"Like you're humble about your chasing skills, I suppose." Tracey gave Isaac a cheeky smile and moved about the room, collecting a rag and handle wax to have it ready when the charms were done. She loved this part of her job so much she could have done it in her sleep. "One of the best?" She scoffed at that and was considering ways to make him take the words back and correct himself but she rolled her shoulders and let the phrase go. Tracey did know her own worth.
If Tracey, for one instant, realised that Montague was calling her someone else's property, that he was even entertaining that notion in his Neanderthalic brain, she would have hexed him right then and there. What century was he from? And the problem was, all the little tartlets that chased him fed into that same mentality. So pathetic.
Tracey's nerves turned brittle at the way he looked at her. Like she was something dirty on the bottom of his shoe. She'd seen that look before and while no, she wasn't interested in him, it still stung to be told she wasn't good enough. Too good for him, more likely. She had her reasons, and apparently, so did he. It was a ridiculous notion to even dwell upon. Most normal people didn't have such blatant conversations that they weren't going to shag each other. Hear hear for polite society.
Montague's question surprised her. In that split second it took for his words to reach her brain she considered perceptions and just what exactly he, and others, thought of her and her business. She had knowledge and skill and pride in what she did. This wasn't some ruse of a bordello. Tracey reacted without thinking, luckily her wand was resting on the table and not in her hand. Her palm smacked deftly against Isaac Montague's cheek without apology. "That is not the kind of business I run here!"