As such, the Earl was both her brother, father, and Savior, all rolled into one. She'd lay down her life for him. She'd made that vow to him when he'd saved her, even though he'd assured her he'd never require such repayment. Still, she'd committed her life to him and the success of his notorious gaming hell. She worked hard for him and gave him her utmost loyalty. Not because she feared him, but because she revered him, but still, when one was summoned, any person, man, woman or child would be wise to be wary, and Addien was no exception.
“Oi, he isn't going to bite.” Mortified that she'd been caught unawares, Addien turned towards the owner of that familiar voice.
“Oy. He ain't afraid of anyone. You know that.” He flashed an uneven tip of his lips in a rendering as close to a smile that their people can come to.
He had the build of a bear and the scars of a warrior from long ago or from the present day who just had the unfortunate circumstances of being born to the streets.
“Killorin's awaiting.”
He was instantly all business. In fairness, that's how they operated, they too. We'd have a moment of levity, and then it was back to all stoic, hard business here at the Devil's Den. For as long as she'd been here, she'd lamented the fact he failed to see her. It had been some consolation, however, when she discovered that's just how Roy was with everybody.
Addien wrapped once and did so with a firm fist. She'd never been one of those sorts to cower people in the streets, girls especially, were eaten up and spit out and then devoured for showing any weakness. The first time she'd met Killorin, the future Marquis. She'd met him with snapping surly anger, churlish tones. He'd hired her in an instant. No, she always presented the most powerful show of resilience, defiance, and detachedness. While secretly inside, she was still a bit of the scared child who'd been beaten so badly once, she'd not been able to leave the cot at founding hospital she'd been brought to for nearly three weeks.
“Oi, enter!”, Addien let herself in.
The Earl of Dynevor sat as he so often did behind his desk, pouring over ledgers his jacket discarded his cravat never worn, and his shirt hanging open at the front. He was an interesting blend of streets mixed with royalty. Both served him well.
Addien long envied him that duality. She waited while he worked. Having come across all sorts in her lifetime, she'd found all men put on some kind of show. Every single minute motion was part of a grander facade. That was, everyone she'd ever known except for the owner of the Devil's Den.
What you saw with Dynevor was what you got. When he was bent over his books he was working. When he was viewing a new hire for the club, he was fierce and threatening, a product of his establishing a place of superiority and strength before his lesser hires.
At last, he dropped his pen and looked up.
“Snap,” He said, all matter of factness.
Addien closed the door behind her.
“You called your lordship.”
The Earl was already standing and motioning her over, not to his desk, but rather to the pair of winged chairs beside his fireplace. It's the spot where he'd first interviewed her and spoken with her about her job responsibilities.It wasn't the firing spot as it had come to be known by she'd be safe. Not that there had been anything even remotely close to a fireable offense or even something remotely insulting or even inadvertent transgression in her duties, but when one lived her entire life without any security, in one's mind, every day was uncertain and any of the stability one achieved could be yanked out from under one's feet with the same speed.
A London pickpocket found themselves clamped in shackles and bound for Newgate. The Earl gestured for Addien to sit and waited for her to do so before joining her.
This is what made the Earl of Dynevor a man to be admired amongst his staff. He may have been born to nobility, but he'd also toiled and survived in the streets the same as the rest of them. And when he found himself returned to his rightful place of heir to the Marquette, he'd not forgotten from where he'd come. He still reserved the same respect for the ladies of the ton that he did for his menial laborers.
“I have a new role for you.” The Earl never minced words. And Addien having been lulled into a sense of ease. Found her herself wholly unprepared for the jarring announcement.
“What?” She exclaimed. Her voice, pitchy she with annoyance and anger and not a little bit of fear.
Addien jumped to her feet.
“Have I done something to displease you, Did I fail in my responsibilities? Because if I did, you need just inform me what my transgressions were and I will—”
“You had done nothing wrong,” he said, with a grunt.
The Earl nudged his chin at her vacant chair, and Addien swiftly took his order. She reclaimed her seat as she did. She buried shaking fingers. She curled her shaking fingers into her lap and gripped the fabric hard card.
