“Tav, are you okay?”

Through her tears, Portia could make out the woman she thought she’d saved run to her attacker and help him up. Her attacker named Tav.

Wait.

“Be a love and go get some milk, Cheryl,” he said, pulling himself to his feet.

“Did you just mace Maestro Tav?” Kevyn had arrived on the scene. Perfect. “Tav, did she? Oh, this is bloody brilliant.”

“Aye, she did. And herself,” Tav added. Tavish McKenzie. Her new boss.

She pressed her palms more firmly into her eyes, waiting for Cheryl to bring the milk or for the cobblestones to part beneath her feet, allowing the earth to swallow her. She’d just arrived in Scotland and had managed to assault the man who would be her boss for the next three months—and herself in the process.

Project: New Portia was off to a fantastic start.

Chapter 2

Tav sighed and removed the cold compress from his eyes, then leaned forward, his office chair creaking under his bulk as it followed his motion. On the other side of his desk, Portia sat with her eyes squeezed closed. He didn’t think she was suffering from the side effects of her attempt at superheroism, judging from the way her eyes occasionally fluttered open to peek at him, then slammed shut. Her whole face was scrunched, like she was caught in a rictus of embarrassment.

He would have pitied her if she hadn’t tried to burn his eyes out without so much as a “Good day.”

“I have . . . questions, but first let me explain something to you,” he said.

She peeked at him and tried to force a smile. It was more of a grimace, but that didn’t stop the realization that the apprentice Jamie had picked out for him was lovely, scrunched face, red eyes, and all. A bloody fool, to be sure, but lovely.

Her curly hair was a dark auburn, highlighted here and there with strands of wheat and honey. Her skin was golden brown, and a spray of freckles dusted her high cheekbones. She looked posh as fuck, too. Her shirt and trousers were obviously tailored, perfectly accentuating her curves, and her luggage was on the high end of high end.

Tav imagined that her being wealthy and beautiful was likely related to her lack of common fucking sense. Problem was, common sense was in high demand at a place where one small mistake could result in slicing, stabbing, or burning yourself or others.

He exhaled deeply against his frustration. “If you are going to carry a weapon, and mace is a weapon despite that hot pink container you carry yours in, make sure you know how to use the bloody thing.”

She nodded.

“Had you ever even given it a test run before? Out in a park or something?”

She shook her head miserably. “I know you’re supposed to, but it seemed . . . dangerous?”

“Right. Next. You arrive at an establishment that’s home to a historical European martial arts training center, see two people fighting with weapons, and it doesn’t even occur to you that they might be sparring?” he asked. “Did you think we were having some kind of medieval turf war?”

Her eyes fluttered open again, her long damp lashes framing deep brown orbs. Jesus, why hadn’t Jamie chosen some tosser from down the pub with a face like a hairy ass?

Enough. You’re too old for this shite. It’s not like you’ve never seen a pretty face before.

“I didn’t see her weapon,” Portia said quietly, as if she hadn’t hurled herself at an armed man twice her size half an hour ago. “And I didn’t know about the European martial arts—or that it even existed, to be honest? It’s not on your website.”

If Tav didn’t know she was apologizing, he might have thought that was judgment in her tone.

“I heard someone in danger and I just rushed in without thinking,” she continued. “I tend to do that.”

“Save strangers?” he asked. “What are you, a vigilante?”

“No. Rush in without thinking. Or thinking I’ve thought, but . . .” She looked down at her hands and frowned. “Never mind.”

“We were practicing for an exhibition,” Tav explained, feeling a bit like an ogre as she sat hunched in her seat. “We do them from time to time to attract new customers and showcase the products. We also take part in competitions. Cheryl, my sister-in-law, can get a little feisty when she’s losing. You’ve got to be careful from here on out, though. You could have been seriously injured running at me like that.”

That was what got to Tav apart from the pain and the interruption to his day—he could have accidentally killed her if he’d been more poorly trained. Christ, what a way to start the day.

“I’m sorry,” Portia said again, her voice low and husky with fatigue. That full, dusky pink lower lip trembled a bit and her teeth pressed into it to still it. “This wasn’t quite how I envisioned the apprenticeship kicking off, but . . .”

She lowered her head so that she was glancing up at him through her lashes, with her pouty lips slightly parted, and something dropped in Tav’s chest like a hammer striking an anvil. She had Tav’s full attention, that was certain. And that was a problem.

Her gaze suddenly sharpened, pinning him. “. . . if you’d picked me up at the station like you were supposed to, I wouldn’t have accidentally sprayed you.”

Tav snorted back a disbelieving laugh. “You cheeky . . .”