Page 18 of For Better or Hearse
“Morbid, maybe, but necessary.” Augustus shuffles towardthe table, mirth in his eyes. “I told you over the phone that I had hired someone to help navigate the end-of-life process. That’s why Ash is here.”
“It’s your dime,” Don says to the older man, giving Ash a look like she’s an unemployed freeloader.
Claire squints at her, her blue eyes cool. “You look…familiar.”
Her throat instantly goes tight. Nerves spark under her skin.
“That’s because she is.” A hard voice speaks up then.
Ash cringes at the conversation hijack.Shit.
Nathaniel leans forward in his chair. His long form a panther ready to strike. Vengeful eyes, eyes that Ivan the Terrible would be envious of, stare her down. “She’s the one who interrupted my wedding.”
As soon as he says it, she wants to saw her own head off with piano wire.
More silence.
“Oh, holy shit.” Tater covers his face with his hands and cackles. “This is fucking going in the podcast.”
Sure, she didn’t expect a red-carpet rollout, but being gaped at like she’s the reincarnation of Rasputin is a bit much.
Nathaniel wears an amused smirk, clearly pleased with himself.
Claire lets out a sharp breath. “How could you?”
Ash isn’t sure if it’s directed at her or Augustus.
Regardless, her stomach falls. Sweat mists her skin.
Don’s face is twisted in disgust. He scans Ash, his lip curled. “You’ve lost the plot, Augustus.”
Augustus dips his chin and grips the back of a chair with white knuckles. “I won’t stand for you giving Ash hell all night,” he says, his voice laced with stubbornness. “The past is the past, and she is here as my guest. We all deserve a fresh start.”
From the look of revulsion on Claire’s face, Ash is about as fresh as a two-day-old diaper.
Eyeing Ash, Augustus pulls out a chair and nods, motioning for her to sit. Unfortunately, the spot he’s chosen is next to Nathaniel.
Wordlessly, she obeys the man.
As Claire and Augustus argue using fake polite voices over whether she deserves to be here, Ash grips the table tight and holds on for dear life, even as her heart takes off at a gallop. Breathing through the panic, she tries to conjure the conversation she had with Tessie before she came to face the firing squad.
Observe, do not absorb.
Beside her, Nathaniel is rigid. His posture makes it obvious he’d rather be anywhere than here.
That makes two of them.
She feels like a snack stuck in a vending machine with no hope of rescue. Unloved. Uneaten.
“You’re still sweating.”
The smug voice has her slowly turning her head.
Nathaniel angles in. Only a few inches separate them. The geometry of his face is insane. Stern brows. Chiseled cheekbones. Her sense of self-preservation is nonexistent when he’s well within punching distance. As well as smelling. It’s unfortunate, because his unholy scent is too damn fantastic for words. Like sun and sea with a hint of pine.
“No thanks to you.”
She’s boiling. And Nathaniel sits there like a smug blue-eyed bastard with his sharp, square jaw and perfectly mussed hair, while she feels like a drowned river rat paddling in a sewer for dear life.