One-half of Deux Lectrices, writing about the things I read.
“Mr. Dalton wants to meet you,” he said in a voice that sounded as though it came from his toes.
Finley scowled at him. This is what she had hoped to achieve, and now that she had, she was annoyed. “Mr. Dalton can wait.”
The man straightened, making himself even taller. “Mr. Dalton doesn’t wait.”
A sharp glare wrinkled Emily’s brow. “Look, you ... gargantuan, she’s hurt, and she’s not running off to meet your master until I’ve addressed her injuries. Is that understood?”
Surprise lit his large face. He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll wait here.”
STOP IT, JUST FUCKING STOP. Either this man does Dalton's bidding by physically forcing the people Dalton wants to talk to to go to him or he wimps out the first time someone says no. THERE IS NOT AN IN BETWEEN JUST BECAUSE EMILY, WHOSE CHARACTERIZATION IS FLYING IN THE FUCKING FACE OF ALL THAT HAS BEEN WRITTEN OF IT, HAS SAID NO.