Devilishly Wicked (20 page)

G
eorgia patted her face dry, trying to decide how she felt about this strange turn of events. She made a muddled expression at herself in the bathroom mirror.

“You’re seeing Tristan McIntyre.
The
Tristan McIntyre.” She made another face. “Your boss.”

She made another face, and then paused. She tilted her head, hearing something outside the bathroom. Was Grammy awake? She listened closer, and then realized it was a male voice. Tristan, of course. Was he talking to her grandmother?

She opened the bathroom door, poking her head out. Tristan was talking, but his voice was coming from the direction of the living room.

She tossed the damp towel she still held into the sink, and then headed in that direction. She paused just outside the door, feeling a moment of guilt for eavesdropping, but her guilt was quickly dismissed as she heard Tristan’s words.

“What I’m doing on my time away from the takeover isn’t your business. And I sure as hell don’t need you telling me how to do my job.”

There was a pause.

“Listen”—his voice lowered to nearly a whisper—“the Prince of Darkness isn’t going to think Finola is a better choice for the job. I know what I’m doing.”

Another pause.

“I’m not distracted. I’m on the job. Believe me. All the newest pawns are in position. This takeover is practically in the bag.”

Silence.

“You have nothing to worry about. None of us are going to feel his wrath on anything. And Finola isn’t going to work her way back into his good graces either. But if you are so concerned, I’ll come in and see what she is doing.”

Another moment of silence.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll be there. By the way, how did you dial the phone anyway?”

Another few seconds of silence, before Tristan said his abrupt good-bye.

Georgia looked around quickly, debating what she should do. She didn’t want to get caught listening. She rushed back to her bedroom door, trying to make it look like she was just stepping out from inside her room.

It must have worked, because when he walked into the hallway and saw her, he simply smiled regretfully.

“I’m sorry. I have to head back to the office. It seems we are having a fashion editorial crisis.”

She nodded, although her mind was abuzz with what she’d overheard versus what he was saying.

He strolled up to her and leaned down to steal a kiss, which despite her whirling thoughts, she reciprocated. Before she knew it, she was utterly distracted by the velvety softness of his lips.

“I’d planned to angle my way into spending the night,” he murmured against her mouth.

“I’m not sure horny teenagers actually get to spend the night together,” she pointed out. “They just run around behind their parents’ backs, sneaking sex where they can.”

“Hmm, I don’t think I like that scenario,” he said. “Because I was planning to spend tomorrow night instead.”

“Well, I can’t stop you from trying,” she said airily, even as the idea made her heart rate shoot through the roof.

“Oh, I’m going to put my whole effort into it.” He grinned naughtily and leaned down for another lingering kiss.

“Okay, as much as I don’t want to go, the
capo dei capi
calls.”

Georgia nodded, but the last term brought her thoughts right back to the overheard phone conversation. Who had he been talking to, and about what exactly? It clearly had involved work in some way, or at least Finola was involved in what they had been discussing. But she didn’t know if Tristan and whoever was on the other end of the phone had truly been talking about an issue at the magazine. In truth, it didn’t sound like it to Georgia. Tristan had mentioned a takeover. And someone that they all seemed to work for. The Prince of Darkness, though? Was that some sort of code name? Or maybe a sarcastic name? It had to be, because obviously they weren’t talking about the actual Prince of Darkness.

If such a being even existed.

Tristan paused in the open apartment doorway. “Will I see you at the office tomorrow?”

“Yes, my grandmother’s nurse will be here.”

He smiled, appearing relieved. “That’s good. You are the only one keeping me sane.”

Again, Georgia didn’t understand exactly what he meant. Just as she didn’t understand what he’d been discussing with the person on the other end of his cellphone, but still her body reacted to his words. To his clear desire and need for her.

Whatever he’d been talking about, he still wanted her. And she couldn’t lie, that was a heady feeling.

He ducked back into the doorway for one last kiss, as if he were reading her thoughts and knew how attracted she was to him. Insanely attracted.

“See you tomorrow.”

