Devilishly Wicked (11 page)

“What is wrong with you?” Finola asked, some of her ire replaced by concern. Feigned concern, he knew.

“There is nothing wrong with me,” Tristan assured her. “I intend to enjoy myself with Miss Georgia Sullivan, thoroughly, and then I will do just as you have said, snap up her soul.”

But tonight, he planned to think about nothing but his and Peaches’ pleasure. And maybe the fact that Finola was writhing in agony at being left behind like some demonic Cinderella.

“I hope so,” Finola said, standing. Her features were back to their perfect, emotionless beauty. “You were one of the evilest demons I ever knew. I’d hate to think an odd, rather homely mortal somehow weakened you.”

“Hardly,” Tristan stated. He was still evil and driven to do Satan’s misdeeds. But he was also a demon of lust. And he was lusting hard for Georgia Sullivan, whom he found neither odd nor homely.

“It’s not like it hasn’t happened before,” she pointed out.

Tristan sighed. “I know it has, but not to a demon of lust and certainly not to me. We don’t feel . . . that particular emotion. I only feel lust, need, and the drive for gratification.”

“Again, I hope so.” She didn’t say or react anymore, simply exiting his office.

“I hope so, too,” Dippy growled in a whisper as he followed his “owner.”

Tristan watched them leave, feeling that he’d just gone from thoroughly enjoying his position of power to losing it completely. But that feeling wouldn’t last. He knew what he was doing.

W
as it possible to feel both relief and dread at the same time? Georgia gathered up her shopping bags and headed out of the
HOT!
offices, debating that very question. She was so relieved to be done with work, which had been torture. She hadn’t been able to focus on her job or get a single thing done. But she was also dreading the fact that the end of the workday meant she was minutes closer to her date with Tristan.

“It’s not a date,” she muttered to herself as she stepped out onto the busy Manhattan street. She was just going as his . . . companion. Did they hire people to be seat fillers at the awards ceremonies like the Academy Awards and the Grammys? That was all she was, a seat filler.

She still couldn’t comprehend why Tristan McIntyre would need a seat filler though. Whatever the answer, that was how she was going to look at the night. To consider anything else was silly—and frankly too nerve-wrecking.

Still, even with the endless pep talks, her nerves were frayed.

She contemplated flagging down a cab, but decided to walk. The crisp spring air cooled her flushed skin and she hoped it would clear her head as well. The street bustled with pedestrians and traffic; rush hour was in full swing. The noise served as a good distraction. And she remembered why she had wanted to move here. She loved the city. The action, all the different types of people, the thrill of being in one of the most exciting cities in the world.

And she was attending an exclusive gala with the most handsome man she’d ever met. She should be feeling like a princess about to attend her very first ball. Instead of being nervous and second guessing every single thing, she should be enjoying every moment of this.

She loved her dress. She loved her shoes and stockings. Her jewelry, while paste, was funky and flashy and made her feel like a million bucks.

“Just have fun,” she murmured to herself. “Just enjoy the experience.”

She noticed a passerby gave her an absent look, noting she was talking to herself, but not particularly surprised by it. That was another interesting fact of living in a big city. She could talk to herself and barely raise an eyebrow.

She chuckled, feeling lighter than she had since Tristan had first asked her to join him. Maybe it was the fresh air, or just that her pep talk was finally working, but she would enjoy her night. Georgia loved new experiences and this one was a doozy.

She smiled to herself as she hurried the last blocks to her apartment building, walking up the concrete steps as quickly as her open-toed platform heels would take her.

“Georgia.”

Georgia didn’t quite register the person saying her name over the honk of a waiting taxi in front of her building. But when the elderly couple from apartment 1B trundled past her in the lobby, she just assumed it had been one of them speaking to her. She smiled and called hello in reply, then continued on to the mailboxes that lined the wall next to the elevator.

“Georgia Sullivan?”

This time there was no mistaking the voice calling her name. She spun around, looking for the person who was speaking to her. At first she didn’t see the man, until he stepped out from the alcove that led to the downstairs apartments.

Her first thought was of the men she’d noticed lurking in the doorways earlier today. As he moved closer, two realizations hit her at once. This guy was the mail room clerk she thought had been watching her earlier, and he
was
the same guy she’d noticed while shopping, too. He hadn’t been two different men. He’d been just the one, this one, and he had to have been following her. And now he’d followed her home.

