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Once she had settled in the seat and given the office’s address to the driver, she leaned back, contemplating Charlie’s words.
You’ll be free of her one day soon.
Did he know what Annie had done to get her job at
HOT!
? Probably. People just didn’t go from the mailroom to successful photographer overnight. He must have made a deal of some sort himself. The deal no one ever discussed. That was part of the pact too.
Which made Charlie’s comment all the more disconcerting. He had to know he could be risking all the happiness he’d acquired with comments like that. And happiness was surprisingly elusive when you made a deal with a devil.
Suddenly a chill crept over her like the devil was standing right beside her. What if Charlie was one of
them
? What if he was a demon, trying to trick her into breaking her pact? Wasn’t that the game? Make her trip up so she would break contract, and they would get her soul?
She’d learned pretty quickly to trust no one within Finola’s company. Yet she had stupidly begun to trust both Charlie and Ava, because they’d been so warm to her. Maybe that was just some sort of setup. A way to see if she was really loyal to Finola. For all she knew, Charlie could report everything she said back to Finola.
None of the
HOT!
staff were her real friends. Hadn’t she learned anything over her years of working for Finola? She had to keep all her cards close to her chest. Be careful who you trust. Be careful what you say. Do your work. And try to avoid Finola’s wrath as much as possible.
That was how she planned to survive. She only had seven more years until her contract was paid in full.
She groaned. “Seven years.”
Chapter Four
“I
need you to find out everything you can about a Detective Nick Rossi.”
Annie stared at her boss, not sure why the request surprised her. Finola had asked her to do many strange things over the past three years, not the least of which was locating hundreds of lovebirds in the greater borough of New York for a photoshoot. Tracking down a specific silk weaver who raised a particular, preferable type of silkworm and lived in a remote part of China. And the worst being when she insisted that Annie purchase the original celluloid reels of
Casablanca
so Finola could have a designer make them into a dress that she would then wear on the red carpet for the Oscars.
Needless to say, Annie hadn’t managed the last one, but she did manage to save her immortal soul by getting the original reels from
Night of the Demons
, which, not surprisingly, was also one of Finola’s favorite movies, so her demanding boss was appeased. And actually did look quite stunning on the red carpet.
So strange requests Annie had handled. But Finola’s requests had always centered around the world of fashion and her place in it. Annie didn’t know what to make of investigating an investigator. Why would Finola want her to do that? Was she in trouble? Could a detective even be a threat to a—creature like Finola?
But she knew better than to ask questions like that. Instead she asked, “What do you want to know?”
Finola didn’t answer her right away. Instead she wandered over to her desk, not taking a seat, but absently running her fingertips along the edge of her desk, then over the back of her leather desk chair. Her movements had an almost daydreaming, sensual quality.
Annie found her motions almost entrancing, even as she found them odd. She’d never seen Finola act this way.
Through the glass walls, Annie could see Tristan in his own office, seated at his desk. He spoke on the phone, but his attention appeared more focused on their boss than his conversation. His unusually beautiful face was marred by a frown and his own expression looked as vexed as Annie felt. Clearly he was aware of Finola’s strange behavior too.
What was wrong with her?
Finally she turned back to Annie as if she’d just realized her assistant had asked a question.
“I want you to find out everything,” she said as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. “Where he lives. Where his office is. What he does in his spare time. About his family.”
Annie couldn’t suppress her frown. Family? She didn’t think she’d ever heard Finola say that word before. It sounded almost like a foreign term when passing over Finola’s bloodred lips.
Then as if the word disturbed her too, Finola’s wistful expression hardened and she clearly considered something she hadn’t thought of until that moment.
“I want to know whether he’s married. Or if he has a girlfriend.”
Ah, realization hit Annie. Her boss was romantically interested in this man. Annie had never seen Finola act this way over a man before. She seemed outright—smitten.
Finola always had men. They flocked to her. And usually she just treated them like entertainment and accessories. This was definitely different.
Finola might be evil, but she was beautiful. And she could be charming. And seductive. Men came as soon as Finola crooked her finger. Surely this man would too.