She nodded and then he left. She remained in the foyer, lost in a combination of dazed happiness and mild confusion. Then she decided to focus on only one of those emotions, and turned to head to her bedroom with a silly smile on her face.

 

The last place Tristan wanted to be was in the office, not when he had a sexy, sweet bombshell waiting in bed for him.

Georgia. Peaches. Damn, this woman was everything . . . everything. She had filled him. Totally. It was such a strange feeling, but one he was getting addicted to. And not just the sex. Sex was always his addiction. It was who he was. His identity. But sex with Georgia was just the very tip of what he felt. He loved everything about her. The simple things. Talking to her. Hearing her laugh. Her sense of humor. Hell, eating Velveeta with her.

This woman was . . .

He strode past her desk, only to stop and give it a second look. A little cluttered but in her own fabulous way. He picked up a pen that lay on the legal pad he’d seen her use many, many times as she made notes of what he wanted her to do for the day. The pen was just a plain old ballpoint, nothing special, but still he could feel her.

This woman was . . . filling him. There was no other way to describe the wonderful, warm feeling that swelled in his chest.

He studied the pen, and then put it in his pocket as if it was some intimate treasure that only belonged to her.

His thoughts were interrupted by a squeaking, frantic scratching of nails on glass.

He turned to see Dippy. The hellhound clawed again at the glass door that led to Tristan’s office, the action frenzied, feverish.

Tristan walked to the door, not moved by the mutt’s panicked behavior.

He pushed open the door, and Dippy barely waited until he was inside with the door closed to blurt, “Finola has gone out with the mail room staff.”

This was why Tristan was here? Because Finola had gone out with some of the mail room workers?

“Dippy,” he said, stepping past the crazy beast, “I think you are spending way too much time worrying about your self-absorbed owner.”

Dippy trotted after him. “She isn’t my owner. Satan is my owner.”

Tristan shot him an irritated look. “Fine. But in this scenario, she is your owner, and frankly, I think you are just getting far too worked up about what she’s doing. So she’s gone out with these people. So she thinks she’s going to get close to them, figure out what their greatest desires are, and then attempt to get them to sell their souls. That’s what we all do. And if she succeeds, who cares? She’s just done our work for us. Your real owner isn’t easily duped, you know that. We’ll just take credit for it, and Satan will be happy to have more damned souls. Why are you making this more than it needs be? Frankly, this is a good thing.”

“You don’t get it,” Dippy insisted, so intense in his concern that he was practically under Tristan’s feet. “She was happy to go out with them.”

Tristan stepped into his office, holding the door for the dog to go inside ahead of him.

“So she’s pleased with herself because she thinks she’s got some plan to get Satan to notice her again. Like I said, we will take credit for her work.”

Or rather I will, Tristan amended to himself. Dippy was never going to be his equal in this venture. But there just didn’t seem to be a way to get rid of the awful animal completely. Otherwise, Tristan would happily do it.

“Tristan, she wasn’t happy about that. She was genuinely happy to be with them. She’s . . . changed.”

Tristan stopped at his desk, glancing at the white, fluffy yapper. “Well, all the better. Maybe finally she’s realized she isn’t in control here, and she is content with her new position just gathering souls.”

“Tristan, you know that is not Finola’s nature. She seems to actually like these humans. Especially one called Eugene.”

Tristan didn’t believe that. But he didn’t bother to state his opinion. Clearly Dippy wasn’t listening. And clearly he was also blowing everything out of proportion.

“I’m telling you, something is happening to her,” Dippy said, his tone a low growl.

Tristan didn’t respond. God, there was nothing worse than a drama queen on four legs. Tristan strolled around his desk to sit. While he was here he might as well work a little. On the magazine. Because even with a drama queen hellhound and an apparently happy demon diva to contend with, he still had to run the magazine to keep up this façade.

He pressed the on button of the computer to check his e-mails. He still had to be sure the fashion spread for the July issue was ready to go. And that the articles on fad diets and the most popular colors for fall were done. If he got this stuff done now, he could spend more time tomorrow just enjoying Georgia.