Georgia looked around warily, wishing the old couple had not left to catch their cab. Not that she was sure what Cecil and Adele Goldstein were going to do to protect her. At least Cecil had a cane and Adele always carried a large purse. That was better than what she was armed with . . . unless she could get to her new high heels. A six-inch heel to the side of the head would probably do some serious damage. If she could reach the side of his head. This guy was huge, much bigger than he looked from a distance.

Still she risked a glance away to try to figure out which bag the shoes were in, only to decide that would take too much time. She decided to use her own purse, which wasn’t as substantial as Adele Goldstein’s, but would have to do.

She dropped her shopping bags and raised her small satchel style purse, wishing it looked a little more threatening. The small embroidered Hello Kitty heads dotting the leather didn’t add to the intimidation factor.

But to her surprise, the hulk of a man immediately lifted his hands in a sign of surrender.

“Georgia,” he said in a low, soothingly deep voice. “I’m not here to hurt you. Quite the opposite.”

She frowned, not lowering her killer Hello Kitty purse. Didn’t psychos always say they weren’t going to hurt you right before they did horrible things?

“Who are you?” she demanded, taking a step back, forcing herself not to break her stare even as she heard a crinkle from stepping on one of her shopping bags.

“My name is Gabriel. I work at
HOT!,
too.”

“In the mail room.”

He nodded.

“You’ve been following me today, haven’t you?”

The large man’s eyes widened slightly, but then he nodded. “Yes, but I really don’t mean you any harm. I just need to talk to you.”

“You were standing only several feet from my desk today. You could have talked to me there.”

“I couldn’t talk to you there. It isn’t safe.” He lowered his hands and took another step toward her.

“Stop right there,” Georgia said, although the order sounded shaky, even to her. “I have pepper spray.”

Like he’d believe that, but he did raise his hands again.

“Honestly, Georgia, I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to tell you that you could be in danger and to ask that you help me.”

She stared at him. What the hell was this lunatic talking about?

“I know you have no reason to believe me, but I’m telling you the truth.”

She couldn’t believe she was listening to this, but she was. Maybe she was as crazy as he.

“Why am I possibly in danger?”

This was probably the point where he laughed evilly and lunged for her, showing her exactly how she was in danger. Instead, he kept his hands up and simply said, “You could be in danger from Tristan McIntyre.”

 

Gabriel hadn’t expected Georgia to listen to him even this long. After all, he was just a stranger approaching her in her own apartment building. And then she was already aware he’d been following her today.

Clearly, he was losing his touch at going unnoticed.

“Tristan?” she said, her brows drawing together over the tortoiseshell rims of her glasses. “I mean, Mr. McIntyre? How am I in danger from him?”

Gabriel caught her initial familiarity with her boss. Again his gut tightened, wondering if this plan would really work. If Georgia really trusted McIntyre, then it was pretty damned likely she’d tell him about this encounter. Gabriel had to make his warning sound believable, yet also not scare her away from helping. A fine line, to be sure.

“I work for a company that is investigating Mr. McIntyre. We have reason to believe he’s involved in some . . . underworld activities.”

Underworld, that wasn’t even a lie.

“Okay,” she said slowly, clearly not seeing how she fit into this issue.

“We need someone, someone who already works closely with him, to give us some feedback on his interactions with . . . his associates.”

“Why can’t someone from your company just follow him?”

“Well, we’re clearly not that great at following people, are we?” Gabriel hadn’t expected to make a joke, and from her stunned expression, Georgia hadn’t expected one either.

But she slowly shook her head. “No, you are pretty terrible at being covert.”

He smiled sheepishly. Maybe his years in the office had dulled his slayer skills, too. And here he’d been so quick to comment on his fellow slayer who had gotten noticed just a little while ago.

He clearly owed Michael an apology next time they talked.

But right now he had to get this job done, and done right. “The reason we are asking for your help is because you work so closely with him. You already have access to his meetings and appointments. He trusts and counts on you.”

Gabriel hoped McIntyre trusted her. Georgia would be in very real danger if McIntyre perceived her as a threat.

She’s in real danger now, he reminded himself. That was why it was worth the risk of asking for her help.

Georgia considered his words, her ruby red lips pursed in thought.

“So Tristan—Mr. McIntyre is mixed up in illegal activities? Or at least you think so?”

