Mil kept her smile pcid, but her professionalism was wearing thin. Sitting across from her on the velvet armchair, Alice shifted for the third time in as many minutes, a coiled spring of expensive boredom in a Chanel dress.

  The office was simple but elegant—cream walls, dark wood furniture, and soft lighting that made everything feel both professional and intimate. On the wall behind Mil's desk hung their logo: a golden spinning wheel, its wheel caught mid-spin, transforming illustrated straw into streams of gold. *Spinning Straw Into Gold.* It was perfect. Aspirational. A promise that they could take the raw material of loneliness and transform it into something precious.

  If only their clients would let them.

  "So, the Marquis," Mil said, her voice a smooth, practiced calm. "You found the conversation... cking?"

  "Lacking?" Alice gave a short, bitter ugh. "Mil, he was a block of wood. A very handsome, very well-carved block of wood, but a block of wood nonetheless. I tried to talk about the nature of perception, and he wanted to discuss grain futures."

  Mil made a note on her tablet. *Client finds candidates too literal. Lacks imagination.* This was the third one. The first, a viscount, had been dismissed for being "too predictable." The second, a shipping magnate, for having "no sense of wonder." Alice was their most challenging, and most lucrative, client. Her retainer alone could float the entire operation for a year.

  "I understand," Mil said softly. "It's about a connection. A spark."

  "It's about a personality," Alice corrected, her eyes sharp. "I'm not looking for a husband to manage my estate. I'm looking for a man who isn't so boring."

  Mil knew exactly what she meant. She knew where Alice had been getting her "men" before coming to them. The Rabbit Hole. It wasn't a matchmaking service; it was a procurement service. A high-end, discreet agency of "call boys" for the kingdom's elite women and men. The White Rabbit, its proprietor, was a sly, dapper man who dealt in flesh, not futures. Alice was used to paying for a performance, for a manufactured sense of danger and excitement. Now, she wanted the real thing for the price of a partnership.

  "The men we provide are vetted for stability, discretion, and ambition," Mil reminded her, choosing her words with care. "They are potential partners, Alice. Not temporary distractions."

  "Exactly," Alice sighed, and for a moment, her frustration gave way to a raw vulnerability that Mil knew was the real problem. "The distractions are so much easier. You know what you're getting. You know when it's over."

  This was the core of it. Alice was addicted to the transactional nature of The Rabbit Hole. The safety of knowing exactly what she was buying. No risk. No real vulnerability.

  Mil opened her mouth to respond, to try once more to thread the needle between empathy and firmness, when the office door opened.

  Rumpelstiltskin.

  He moved into the room like he owned it—which, technically, he did. He was smaller than most men, but he'd learned long ago to make up for stature with presence. Today he wore a charcoal suit that cost more than some people's monthly pay, gold cufflinks catching the light as he closed the door behind him. His dark eyes took in the scene immediately: Alice's defensive posture, Mil's careful professionalism, the tension hanging in the air like expensive perfume.

  "Alice," he said warmly, crossing to her with an easy smile. "I heard you were here. I hope Mil's been taking good care of you."

  Alice straightened slightly, and Mil didn't miss the way her expression shifted—interest flickering where frustration had been a moment before. "She has," Alice said, and there was something different in her voice now. Less judgmental.

  "Good." Rumpelstiltskin pulled the chair closer, settling into it with the kind of grace that made the movement look choreographed. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked at Alice with those sharp, calcuting eyes that could cut through bullshit like a knife through silk. "We appreciate your business, Alice. Truly. And we're going to continue doing our best for you."

  Mil watched, fascinated despite herself. This was why he was so good at what he did.

  "But," he continued, reaching out to take Alice's hands between his own—bold, intimate, but somehow not presumptuous—"the deal is this." He held her gaze. "You want excitement. Is there something wrong with that?"

  Alice blinked, caught off guard by the directness.

  "No," Rumpelstiltskin answered his own question. "There's nothing wrong with it. But the deal is, we are here to make sure you don't just get a jolt of happiness that burns out. We're here to give you something long-term you can trust." He paused, letting that sink in. "So here's what we'll do. We will continue to connect you with men who fulfill your desires. But you have to give them a chance."

  His thumbs brushed over her knuckles, a small gesture that somehow commanded complete attention.

  "Really ask yourself, Alice—do you want a partner? Or do you just want a fuckable thrill?"

  Mil managed not to react, but internally she was impressed. He'd just said exactly what she'd been dancing around for twenty minutes.

  Rumpelstiltskin raised his eyebrows, his expression both challenging and kind. "I mean, if you do want that—just the thrill—there's nothing wrong with it. But this isn't the business for you. The Rabbit Hole is what you might want to continue staying at."

  The office went quiet. Alice stared at him, and Mil could see the war pying out behind her eyes. The truth, id bare. The choice, explicit.

  "I..." Alice started, then stopped. Swallowed. When she spoke again, her voice was smaller, more honest. "I don't want that. Not really."

  "Then my business partner is going to show you some more men we have," Rumpelstiltskin said, his smile returning—warmer now, encouraging. "Because we have a lot who'd love to be with you. But you have to take it seriously." He squeezed her hands gently. "You do that for me, Alice?"

  Alice looked at him—really looked at him—and Mil saw it. The interest. The attraction. Alice was used to commanding rooms, used to men falling over themselves to please her. But Rumpelstiltskin had just called her out, id down boundaries, and somehow made her feel *seen* in the process.

  "Sure," Alice said softly. Almost shy.

  "Okay." Rumpelstiltskin released her hands and stood, smoothing his suit jacket. He gnced at Mil with the barest flicker of a smile—*it's in your capable hands as usual*—before heading toward the door. "I'll let you two get back to it. Alice, always a pleasure."

  The door clicked shut behind him.

  Alice was still staring at the door, and Mil heard it—barely a whisper, almost to herself.

  "That's one hell of a man right there."

  Mil's gaze snapped to Alice's face. The expression there was unmistakable. Hunger. Raw, unguarded want. Alice looked like a woman who'd just been shown something she didn't know she needed and now couldn't stop thinking about it.

  *Oh.*

  That was... interesting.