clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“No, no, of course not,” he assured me in a calm, hushed tone. “To the contrary, I feel you suffer from a severe lack of fucking. I can help you with that after we’re done here.”
“Bull-fucking-shit!”
“Here, dear, I’ll take this.”
I stammered a protest as Ronan eased the mac and cheese from my hands. He sucked in his breath and bounced the casserole dish from hand to hand.
“Oh, oh, a bit warm,” he said. “Mind if I borrow that oven mitt?”
“Damn straight I mind! I want my mac and cheese!”
In pointing my finger angrily at Ronan, I inadvertently made it very easy for him to slip the oven mitt from my hand.
“You need to focus on listening,” he said before pushing me roughly to the isolated empty seat. “I’ll just hold this for you.”
“You’re going to eat it!” I whined as Ronan moved to take his place in the centre of the semi-circle before me.
“Shh, shh,” Ronan cooed, placing a finger to his lips. “I wouldn’t even think of it.”
He winked at me as he finished the spoonful I’d started.
“Now,” he said, interrupting my curses with a mouthful of food. “Who here has been personally affected, nay, personally harmed by Ms Evan’s fashion choices?”
“This is a fashion intervention!” I shouted, shoving myself indignantly to my feet.
Ronan covered his face with his hand and sighed. I can’t confirm this, but I was almost certain he only did it to hide a devious, horrible, trickster grin.
“Delaney, please. We just want to help. Let us help you.”
My hands practically shook, balled into fists at my sides. “You’re a fucker, you know that?” I said, glaring at Ronan. “A real mother fucker.”
“Lashing out is understandable, but not excusable, Ms Evans,” Ronan said, dipping his pinkie into the mac and cheese. “Please sit down.”
I remained standing and crossed my arms over my chest to convey that I fully intended to stay that way. Ronan’s finger popped out of his mouth with a loud pop and he made a point of setting down the dish and spoon. He folded his hands in his lap and looked up at me, managing to keep his face completely straight save the inextinguishable flicker in his eyes.
“The first step to a proper makeover is admitting that you need a proper makeover,” he explained. “So, please. Sit down.”
I sank warily to my seat, sitting at the very edge in case I suddenly needed to flee.
“As I was saying,” Ronan said, now grinning in amusement as he leaned back in his chair. “Who here has been personally harmed by Ms Evan’s… peculiar fashion choices?”
Ronan eyed what I was currently wearing: a chambray button-down with no bra, silk pyjama bottoms, and embellished white cowboy boots from home.
Benson raised his hand with an apologetic shrug. He was followed by the chef and then the gardener. The maid alone kept her hand unraised. Ronan waited a moment longer and then leaned forward with a question in the form of a lifted eyebrow.
“I actually rather like Ms Evan’s style,” the young maid said, glancing shyly at me with a little smile. “It’s bright and bold and fearless, really. I wish I had the confidence to dress like that.”
“Goddammit, Roberta,” Ronan said. “What did we talk about?”
Roberta blushed and ducked her eyes as she chuckled softly. “Sorry, sir,” she said, raising her fingers to her lips.
“You’re dismissed,” Ronan said.
“From my post?” Roberta asked, head whipping up in fear.
Ronan rolled his eyes and huffed. “Of course not, love,” he said. “But I can’t have enablers of Ms Evans’s dangerous behaviour in here.”
“Dangerous?” I asked incredulously.
Ronan pointed a finger at me. “Dangerous.”
Roberta straightened her black skirt and paused in the library doorway. “Sir, do I still get the extra day off you promised for doing this intervention thing?” she asked sheepishly.
“Yes, yes,” Ronan said, dismissing her with a wave.
Roberta smiled and curtseyed with a sweet, “Thank you, sir.”
The library doors closed and Ronan grumpily ate another bite of mac and cheese as he grumbled, “This is going terribly.”
I smiled victoriously.
“You had to bribe your staff for this intervention?” I asked before turning to the gardener. “What did he offer you?”
“A raise,” he replied.
“Is there no loyalty in this house?” Ronan bemoaned, dramatically sagging in his chair and brushing the back of his hand across his forehead.
The gardener stood and patted his boss fondly on the shoulder. “The gig is up, sir.”
I pointed at the chef next. He managed to stay stoic for a couple