Maybe he could even take the afternoon off and they could go somewhere nice. A picnic in Central Park perhaps. He wondered what the weather was supposed to be like tomorrow.

“Just like something is happening to you,” Dippy said.

Or maybe Peaches wasn’t a picnic kind of woma—

Tristan finally registered Dippy’s roughly muttered words.

“What do you think is happening to me?”

Dippy stopped his puppy pacing and looked directly at Tristan.

“You are obsessed with that mortal woman. And don’t bother to pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about or to deny it. I can see your obsession. Truthfully, I can smell it.”

Tristan didn’t doubt the mutt could smell his attraction to Georgia. After all, Tristan could smell arousal. So what was to say a hellhound couldn’t smell his attraction, too?

But he wasn’t obsessed.

“What does it smell like?” Tristan asked, curious and also trying to prove a point. He
wasn’t
obsessed.

“It smells like trouble,” the hound stated dryly.

See, the silly, worrywart canine didn’t know what he was talking about. Smelling his obsession—just ridiculous.

“You must get control of your worries, Dippy,” Tristan said. Then he added, “That’s why I haven’t yet approached Lucifer about you being my official co-leader. How can I take the chance of giving you so much power when you are forever flying off the handle about everything?”

Maybe the mutt’s obnoxious fretting had a silver lining. That argument certainly sounded believable to him. He was sure it would to the silly mutt, too.

But instead, Dippy sat down and peered at Tristan with those beady, soulless black eyes.

“You are going to have to get a handle on yourself and on Finola, or I will go to our master myself. Whether that leads to my co-leadership or not. He needs to know something is amiss here.”

Tristan narrowed an irritated stare back at the white fluff ball. “I don’t like threats, Dippy.”

“And I don’t like seeing all our hard work jeopardized because the demon in charge is too damned horny to see what’s going on in front of him,” Dippy said calmly, clearly not intimidated by Tristan’s low, angry tone.

“I’m not horny,” Tristan said, which was a lie, of course. “Or obsessed,” he said.

Dippy didn’t stop watching him, nor did he respond.

Tristan gritted his teeth and returned his attention to his e-mails.

He wasn’t obsessed.

Tristan reached into his pocket and curled his fingers around the pen there, holding the ridged plastic tightly.

G
abriel watched as Finola White entered Eugene’s office, sashaying into the plywood cubicle with a flirty smile on her lips. She’d been carrying a cup of coffee and a bag of donuts, clearly meant for the unassuming head of the DIA.

Gabriel knew he shouldn’t do it, but he found himself leaving his desk to get closer to the small door, to hear what was going on inside. These two had been flirting for over a week.

Gabriel looked around him, wondering why other members of the DIA hadn’t noticed, or if they had, why they weren’t concerned. But the “mail room” seemed to be carrying on as always. Everyone was working on his own specific task for the DIA, and oblivious to the fact their leader was being seduced by a demon, right in their midst.

“Finola, what is this?” Gabriel heard Eugene say, drawing his attention back to his eavesdropping.

Finola laughed, a twittering, yet seductive sound. “I just wanted to thank you for last night. I had no idea how much fun you and my co-workers could be.”

Gabriel frowned, looking around the busy mail room. Did other DIA staff know about this meeting? And which co-workers had joined them?

“It was a good time, wasn’t it?”

Gabriel could hear the smile in Eugene’s voice.

“Like I said, more fun than I could have ever realized.”

“I’m glad,” Eugene said, his usually deadpan voice full of sincerity. “I’m glad you feel a part of us.”

A part of us
. How could a demon, a very powerful, evil demon, ever be a part of them?

Unless it was the other way around. Was Eugene becoming a part of the demon world? Had Finola lured him over to her side? It was an outrageous thought, but Gabriel knew demons had ways of swaying humans to the dark side. Possession worked in different ways. Sometimes possession was as simple as an individual allowing evil into his life, seeing it as an acceptable part of existence. Eugene certainly didn’t seem concerned with Finola’s presence, or about the demon rebellion at all.

