Peace?
Maybe he's just an ardent follower of his God and trying to spread the good word. Either way, I can't very well go on pretending I'm not home and ignoring him.
With a wince, I climb to my feet, my ankle tender where I rolled and sat on it. I unbolt the locks and open the door a crack.
“Miss Fern Mabon?”
“That's me.”
“I'm Ahnou Napa with the IRS—I'd like to talk to you about your taxes.”
Letting the door fall open, I stare at the man in shock. Of all the things I expected him to say, this isn't it.
“Is everything all right?”
“Your EIN was flagged for auditing.”
A shudder shakes my shoulders and rolls its way down my spine.
Audited—a business owner's worst nightmare.
Gulping, I step aside. “Um, please come in.”
The Anubis has to duck underneath my door frame to get through, and when he straightens back up, his muscular form fills the tiny foyer.
Guy’s larger than life.
My fingers grip my oversized sweater, twisting the fabric around the painted tips of my fingernails.
I'm in no way prepared to be audited—or for the presence this man brings.
“Can I get you some tea?”
“Thank you. How kind of you—” He pauses, his snout lifting straight into the air as he sniffs, the corded muscles in his neck going taut. “Are those cookies I smell?”
A wretched blush crawls up from my throat to my cheeks—the curse of being a redhead. “I…I ate them all.”
I wait for him to say something snide, or at least snort while looking me up and down. It's patently obvious I'm thicker than I should be, even in my oversized shirt and pants.
Girls like me probably shouldn't plop down and eat a dozen cookies in one sitting—something my ex constantly berated me for.
But the Anubis only gives me a lopsided grin, baring the sharp whites of his canines. “If they were half as delicious as they smell, I can see why you ate them all.”
My mind tries to piece together what he said, but it can't.
For the past five years, it's endured every cruel remark under the sun, but this one man's comment has scrambled my thinking abilities into mush.
He's just being polite, I hiss mentally.
Turning on my heel, I march into the living room, hoping he follows me. He does, and I gesture at my orange couch for him to sit down.
“I'll be right back with the tea.”
A million thoughts buzz in my head like an angry hive of bees while I enter my kitchen and get what I need.
My hands shake as I place a cup and saucer on a fancy, silver tray—I tell myself it's nerves because I'm being audited, but deep down, I know it's more than that.
I'm drawn to this monstrously handsome being.
It's just because he didn't call you a fat cow.
With this depressing thought, I return to the living room. “Here we are, Mr. Napa.” I set the tray down on the coffee table before him.
“Please, call me Ahnou.”
The blush returns, and I want to smack myself in the face. He’s clearly trying to put me at ease, not coming onto me.
“Ok, only if you’ll call me Fern.”
His black lips purse together. “Perhaps…if it’s just the two of us.”
My heart races.
Why did he make that sound so intimate?
“Am I in trouble?” I blurt out.
Maybe he wants me to use his first name to soften me up before he breaks the news that I’m going to tax jail.