So why the research? Was it because Finola was truly interested in this man? Could a demon feel genuine love and affection?
“I want the information on my desk first thing tomorrow morning,” Finola said, the dreamy quality gone, replaced by the demanding diva Annie knew so well.
Annie nodded, all thoughts about what a demon could or couldn’t feel gone. She had another task, and all her concentration had to be focused on that. This was just another job to be done and done well to keep herself safe.
“I’ll get right on it,” Annie assured her boss, turning to leave Finola’s office.
“Where is lunch?” Finola asked, halting Annie’s retreat instantly. “I did tell you to get takeout at Raimondi’s, did I not?”
Annie gritted her teeth, wanting desperately to remind Finola that she’d also demanded that Annie return directly from the photoshoot. But Annie was damned if not getting lunch was going to be the thing that got her soul damned for all time.
She turned back to her boss, keeping her expression carefully contrite. “I’m sorry. I will go there right now.”
She hurried from the room before Finola could react more.
But of course, Finola had to have the last word.
“Be quick about it, Anna,” Finola called after her. “We have enormous amounts of Fashion Week details to go over. Pick up some lattes too. It’s going to be a long afternoon.”
Annie raised a hand to acknowledge she’d heard, then dropped it back to her side, fisted, her nails digging into her palm.
Seven years. Just seven years.
 
“What do you mean she isn’t staying on task?”
“She’s wasting her time on frivolous things. Clothes, jewelry, all manner of human indulgences.”
Satan looked up from adjusting his ski boots. He raised one of his distinctively arched brows in that condescending way only he could.
“And what’s wrong with that?” he asked, his voice rumbling through his cavern like thunder. Then he glanced pointedly at his own attire. Human skiwear.
“Nothing, Master. Nothing. But she gets distracted by them. And she loses her focus.”
Satan rose from his throne, walking over to a large oval mirror that two small goblin-like demons struggled to hold upright for him. He turned from side to side, admiring his new ski apparel. The human clothing looked odd against his red skin, and the knit cap didn’t fit quite right over his horns. But overall, the look wasn’t too bad.
“Do hold the mirror still,” he growled at the goblins. The goblins instantly braced their tiny bodies, levering the mirror straighter. Their lean, reptilian muscles quivered under the strain of obeying his command, but they did manage to keep the large glass oval motionless.
After a moment, and apparently satisfied, he turned his attention back to the topic at hand. As soon as Satan looked away, the goblins nearly dropped the mirror in their relief. But they didn’t. Luckily. A broken mirror would not please Satan. Even he was superstitious.
“Tell me more,” he demanded, his voice echoing around them again, startling.
“She also seems to be attracted to a human. A detective who is asking questions about the missing employees.”
Satan frowned, then stroked his pointy goatee.
“How attracted?”
“Very.”
Satan considered this, then nodded. “Thank you for letting me know. You will come right back to me if she does anything too reckless. We’re coming up to the most important event of our takeover. Her actions had better not interfere with that.”
“Yes, Master. Of course, Master.”
 
Annie stepped into her apartment, not containing her groan of relief at being home. Finally. She dropped her briefcase in the small coat closet by the door. Automatically her high heels followed. She moaned again with relief, flexing her sore feet against the cool wood floors.
“Annie, is that you?”
Annie closed her eyes at the sound of Bobby’s voice and silly question. Who else would it be? But she shoved the snippy comment away. After all, Bobby wasn’t to blame for her exhaustion.
She pulled in a calming breath and managed to answer, her tone not precisely happy, but at least pleasant. “Yeah, Bobby, it’s me.”
“Wow, you’re home early.”
Annie raised an eyebrow at that as she hung up her coat, but she supposed he was right. It was a little after nine, which was actually an early day for her. But it had been a high-stress day. And she was beat.
“Did you bring home dinner?” he called. “I’m starving.”
Annie walked down the small hallway that opened up into a large living room. Large even by Manhattan standards. Bobby lounged on the sofa, his feet on the coffee table, and his attention on the large-screen television mounted on the wall. A video game controller was clutched in his hand.
