Good (гет)

He stood, buttoned his robes, and came around her desk to lean against the front. “Blaise told me you’re looking for something specific.”
She blinked at him, wondering if she could reach for the emergency Portkey she kept in her shelves and disappear to St. Mungo’s before he could stop her. Her mouth opened, voice beginning to squeak a response.
“And I just wanted to drop by,” he cut her off and tilted his head, “and say that I’m flattered. But I won’t be taking you on.”
“That’s—that’s not—what?”
“I don’t think we’d be a good fit,” he said simply, like he was interviewing her for a secretary position.