“As do I.” Elena studied her. “How on earth did you find them?”

Plopping into the visitor’s chair, Madeleine gave a shrug. “A friend recced it in a comment on a blog I…um, follow. So does this mean you liked them?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” A blooping noise sounded, and Elena turned. Her Skype call. Damn. She wasn’t ready for the man.

“We’re done,” she muttered to Madeleine, disturbed at how easily she’d allowed herself to be distracted. It was unprofessional. She did not do unprofessional.

There was no movement, and she glanced back. Madeleine was eyeing her with a guarded look.

“We’re done,” Elena repeated, wondering why she hadn’t heard her the first time.

Madeleine flinched. She left, movements jerky, closing the door behind her with a sharp clunk. Since Elena rarely closed her office door, it was a pointed act.

She frowned at the response. Elena was still frowning when she activated her incoming video call. “Nathaniel, good evening.”

He offered the usual pleasantries, but Elena’s gaze slid back to the crime desk. Its reporter was hunched over, shoulders tight. Surely she wasn’t offended? It was hardly the first time Elena had dismissed someone in such a manner. It meant nothing.

Or was it the dismissal itself, not the manner which bothered the woman?

Elena’s frown deepened. Yet another reason why this…friendship was a foolish idea. She was Madeleine’s boss. Madeleine must surely grasp that now.

So why do I feel so unsettled?

A throat cleared.

Elena forced her focus back to where it belonged. “Nathaniel, where were we on our deal?”

* * *

Three nights passed, and neither of them spoke to each other. Which suited Elena fine. She accomplished much more work without Madeleine’s chatter about things that held no importance. And the distance helped reinforce that they were never meant to have been friendly in the first place.

On the fourth night, Elena wore one of her favoured outfits to work, which involved a vest, pants, boots, crisp white shirt, and a fob watch. And that night she noticed Madeleine’s reaction to it.

Actually, it would be a miracle if Madeleine got any work done, because she’d spent most of the evening watching Elena. Her gaze virtually clung to her, yet she seemed unaware she was doing this. Belatedly, Elena recalled this was the outfit she’d been wearing when Madeleine had derided her the day they’d first met. It occurred to her the intense scrutiny might therefore not be the flattering kind.

As she exited her office, she felt the woman’s eyes fixed on her again.

“What?” she asked, irritation rising. She stopped dead in front of Madeleine. “Does my wardrobe really offend you so much that you have to bore holes in it all evening?”

“Huh? God, no!” Madeleine started. A blush spread up her cheeks. “Is that what you think? That I don’t like it?”

“I know you don’t. I recall your verdict well. I heard you dismiss it as ‘yesterday’s steampunk’.” Her lip curled in disdain.

Madeleine shook her head. “Hey, you got it all wrong. I think retro steampunk is the hottest look ever created. Hell, I’ve got all the Warehouse 13 episodes H.G. Wells was in to prove it.”

Elena blinked at her. “You feel I dress like some old, dead, male writer?” This was mystifying. Had she offended Madeleine so much that she was now openly insulting her again?

“Oh wow. No! Far from it. Okay.” Madeleine scribbled a note to herself. “Tomorrow. Wait till tomorrow, then you’ll see.”

Elena sighed and kept walking. Possibly, flying Ukranian cows doing mist dances were in her future.

* * *

Tomorrow brought with it Felicity in a snit over the new PA, a widening, budget black hole in Sydney, and a disc sitting on her desk. She squinted at the image on it. The TV show, Warehouse 13, appeared to be science fiction. Definitely not for her. And she definitely didn’t have time for this. Not after those Sydney numbers.

She ignored the disc for most of the night. She also ignored the furtive looks Madeleine kept shooting her way, assessing whether the disc had moved position on her desk, no doubt. It made her more adamant not to watch the damned thing at all. She didn’t have time for distracting nonsense.

At ten, she called Amir to bring the car around to take her home. She picked up the disc, intending to drop it on Madeleine’s desk with a stern warning of “no more”.

Instead, she saw the hopefulness in the woman’s green eyes, her gaze fixed on Elena’s fingers clutching the disc. Pressing her lips together, she bit back her first response, slid the disc in her handbag, and said nothing as she left for the evening.

And if there was a small, relieved sigh behind her, she chose not to notice it.

* * *

The next day, an eager gaze met hers. Elena ignored it, went into her office, and dropped her handbag on the desk. She didn’t want to start a long conversation about the magnificence of a smart, entrancing, nineteenth-century woman in gorgeous steampunk vests. She particularly didn’t want to hear an I-told-you-so. It was bad enough having to admit that Madeleine’s enraging fashion insult the day they’d met had actually been a compliment.

She reached into her bag, pulled out the disc, and headed over to Madeleine’s desk, where she slapped it down. “Acceptable,” she said, in a tone that brooked no further discussion. After pivoting swiftly on heel, Elena returned to her office, relieved at putting an end to the conversation before it even started. She really was much too busy. As she settled into her seat, she glanced back at Madeleine and paused in her tracks.

The young woman’s expression was pure delight.

Elena’s heart did an embarrassing, pleased little flip at having put that look on Madeleine’s face. She clenched her jaw. This was absurd. She shouldn’t care what Madeleine Grey thought of anything. She was just an occasionally interesting employee.

Her brain blew her a raspberry.

* * *

Several nights later, Madeleine slid a plate of crisp, golden pastries on her desk. “Try them,” she said, sounding cheerful. “They’re my homemade apple tarts. You’ll thank me.”

Did her persistence know no bounds?

“I don’t think I’d thank the extra three-hour workout required if I do,” Elena replied, although in truth they smelled delicious.

“Workout, huh? Go on, just one. I’ll give the rest to Sofía. She deserves some perks cleaning up after the slobs in this office.”

“That is true.” Elena contemplated the tempting little bundles.

Madeleine reached over and snagged a pastry herself and took a large bite. Her eyes rolled back in her head. “Mmm.” Her eyes held a wicked gleam.

“You know, it’s customary not to eat one’s gifts for someone.”

“Just proving they aren’t poisoned. Come on. Just a bite.”

In spite of all her internal protestations, Elena succumbed. Oh. Her taste buds did an ecstatic tap dance at the divine sensations. Apple, raisins, and cinnamon flavours burst across her mouth, and she forced herself not to make the obscene sounds of appreciation she was dying to. This clinched it. Madeleine’s cooking was better than sex—which wasn’t saying much given how overrated she’d found the bedroom activity to be. These bundles of bliss were like embracing heaven. Or, as she finally told Madeleine when she could talk again, “they have a certain appeal”. If by appeal she meant kissed by the gods.

That unfortunate admission had proved a mistake. The woman clearly felt the need to gloat.

“Knew it.” Madeleine beamed at her. “You’re a hardcore, secret carbs fan. I make spicy cheese sticks you’d love. Tomorrow night?”