I pinked my skin?” he asked.
The idea was so mundane, she almost let her jaw drop. Here she was fearing one of her undercover personas had been compromised, and Resha was being used to wheedle information from her, when he was only talking about cosmetics. “What do I think personally or professionally?”
“Both.”
She shook her head. “I don’t see a reason in either case.”
He smiled again. “Yes, well, you have an aspect that humans find pleasing. You can pass as one of them. I can’t.”
He had a point. With his exaggerated features—the sharp peak in his forehead, those teeth and claws, the blade of a nose—humans knew he was fey, even if they might not know exactly what kind. Those physical traits didn’t include what happened when a merrow hit the water. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that making his pale white skin any other color would not change a thing about his appearance.
Steeling herself, she reached out and squeezed those cold, pale hands. “Don’t take this as anything more than a compliment, Resha, but you’re a perfectly handsome man of your species. Why are you worried about what humans think?”
He pressed his wide lips together. “Television, Laura. The National Archives ceremony is going to be televised. People in Washington are used to dealing with solitaries who don’t fit the human mold. But outside the cities, particularly out West, it’s a different story. Most of this country does not see the fey on a daily basis.”
She tapped his hand for emphasis. “Which is precisely why you shouldn’t change a thing. This ceremony is about alliances and cooperation. We’re celebrating our diversity.”
He shook his head and shrugged. “Yes, well, that’s fine when you’re not the one with the camera in your face because you’re diverse.”
Laura stood and retrieved her folders. “Resha, I’m hearing none of this. Be who you are. If we can’t do that, then everything the fey have been fighting for here is pointless.”
He smiled again, that strange merrow smile that demonstrated exactly what he meant by other people not understanding. “You always put the best spin on things.”
She grinned at him as she made for the door. “That’s my job, Resha. Wear your blue Hermès tie. It complements your skin tone.”
She cut through the service kitchen to the back stairs to avoid the slow elevator. As she climbed the two flights to her floor, she decided to be amused by the conversation instead of annoyed. She was the last person to criticize someone who wanted to change his looks. Keeping her head down, she strode down the long hallway through the accounting department, one of the few areas of the Guildhouse where she wasn’t peppered with questions when she appeared.
As she entered her office, her assistant, Saffin Corril, followed her in. “Your zipper’s in the front,” she said.
Laura dropped her paperwork and spun her skirt around. “Dammit, I wish I’d never bought this thing.”
Saffin placed a stack of pink messages on the desk. “Stop wearing it on days you have a meeting in the fifth-floor conference room or start taking the elevator.”
Laura looked up from the first message on the stack. “What the heck does that have to do with my skirt?”
The brownie smiled. “You always take the stairs from the fifth floor too fast, then you charge down the hallway to avoid people. Poof. Your skirt spins.”
They stared at each other. The corner of Saffin’s mouth twitched, and Laura laughed. She dropped into her desk chair. “You’re too observant for your own good.”
“Can I have a raise?” she asked.
“No. You can have next Tuesday off. I’m out of the office, and you’ve put in a ton of time on the Archives ceremony,” said Laura.
“Groovy. Thanks,” she replied.
Laura nodded with a slight smile as she flipped through the messages. Saffin was tall for a brownie. With her long, wispy, blond hair and slender body, Laura could picture
The idea was so mundane, she almost let her jaw drop. Here she was fearing one of her undercover personas had been compromised, and Resha was being used to wheedle information from her, when he was only talking about cosmetics. “What do I think personally or professionally?”
“Both.”
She shook her head. “I don’t see a reason in either case.”
He smiled again. “Yes, well, you have an aspect that humans find pleasing. You can pass as one of them. I can’t.”
He had a point. With his exaggerated features—the sharp peak in his forehead, those teeth and claws, the blade of a nose—humans knew he was fey, even if they might not know exactly what kind. Those physical traits didn’t include what happened when a merrow hit the water. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that making his pale white skin any other color would not change a thing about his appearance.
Steeling herself, she reached out and squeezed those cold, pale hands. “Don’t take this as anything more than a compliment, Resha, but you’re a perfectly handsome man of your species. Why are you worried about what humans think?”
He pressed his wide lips together. “Television, Laura. The National Archives ceremony is going to be televised. People in Washington are used to dealing with solitaries who don’t fit the human mold. But outside the cities, particularly out West, it’s a different story. Most of this country does not see the fey on a daily basis.”
She tapped his hand for emphasis. “Which is precisely why you shouldn’t change a thing. This ceremony is about alliances and cooperation. We’re celebrating our diversity.”
He shook his head and shrugged. “Yes, well, that’s fine when you’re not the one with the camera in your face because you’re diverse.”
Laura stood and retrieved her folders. “Resha, I’m hearing none of this. Be who you are. If we can’t do that, then everything the fey have been fighting for here is pointless.”
He smiled again, that strange merrow smile that demonstrated exactly what he meant by other people not understanding. “You always put the best spin on things.”
She grinned at him as she made for the door. “That’s my job, Resha. Wear your blue Hermès tie. It complements your skin tone.”
She cut through the service kitchen to the back stairs to avoid the slow elevator. As she climbed the two flights to her floor, she decided to be amused by the conversation instead of annoyed. She was the last person to criticize someone who wanted to change his looks. Keeping her head down, she strode down the long hallway through the accounting department, one of the few areas of the Guildhouse where she wasn’t peppered with questions when she appeared.
As she entered her office, her assistant, Saffin Corril, followed her in. “Your zipper’s in the front,” she said.
Laura dropped her paperwork and spun her skirt around. “Dammit, I wish I’d never bought this thing.”
Saffin placed a stack of pink messages on the desk. “Stop wearing it on days you have a meeting in the fifth-floor conference room or start taking the elevator.”
Laura looked up from the first message on the stack. “What the heck does that have to do with my skirt?”
The brownie smiled. “You always take the stairs from the fifth floor too fast, then you charge down the hallway to avoid people. Poof. Your skirt spins.”
They stared at each other. The corner of Saffin’s mouth twitched, and Laura laughed. She dropped into her desk chair. “You’re too observant for your own good.”
“Can I have a raise?” she asked.
“No. You can have next Tuesday off. I’m out of the office, and you’ve put in a ton of time on the Archives ceremony,” said Laura.
“Groovy. Thanks,” she replied.
Laura nodded with a slight smile as she flipped through the messages. Saffin was tall for a brownie. With her long, wispy, blond hair and slender body, Laura could picture
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