“The Warwicks approve of you working, do they?” he responded, skeptically. He had not had the dubious pleasure of meeting Nat’s parents, as he was half Muggle, but he had heard quite a few stories. He was fairly sure they would prefer a daughter-in-law who hosted tea parties all day and embroidered things and planned dinner parties. Granted, if this woman didn’t even like tea, he supposed that tea parties were right out. “Or are you the instrument of not-so-teenaged rebellion?” he posited, calmly.

He supposed it was time to come clean. Well, slightly clean. He rarely showed all of his cards at once, especially not to strangers. “You see, I know your husband, Mrs. Warwick. I know him quite well. And I have to wonder why, after years and years of refusing to give in and marry a pureblood, as he was expected to do, he suddenly agreed to marry you.” Nigel paused a moment, steepling his fingers. “I see only a few options. I’m going to assume you did not administer a love potion, as the Warwicks are Potions royalty and would be on guard against that.” 

Pouring himself some more tea, he offered her the plate of biscuits. “I also suspect that you are not a high class callgirl, playing the part of a mysterious American pureblood to placate the parents in exchange for some of the family fortune, but that is only because I doubt your husband could come up with a scheme like that.” Nat’s plans were not subtle and were often half-baked and usually failed. “So the only conclusion I can draw is that he is using you. You came along, you don’t know anything of our culture, you were convenient. I’m sure he doesn’t think of it that way, but my dear Mrs. Warwick, I would be on my guard, if I were you.”

Clearly, she was not as suspicious as she should be. “You appear to be very trusting and innocent, as you admitted that you came to this meeting, not knowing who I was or if I might kidnap you, and yet, if I did plan to do that, you planned to do what? Sing at me? My office is soundproof, so if you intended to scream, you’d be out of luck.” He sometimes had visitors to his office, and they sometimes caused a lot of noise, which he didn’t want his secretary to hear. “Fortunately, I have no such intentions, but you were not to know that. How do you know what your husbands’ intentions are? You’ve already admitted that you are a Dragon Widow. Also, I have heard that his ex-girlfriend, who he intended to marry, I might add, is beginning an internship with him.”

“You don’t have to heed my advice, Mrs. Warwick,” he acquiesced, “but keep in mind that I have known him for eight years. You have known him for what? Eight weeks? Just make sure you look out for yourself.” Standing, he crossed to a file cabinet and pulled a document out of it, which he placed on the desk in front of her. “I’m not going to ask you to sing for me today. The position is yours, if you accept it. If the terms are agreeable to you, just sign both copies of the contract. One is yours to keep.”