Addien felt his gaze on her, her white knuckled grip and made herself stop.
“You always were befitting your name Snap,” He drawled in what was the closest he ever came to amusement.
“You know you're not always in trouble. I don't even think you could find it with a map and a magnifying glass,” he said, “you’re good snap.” He said, “you're good at what you do. It's why you deserve the promotion I’m giving you.”
“A promotion?” She repeated dumbly.
Anyone else would've jumped for joy at an advancement in one's career, not snap. Addien craved stability, familiarity, and the last thing she wanted was to advance through the ranks.
The Earl nodded by the faintly smug expression he wore, she conveyed erroneously---- that she was speechless with joy.
“It's been a long time coming. I've just been waiting for the right placement for you, and I finally found, it just not in the way that I'd expected to or necessarily wanted to,” he muttered that latter part under his breath.
Snap had completely forgotten.
“I'm pulling you from the floors.” He was talking, but her thoughts were spinning as she tried to get a word in every other statement he uttered, penetrated her careening thoughts.
“…higher pay…”
“…better hours…”
“…close new rooms…”
At some point, snap registered he'd stopped speaking and stared at her.
“I don't want any of that,” she blurted with her usual honesty. She'd never been able to shut her mouth.
The Earl sat back in his chair and looped his left ankle across his right knee. He quirked an eyebrow.
Snap wrinkled her nose. She knew what was expected of her here. She didn't even bother to muster fake, not even for the head of the club.
“I don't”, she said shaking her head. “Thanks, but no thanks Killorin.”
Snap Stood.
“Sit your arse down Snap.” Snap instantly sat. But she did so with a mutant set to her lips and a glower for the all-powerful proprietor.
“What about some thanks? You know I never gave false words. Not even to you.”
“I ain't thankful. I am annoyed.” She bit out with putting all the meaning of her name into her tone.
“You don't like change. I get that. I know about it, Snap.”
The words he was speaking were all the right ones meant to give an unsettled person the assurances and reassurances they need in a charged moment. Coming from Dynevor, however, they emerged more as a cataloged market list cook might take with her to the market.
“This is good, and you're doing it. I had problems before with a lady who had no place being here, could have ruined my business. Fortunately, she went and married herself to Wakefield, and obviously that helped the matter and made it go away,” he said.
Wakefield. The Earl spoke about his newly brought in partner who'd taken part in an auction where the lady had been there of her choice, but her choice had been coerced. Granted, Snap liked the lady immensely. Something she denied it. Anybody and everybody, including the lady herself.
“What exactly is it you'd want me to do in this new role?” She asked bluntly.
The proprietor's hard lips curled in something between a smile and a sneer.
“Not would be Snap will be, these will be your responsibilities.”
“You'll be leaving the club and accompanying Smith.”
Snap strangled on her spit and dissolved into a para of coughing.
“Fuck, no.” She managed to get out in between her heaving gasps for air.
She used every last bit of air in her lungs to make this point clear. The last person she'd be working with would be Smith, that smug, self-righteous, pompous Lord who looked down at all those in the club.
This time, any other employer would've taken offense, not Dynevor. He erupted into a horse guffaw, a horse by all the cheroots, he smoked.
Some said it was even a product of the work he'd done when he'd been part of MacDiggory’s gang setting fires to buildings and warehouses throughout London. He was instantly stone cold sober.
In quick order, the Earl proceeded to rundown a list of her new responsibilities, expectations, and every other last detail in between pertaining to her new work at the Devil's Den. When he'd finished, he stood bringing the session to a close.
“We're done here. Snap.”
His meaning couldn't be clearer. She'd either do the job or leave the club, and they both knew that wasn't an option. Not only would he distance her from Roy, the only man she'd ever felt comfortable with aside from his lordship, he'd stick her with that miserable blighter Smith from his fancy haught Ton.
“Your Lordship,” she spat and with a mocking curtsy. She took herself off and prepared for a different kind of hangman's noose.
