Authors: Kathy Love

Devilishly Sexy (10 page)

BOOK: Devilishly Sexy

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She didn’t move as she heard her apartment door open and close. He was gone.

You bitch.

Liza closed her eyes at the sound of the demon’s voice, clear and alert.

And that was appropriate to how she felt too.

Chapter Ten

“S
o what’s eatin’ at you today?” Elton asked, not looking up from bundling a bunch of envelopes with a rubber band.

Michael paused in his sorting, however, glancing at the older man. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

He shot Michael a sidelong look, and a knowing smile split his leathery face. “I’m a seer, son. I don’t miss much.”

Michael smiled too, although the gesture felt forced, difficult. “I’m beginning to realize that.”

Elton nodded, then returned to his work.

They both continued on silently for a few moments before Elton spoke again. “Are you finding it any easier to be back?”

Michael nodded, automatically. “This way of working is definitely different. I’m used to a more hands-on approach, but if DIA can save more humans in the end, then we have to try.”

“I wasn’t talking about the business. It’s got to be hard to come back to a world you don’t know or fully understand.”

“Oh.” Michael shrugged. His first instinct was to simply gloss over his feelings. He felt lost. Confused. Not sure how anything worked in this new era. Especially after last night. But the burden of acting as if everything was fine was too much for him this morning.

“Yeah, I am finding things a little confusing. And overwhelming.”

“That’s understandable. And to be expected.”

Michael nodded. He silently sorted more mail.

“I’m not always sure how to understand the changes I’m seeing,” he said after a moment. “Or how to find the answers that would help me understand.”

Elton glanced at him, then shrugged himself. “I would imagine you just ask.”

He’d tried to ask last night. He’d tried to get Liza to explain her abrupt shift. Her sudden demand that he leave. But she hadn’t told him a thing. It was as if the incredibly responsive lover he’d been with all night had disappeared, replaced by a cold, distant woman he didn’t recognize. Someone who was as shut down as the Liza he’d made love to was open.

But maybe Elton could help him understand. After all, he had said Michael should just ask if he was confused. And damn, he was confused.

“Last night, I—um—hooked up?” Was that still a phrase that was used now?

Elton stopped sorting and waited, one eyebrow cocked.

“I hooked up with a woman.”

Elton gave him an impressed look. “Well, I suppose it’s good you aren’t waiting too long to get back in the saddle. But then, after thirty-three years ...”

“Exactly,” Michael agreed.

“So what’s confusing?” Elton asked. “I can’t imagine anything has changed much in that department.”

“No,” Michael agreed slowly, trying to explain exactly what had him confused. It definitely hadn’t been the act itself.

“The hookup went fine, better than fine. It was amazing.”

Elton nodded approvingly, another wide smile spreading across his face. “Very good. Very good.”

“It was what happened afterward. She—she just kicked me out.”

Elton’s smile withered.

“No explanation. No warning that something was bothering her. Just literally—get out.”

Elton studied him for a minute, then gave a helpless shrug. “You know, maybe I’m not the one to talk to. After all, I’ve been with my Dolores for nearly fifty years. I can’t even remember my hooking-up days.”

Michael chuckled, although he was a little disappointed. “That’s okay. Maybe there just isn’t an answer.” But even as he said that, he knew it wasn’t true. There had to be a reason Liza’s demeanor had changed like that, and so suddenly.

He returned to his mailroom work, although his thoughts were still on what had happened with Liza.

“Maybe she was honestly just looking for a one-night stand,” Elton said, giving Michael a regretful look.

Michael didn’t think so. And even if that were the case, he didn’t think Liza would react the way she had. He could see her apologetically telling him she couldn’t get involved. Maybe even making a joke of it, but she’d been emphatic, almost desperate, for him to leave right away.

“Or maybe she was hiding something. Something she didn’t know how to tell you about.”

Of course! She’d woken and remembered her soul contract. She’d made a pact with the devil. That was a pretty heavy burden, and certainly something she couldn’t share with an average guy. Hell, an average guy wouldn’t even believe her.

That had to be it.

“Like maybe she’s seeing someone else,” Elton added. “Or she wasn’t that into you.”

Michael frowned at the old man.

Yeah, he liked his theory better.

Liza let her head fall back against the back of her office chair, closing her eyes, exhausted. Her temples pounded, and she just wanted to close her eyes and sleep, but she couldn’t do that without another massive dose of Benadryl. And she was growing more concerned about taking so many of the allergy meds. She had been noticing her heart racing more and more lately, and she knew the drugs were affecting her heart rate and blood pressure.

Although a massive heart attack might be preferable to this.

Rah, rah, ah, ah, ah

Roma, roma, ma

Gaga, ooh, la, la

Liza gritted her teeth, determined not to scream. But Boris had been singing at the top of his lungs since he’d fully come to last night, both furious that he’d been drugged yet again, but also that he’d missed sex.

And Lady Gaga had been his preferred torture of choice. Over and over. And off-key to boot.

“Stop it!” she cried out. Not for the first time, but apparently even Boris was getting tired of it, because he trailed off just as he got to the part of the song where he wanted her psycho, her vertical stick.

When are you going to learn, darling? Drug me, and you will pay.

Liza was tempted to tell him it was well worth hours and hours of awful singing, but when she thought about how tired she was and how badly her head hurt, she wasn’t sure anymore.

Then she thought of Michael. No, that had definitely been worth it. Unfortunately it really had been just a stolen moment.

And I missed it.