In fact, for the last week, Eugene had seemed more interested in associating with Finola than worrying about the demons’ potential world domination. Was that because Finola was already possessing him, controlling his thoughts?

Gabriel’s chest tightened at the idea. That would explain all of Eugene’s inactivity over the past week. Really, when he thought about it, Gabriel had never seen his boss show the proper concern he thought this whole rebellion warranted. But Gabriel stood by the man, backing his decisions because he believed that if Eugene occupied this place of power, he must be very good at his job.

But now Gabriel had his doubts, serious doubts. He’d never actually laid eyes on the demons Eugene had purportedly reformed. He didn’t even know how Eugene had supposedly accomplished this miraculous task. Nor had he seen Eugene slow down the rebellion. All the power players were still power players: McIntyre, White, and several other formidable underlings. And he’d certainly never seen Eugene save a damned soul.

Gabriel tried to pull in a calming breath. Maybe Eugene wasn’t really working for the DIA, but against it. He hated to doubt his higher-ups; it went against his slayer training, but things weren’t making sense.

Finola giggled again at something Eugene said, the low, quiet giggle of a shared, private joke.

No, this was not making sense at all.

He listened as the couple flirted a little longer. Then he shrank back against the side of the cubicle so that Finola wouldn’t notice him as she left Eugene’s office to go back to her workstation.

Gabriel debated a moment, and then decided he had to talk to Eugene himself. He didn’t feel that he could outright confront his superior, but maybe it was time to see what the head of the DIA planned to do. After all, he had every right to talk to Eugene about Georgia Sullivan again. It didn’t appear that the woman was going to help them. In fact, she seemed to be under the demon’s spell, too. He knew she was spending a lot of free time with McIntyre, and her attraction was almost palpable whenever Gabriel saw her. So it was perfectly within Gabriel’s rights to press Eugene for a new plan.

Gabriel rapped a little too forcefully on the doorframe of Eugene’s door.

“Come in.”

Gabriel entered to find Eugene working at his computer, as usual. But the little smile on the man’s lips was not usual. Actually, Gabriel had to amend, it wasn’t usual until just recently.

“Gabriel, what a surprise to see you.”

Gabriel frowned, not understanding that reaction, but feeling the comment was intended to imply something he didn’t follow.

“What can I do for you?”

Gabriel wanted to say, “Stop flirting with the demons and send them back to Hell. Or let me kill them.” That’s what he would have done as a demon slayer in the old days.

But instead he watched his tone, keeping it calm and respectful, and asked, “What are we going to do about the plan to utilize Georgia Sullivan? She’s had a week to come to us, and I don’t see any signs of her cooperating.”

Eugene gave him an almost blank stare. His oddly blue eyes were devoid of any emotion or question.

“There isn’t any need to do anything with her at the moment,” Eugene said. “In fact, things are going very well with her.”

Gabriel’s awareness rose, prickling down his spine. If Eugene was truly possessed, wouldn’t he be pleased Ms. Sullivan was, too?

After all, how could he say things were going well? Nothing, absolutely nothing had happened with Georgia Sullivan, aside from her being obviously smitten with the demon leader. She certainly wasn’t helping them find out any of Tristan McIntyre’s plans.

“I guess I’m confused,” Gabriel said, struggling to keep his voice calm. “I don’t see how you can say things are going well on that front. As far as I can see, nothing at all is happening.”

Eugene didn’t speak for a moment, studying him.

“Well, some things in life you just have to trust. Faith, I believe it’s called.”

Gabriel’s barely squelched frustration rose, making it hard to remain still. Something was not right about this man, and Gabriel wasn’t sure whom he should talk to about Eugene’s behavior and ineffectuality.

“I’m sorry, Gabriel, but I actually have a lot to get done today,” Eugene said, gesturing to his computer. “I hate to cut our meeting short, but I am very busy. And I need to stay focused to be an effective leader.”

Gabriel stared at him, stunned at his choice of words, which so closely matched his own mental wording. Ineffectual. Effective. Eugene was eerie.

But Gabriel nodded. He couldn’t talk to Eugene anyway. But he would figure out who he could talk to about the DIA leader’s weird behavior and lack of action.