Gabriel nodded. “We believe he is working with a whole legion of underworld . . . henchmen. And what we need to know is who he is working with. Names. Places. So we can figure out our best strategy to bring them all down.”

She fell silent again, still thinking about what she’d just heard. That actually made Gabriel feel better about this woman. She wasn’t impulsive. She looked like she should be with her crazy hair and clothing, but she clearly thought things out. That made her more trustworthy in Gabriel’s book.

“So I’d be a spy?” she finally asked.

“Yes.”

She nodded, digesting that idea.

“Is—is he potentially deadly?”

It was Gabriel’s turn to think out his answer. He wanted to make her understand how much they needed her help, but he didn’t want to frighten her away either. After a moment, he decided to go with the truth. His gut told him Georgia Sullivan respected the truth, even if it wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

“We believe he could be.”

Georgia’s skin paled, making her black eye makeup look even starker behind her glasses.

“But I will be at
HOT!
keeping an eye on you. You won’t be alone. My team will be there to protect you.”

Georgia didn’t look convinced or even mildly reassured. Given what she’d seen of his work thus far, he didn’t blame her.

“I—I can’t answer you now.”

Gabriel wasn’t surprised by that response. What he’d told her was a lot to take in. And he also knew she was attracted to McIntyre. That was going to make this even harder to comprehend. No one liked the idea of the person they liked being less than what they thought.

“I totally understand. I will let you think it over, and if you have any other questions”—he took a step toward her, closing the gap between them just enough to lean forward and hand her his card—“this is my cell. I will answer any time, day or night. Also I will be in the mail room, very close by. Please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

She accepted the small, plain white rectangle, but didn’t look at it. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign.

“Again, I’m sorry to have scared you.”

She nodded, watching him as he walked past her. The heel of her shoe was stuck on the handle of one of the plastic shopping bags, which moved with her as she turned, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy scrutinizing him to even be aware of the clinging bag.

He paused at the front door of the building. “Again, you don’t have anything to worry about from me or the company I work for. We are the good guys. And whatever you decide, please be cautious around McIntyre. He’s definitely not one of the good guys.”

G
eorgia stared at the large man who called himself Gabriel, not looking away until the door clicked shut, locking behind him.

How had he gotten in here anyway? Not that it was terribly hard to enter any locked apartment building. He just had to wait until someone entered or exited and go inside with them. But he’d also had her address. How had he gotten that?

He worked for
HOT!
so it probably wasn’t too hard to track down her address. But then, there was the story he’d told her. Tristan was a mob kingpin—or something like that. She’d been working for Finola and then Tristan for several months, nearly a year, and she hadn’t noticed anything odd going on. Well, not odd in an illegal, gangster sort of way.

“And aside from
Good Fellas
and
Casino,
what would you know about mob activity?” she mumbled to herself. Hell, she hadn’t even seen the
Godfather
movies. It had seemed like too much of a time commitment, and she was more of a
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
and
Underworld
kinda gal.

Underworld. There was an irony there, given Gabriel had used that word, but certainly not in a vampire, werewolf, paranormal creature sort of way.

Now that might have intrigued her.

Really, was she standing here, honestly contemplating all of this? Clearly, this Gabriel was a loon.

She glanced down at his card. The cardstock was plain with just his name, Gabriel Evans, and a number. No company logo, no position title, no nothing. This man had to be nuts.

Damn, talk about a series of strange events. First Tristan asked her to attend a posh gala, then some odd stranger with huge biceps and an inability to tail a person unnoticed told her that she was working for a high-ranking mob boss. Her life couldn’t get any weirder.

“Maybe you shouldn’t risk that,” she told herself. “And maybe you should stop talking to yourself, too.”

 

Georgia looked at the clock on her nightstand. Seven-thirty. Crap.

Her mind was a swirl of crazy thoughts and concerns. What if she did make some worst dressed list in some magazine—probably in
HOT!
with her luck. And what did Tristan expect from this night? Was he just taking his assistant because it was easy? He didn’t have to wine or dine her. It was just a simple business arrangement. Maybe that was why he had asked her in the first place.

Then there was the problem of wacky Gabriel and his outlandish story. She couldn’t decide how to handle him. One part of her thought she should probably just tell Tristan he had a nutty, conspiracy theorist working in his mail room. Clearly that was what Gabriel had to be. Tristan a mobster—that was silly. And frankly, Gabriel’s whole approach—following her and showing up at her apartment building—was all a bit too
True Lies
for her.