Liza closed her eyes again, frustrated that she was so tired, she couldn’t keep her thoughts hidden from him. Sometimes she could, but masking her thoughts took a lot of energy and concentration, neither of which she had much of today.

Finally, I could have gotten a little action. And you deny me. P-p-poker face. P-p-poker face.

Liza groaned. Great, Boris was angry enough to begin his Lady Gaga torture again—although at least he was doing a medley. Still she was going to have to resort to the Benadryl again. Obviously.

Don’t you dare.

“Then just stop singing. Please.” She didn’t even care that she was begging. She was so tired. And so upset.

“Ms. McLane.”

Liza spun in her desk chair to find Finola’s newest personal assistant at the door. Sadly, Liza didn’t even know her name, because frankly most of them didn’t make it long enough to bother with names.

“Ms. White would like to see you in her office,” the goth/rockabilly-looking woman said, pushing up her funky cat’s-eye glasses. Liza absently wondered if the woman had always fidgeted with her glasses like that, or if it was a nervous habit from dealing with the demanding, and oh so evil, Finola White.

“Tell her I will be right there.”

The assistant looked like she’d rather do anything else. Poor woman. But she simply nodded and disappeared out of the doorway, rushing away on a pair of chunky-heeled, red patent-leather dolly shoes that Finola was guaranteed to despise.

Poor woman, she thought again, then sighed. Poor me. Her day was already the pits, and now she had to have a meeting with Finola.

I just want to point out that she’s a bigger bitch than me.

Liza snorted. “I think that one is debatable.”

Boris snorted back, but then actually fell blessedly silent.

Liza gathered up some of the articles and layouts she’d been working on for the July issue of
HOT!
and tried to brace herself for the next trial of her day.

“What took you so long?” Finola asked as soon as Liza stepped into her office, which was decorated in a sort of the-arctic-meets-the-future motif. Everything was white and ultra-modern—and somehow inherently pretentious.

“Forgive me,” Liza said, not bothering to keep the hint of sarcasm out of her voice. “I’ve had a rather distracting morning dealing with the little friend you’ve cursed me with.”

Finola raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, whether at what she’d said, or how she’d said it, Liza wasn’t sure. Then Finola gestured to her lackey, Tristan McIntyre.

Tristan crossed the room and pulled an oval mirror out from behind a dressing screen that stood in the corner of the office. He positioned it at an angle so that Liza was reflected and Finola could look into it as well.

Behind Liza stood Boris in all his flaming glory. And not the flames of Hell way, but rather the kitschy, over-the-top way of a very flamboyant gay man.

“What are you doing now?” Finola said into the mirror, which was the demonic equivalent of a video chat.

Boris pouted. “She drugged me again.”

“I don’t know that I can blame her,” Tristan murmured from where he stood beside the mirror.

Boris made a face at the other demon. Liza probably would have found the interaction amusing if she didn’t have to be a part of it.

Finola clearly didn’t find any of it amusing. Instead her pale, icy gaze moved over each of them.

“I’m not concerned with your petty dramas,” she finally said.

“She is drugging me, Finola. That is hardly a petty drama,” Boris said, placing a hand on his hip, his expression somewhere between irritated and wounded.

“I’m possessed,” Liza stated. “I wouldn’t call that a petty drama either.”

Tristan suppressed a chuckle.

“And,” Boris added, “the prude finally got laid last night, and where was I? Out cold. I finally had a chance for a little carnal fun, and nothing. Nuh-thing.”

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, waiting for Finola’s sympathy.

Finola’s usually beautiful and flawless expression tightened, appearing hard, frustrated.

She narrowed her eyes at Boris. “Do you really think I care about her love life or about you missing it? Your only concern is making sure Ms. McLane is doing her job.” She sighed. “I am starting to truly believe you are not the demon for this task.”

Boris immediately dropped his indignant stance and looked contrite. “I am the right demon. I’m sorry, mistress.”

Finola stared at him in the mirror for several seconds, then nodded. “So Ms. McLane, amid your adventures in drugging your possessor and seeking carnal gratification, did you find time to get the July issue together?”

Liza didn’t answer, but instead rose and placed her work in front of Finola. Again, Finola’s eyebrow rose at Liza’s lack of verbal response or cowering respect or maybe both, probably both, but Liza was at her wits’ end and frankly, nothing could scare her at the moment.

Finola didn’t say a word, however. Instead she focused on the newest magazine submissions.

After several moments, she looked up. “These are good. I like most of them. Although I think you could liven up the cover articles. Some of these are old and overdone.”

It was on the tip of Liza’s tongue to ask her what she really knew about running a magazine, or about what would inspire the consumer to pick up a copy of
HOT!,
but she caught herself.

She might be tired and frustrated and angry that she was in this wretched situation. Basically an indentured slave, chained to Finola by the fact that she was possessed and Finola was the only one who could ever free her of the demon in her body and mind. But Liza was smart enough to know Finola White, despite looking like a pale, elegant ice queen, was the evilest of all demons. And Liza had to show her some respect, if she wanted to survive this possession. If there was a way to survive it.

“I will work on finding more intriguing articles,” Liza said passively.

Finola nodded, appearing to be somewhat mollified. “Good. Otherwise, it would appear the issue is nicely on track. I will let you two go and get back to work. And remember, Bartoris, you are never to interfere with Ms. McLane’s work.”

Boris nodded.

“But,” Finola added, “what you choose to do when she is away from work is your choice.”

Liza gritted her teeth. That was as good as giving him a microphone and a Lady Gaga CD.

BOOK: Devilishly Sexy

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