Annie dropped down onto the oversized chair that matched the rich, warm brown material of the sofa.
“No, I didn’t stop to get anything. But I could order pizza or Chinese, if you want.”
He didn’t look away from his game, making faces and jerking the remote as his computer self sped wildly through the city streets on a motorcycle. Wreaking havoc as he went.
Absently she watched the game, too tired to do anything else.
Finally, he won—or lost, Annie wasn’t exactly sure—and he tossed the remote onto the coffee table, a cool piece Annie had found at a flea market and refinished herself back when she’d first started at
HOT!
and had been excited about this nice apartment and decorating it.
She still liked her place, with its eclectic décor and rich, warm colors. Browns, rusts and warm beiges, accented with cool pillows and artwork and lighting. A sort of bohemian feel, comfortable, but stylish. Fun but calming. A haven from the outside world. But it wasn’t a haven she got much time to enjoy these days.
“I guess Chinese would be okay,” Bobby said with a sigh, stretching his arms over his head as if he’d been hard at work himself. The muscles in his broad shoulders flexed. His T-shirt strained against his sculpted torso. He yawned, running a hand through his naturally tousled blonde hair.
He was so good looking—a perfect combination of California surfer and boy-next-door. He would be just about any red-blooded woman’s fantasy, and Annie wondered why, as she watched him, she felt nothing. Her pulse didn’t even jump, much less speed up.
Exhaustion, she told herself, just like she did every time she didn’t react to him.
Bobby finished his long stretch, then looked at Annie. “You look wiped out.”
She nodded, surprised he even noticed. “Yeah, I am. It was a rough day.” Another rough day.
“Then you’d better order the food before you totally crash.”
She stared at him for a moment, the irritation she’d first felt when she’d entered the apartment returning. But again, she tamped it down.
Bobby didn’t mean to be thoughtless. Sure, he’d been home all evening and he could have picked up something for dinner. But she knew he simply didn’t think of things like that.
Annie was the organized one; he was the creative one. His struggle to get acting roles took up most of his attention and his time. He’d made the decision not to get a job for that very reason. He needed to be available to make auditions. And he did take a lot of acting classes. His quest for success made him a little absentminded; she understood that.
Annie forced herself up from the soft comfort of her chair to go back to the front closet to retrieve her phone from her bag.
She scrolled through her list of contacts to find the number of the Chinese restaurant that was Bobby’s favorite. She placed the order, knowing what he liked. Once that was done, she headed toward the bedroom to change out of her work clothes, imagining the comfy warmth of her fleece pajama bottoms and a nice thick hoodie.
“You didn’t even ask me about my rehearsal today,” Bobby said before she could make it to the door.
She stopped in the doorway to turn back, giving him a pained look. Bobby had just gotten a part in an Off-Off Broadway play. It was not a huge role but he was still excited about it, and Annie couldn’t blame him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying not to show any of her exhaustion. “I forgot. How did it go?”
“Rehearsal was great,” he said, smiling. A million-dollar smile, as they say. “I really think all my acting classes are paying off. I’m totally getting into this character’s head.”
It couldn’t be that difficult, Annie thought. He played a deliveryman with only four lines.
Not kind, she instantly admonished herself. She knew Bobby was working hard, taking his work seriously, and she should be happy for him.
“Listen to how I’ve changed this one line to put my own spin on it. This is the original. ‘Hey, mister, where do you want me to put this?’ ” He cleared his throat and shook out his long limbs, more like he was heading into an intense Shakespearean soliloquy than a single line.
Then in an awful Brooklyn accent that couldn’t even begin to mask his Southern drawl, he said, “Hey, buddy, where do you want me to put this?”
Annie waited, not sure what to say. Then Bobby grinned, clearly pleased with his performance.
“See what I did there? I changed ‘mister’ to ‘buddy.’ I think it makes it more current. The director was pleased with my interpretation—and my initiative.”
She forced a smile. “Nice.”
He nodded. “This is really a great opportunity. A good solid piece for me.”

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