The only crime Tristan was committing was helping to convince women all over the world that they were lacking if they weren’t a size four with toned bodies, flawless skin, and boobs that only happened naturally on a size-sixteen woman.

She looked at herself in the mirror, turning to the side to get a partial view of her dress from the back. Well, she had the size-sixteen boobs. Unfortunately, she had the butt, hips, and waist to match.

She made a face at herself in the mirror, and then moved in closer to touch up her makeup.

It seemed so obvious what she should do. She needed to tell Tristan about his deluded employee. Even though she ultimately didn’t feel threatened by Gabriel, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be dangerous later on. And he did know where she lived. That was unnerving.

Yet, she still wasn’t sure. Maybe she should wait and see. Maybe watch Tristan’s communications and activities a little closer. It couldn’t hurt for a couple of days. After all, what if Gabriel was telling the truth?

“You’re as nutty as he is,” she said, pausing in her application of mascara to address herself. And all this talking to herself would only confirm that to the rest of the world.

She finished her makeup and fixed her hair, then pulled in a deep breath. Gabriel’s wild accusations were forgotten for the time being. Instead, her stomach fluttered with nervous energy and doubts began to niggle at her again.

She couldn’t do this. A gala with all the beautiful people, and she would be on the arm of one of the most beautiful. She felt more like the beast than the princess.

At least she wasn’t talking aloud to herself, she thought as she headed down the hallway to the living room. That was a start in getting herself composed.

Maybe.

“Oh, darling, you look beautiful.”

Georgia smiled at her grandmother, who sat on the oversized aubergine velvet sofa, her frail form nearly swallowed up by the plush cushions. She worked on a scarf for Georgia, her knitting needles clacking away even as she admired her granddaughter.

“Thank you, Grammy.” But instead of the reassuring effect the compliment should have had, Georgia’s stomach quivered more.

She appreciated her grandmother’s compliment, but Grace Sullivan wasn’t a fashion expert. She wasn’t looking at the exact fit of the satin around Georgia’s too thick arms. Or the fact that Georgia probably was showing dreaded back fat, made worse by her strapless bra. Or the fact that her dress was off the rack, a vintage number of unknown origin.

But the number one thing Grammy didn’t understand was that Georgia was a nobody about to go out on a date, or whatever she was supposed to call it, with one of fashion’s most powerful—and desired—men.

Everyone at the gala would see all of those things. They would see every flaw, and more.

Georgia’s stomach roiled at the thought. God, she was going to be sick. But it was far better to do that here than at the gala. Puking on the red carpet was sure to get gossip rag attention—as well as airtime on
TMZ
.

“Your Tristan is going to be speechless,” Grammy said, clearly oblivious to Georgia’s rapidly developing shade of green.

Hopefully not speechless in a bad way,
Georgia thought. But she didn’t make her worries known. Instead, she forced a smile and then told her grandmother that she was going to give Marnie a call to make sure she remembered she had agreed to come over for the evening.

“I don’t need anyone to stay with me.” Grammy sniffed indignantly, her knitting needles clacking once more, maybe a little louder.

“Marnie said she didn’t have anything to do, and she’d like the company tonight,” Georgia assured Grammy, knowing the older woman didn’t like the idea of essentially having a babysitter. And who could blame her?

“Well, okay,” Grammy said. “I guess a little company would be nice.”

Georgia smiled and headed to her bedroom to retrieve her cell phone. Alzheimer’s was a funny disease, in a very not funny way. Sometimes Grammy knew exactly what was going on. Other times, she was completely confused, having no recollection of anything they’d talked about, even moments before.

But tonight, she seemed to be doing well. She certainly remembered Tristan and his fib that they were a couple. Georgia supposed that would be pretty memorable. Tristan was memorable all on his own, without his cockamamie lie.

She scrolled through her saved contacts to find Marnie’s number. Marnie lived in the same apartment building, three floors up, and was Georgia’s only good friend in the city besides Grammy. Marnie often came down to sit with Grammy when Georgia was running late at work, which was a lifesaver. Georgia always gave her friend something for staying with her grandmother, but it wasn’t a fraction of the cost of the home care nurse. And Marnie appreciated the arrangement, too, since she was a struggling artist. Georgia knew when Grammy got worse, she wouldn’t be able to rely on Marnie as much, but right now it benefited everyone.

