against Hermione, but still...

"I wouldn't."

She nods stiffly and slides the cup back away from her.

"What'd you think of Mackenzie? I really wanted to be here when you met her."

Her smile is warm and genuine. "I think she's amazing."

"I'm sure you'll be thrilled to hear she used your calculator on me when I ran into them downstairs."

Her smile widens. "That's nice."

I shake my head, and Hermione says, "I see now why Pansy started the Bad Word Jar, since you seem to spend so much time with Mackenzie."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugs. "She talks like you. It's not every day you hear a four-year-old say Prince Charming is a douchebag who's only holding Cinderella back."

That's my girl.

"Swearing is good for the soul."

Hermione stifles a laugh. And she looks so tempting I can't help but lean over her chair, trapping her with my arms. Small talk is over. Time to get back to business.