Marnie’s number simply rang and rang.

“Great.” Maybe in her whirlwind to get ready for tonight, she’d forgotten to contact Marnie. She thought she had, but after this crazy day, who could remember?

Georgia looked at the alarm clock again. Tristan would be here any moment.

Just then a knock sounded at the apartment door. He was here. Tristan had a weird habit of doing that—materializing as soon as she thought of him.

“I’ll get it,” Grammy called, but Georgia rushed out of her room, racing past the living room as fast as her new, strappy, bright red high heels would carry her.

“Relax, Gram, I got it.”

She paused at the door, touching her hair and smoothing down the skirt of her dress. She pulled in a deep breath, wishing she had taken a shot of tequila or maybe a horse tranquilizer. Something to calm her frenzied nerves.

She snorted at that line of thought. Just Tristan. Like he wasn’t unnerving enough without fashion bigwigs, Hollywood elite, and paparazzi all around them.

And possibly hired henchmen,
she added, then pushed that thought aside.

Did she have any tequila in the house? Maybe she had time for a swig or two.

Another knock echoed through the small hallway.

Or not.

She pulled in one more deep breath and opened the door, bracing herself.

“Damn, girl, don’t you look like a sexy fifties’ pinup bomb. That dress is smokin’. I love it.”

“Marnie.” Georgia literally sagged with relief.

“Were you that worried I wouldn’t show? I told you I would be here.”

“It’s not that,” Georgia said, although she had been a little worried about whether her friend would show. “I’m just a nervous wreck.”

Marnie was a pixie of a woman with super-short hair that made her big brown eyes look even bigger and her full lips look even fuller. She wore her usual baggy jeans and paint-splotched flannel shirt with a tank top underneath. Georgia was always amazed that her hair and clothes and lack of makeup only managed to make her look all the more feminine. She was stunning.

A niggle of regret and envy tightened Georgia’s chest. Would she look like Miss Piggy with a retro flare standing beside small, adorable Marnie? Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe Tristan would see the mistake he’d made by asking Georgia to attend this gala with him. Maybe he’d decide she didn’t need to go with him after all.

So if it wasn’t such a bad thing, why did the idea make her feel so miserable?

Apparently, her misery was written on her face.

“Okay, the dress and the shoes,” Marnie waved a hand downward from Georgia’s head to her toes, “the whole look screams fabulous night out. But your expression—you look more than stressed, sweetie. What’s got my usually fierce friend looking so shaken?”

Georgia laughed despite her frazzled nerves. “Fierce? I hardly think that describes me.”

“Oh, I’d say that describes you to a tee.”

Both women turned to see Tristan leaning against the doorframe, his broad shoulders encased in a perfectly fitted black suit that was probably made specifically for him and specifically for this evening’s event.

Neither woman spoke until Tristan shifted and raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for an invitation inside.

“Oh,” Georgia said, stepping back, “please come in.”

“Thank you,” he said with another of his crooked and utterly breathtaking smiles.

Again, Georgia’s mind seemed to blank. She’d seen Tristan dressed for special occasions many times, but tonight he seemed more amazingly handsome than she ever remembered. Maybe because he was going to be with her all evening.

With her. Oh, dear, she was starting to feel ill again.

“Hello,” Tristan said after another moment of awkward silence as he watched Georgia panic and change colors. Red to green to a deeper green. He held out his hand to Marnie. “I’m Tristan McIntyre.”

“Mr. McIntyre is my boss,” Georgia explained, then realized that Marnie didn’t need the extra clarification. “Of course, I’ve told you about him before.”

Georgia felt her cheeks heat. And go back to red.

“Talking to your friends about me, huh?” Tristan said, shooting Georgia a teasing look.

“Only good things,” Marnie assured him, accepting his extended hand.

“Well, Georgia is an excellent employee.” He glanced in Georgia’s direction again. “Definitely the best.”

Was there an underlying implication there? Georgia was probably just reading too much into his words. He was being his usual flirty self. Although, the smile he gave Marnie was nothing but polite. No naughty twist to his lips, or devilish twinkle in his impossibly green eyes.

“Georgia, is your handsome man here?” Grammy called out from the living room.