As Gabriel turned to the door, Eugene spoke again, “Faith can be hard for all of us. Even me at times.”

Gabriel met the man’s eerie blue gaze, and nodded again.

Oh, he had no faith in Eugene. None at all.

 

Georgia was just getting settled at her desk when the intercom on her phone buzzed. She set her purse down beside her desk, smiling. How did he do that? Tristan had an uncanny ability to know when she was arriving. She picked up the receiver, knowing full well who was on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Peaches,” Tristan drawled from the other end, his rich voice seeming to reach through the phone wires to stroke her ear and cheek. “Did you sleep well without me?”

“Well, I was rather tired,” she said, not actually answering the question. And telling the truth, for the last week, Tristan had spent most nights at her apartment. And he was insatiable, which made her toes curl in her platform shoes. Last night she had needed the rest. And Tristan actually had had work he needed to get done. Since they’d gotten involved, Tristan hadn’t paid nearly as much attention to work as usual. Not that she was complaining; she loved his undivided attention, but
HOT!
didn’t run itself.

He chuckled, and again, she felt the smooth, deep sound throughout her body.

“I missed you,” he said, and Georgia could have sworn real desperation replaced his naughty, flirting tone.

“Well, I’m right here in the reception area,” she said with a slight laugh, although the idea that this man wanted her so much did make her head spin and her heart thump wildly in her chest.

“Too far away. I think I need you to come back and take a memo.”

“Oh, not that old cliché.”

He chuckled. “Come back here and get naked?”

“Very unprofessional,” she said, clucking her tongue.

“Very,” he agreed. “But come back here anyway.”

Georgia started to say she’d be right there, when a shadow fell across her desk. She glanced up to see Finola White standing there, and Georgia instantly wondered, none too happily, what the awful woman had overheard. It would not be good for either her or Tristan if Finola heard too much and figured out who was on the other end of the line.

“Ms. White,” she said for Tristan’s benefit. “How can I help you?”

“Oh, no, the evil witch,” he said, taking her cue. “I don’t suppose you can get rid of her? I’ll do something extra naughty, if you do.”

Georgia wanted to laugh, but instead she managed to keep a straight face.

“Absolutely, ma’am,” Georgia said in an overly polite voice, not revealing to Finola who she was actually talking to, but also letting Tristan know she wasn’t taking the bullet for him. “I will let Mr. McIntyre know you are very much looking forward to your meeting.”

“Nice. Nothing naughty for you,” he said with a sigh. “Although, I will admit that even with you throwing me under the bus here, I’m still definitely looking forward to our next meeting. Send the witch back.”

He hung up the phone, but she didn’t hang up her receiver right away. She knew that Tristan had never cared for Finola, but it was evident now that he truly disliked her.

She gathered her thoughts, preparing herself for Finola’s usual venom.

“Good morning, Ms. White. How may I help you?”

Finola smiled, but it wasn’t her usual judging smirk. She actually looked almost friendly. That made Georgia all the more nervous. What was she up to?

“Hello, Georgia. How are you this morning?”

Okay, something was definitely up. This was the first time Finola White had ever asked her how she was. And she’d never addressed her by name. In fact, Georgia would have bet money that the woman didn’t even know her name.

“I—I’m doing well. Thank you. Did you want to see Mr. McIntyre?”

“I do, thank you.” Finola smiled wider; her pale expression looked . . . sweet. Almost angelic.

Again, Georgia found Finola’s kind smile more disturbing than her disdain. At least she knew and expected that; this behavior seemed like some kind of sneak attack.

“You can head right back,” Georgia said, just wanting the woman away from her.

“Thank you.” Finola smiled sweetly again, but she didn’t continue on; instead, she said, “By the way, I love the newest hair color. Your style is so different and funky. I just love it.”

Georgia gaped at her. Loved her style? Finola had repeatedly alluded to how awful she found Georgia’s fashion sense from the first day she’d started at
HOT!
What was this sudden change?

It couldn’t be sincere. But Georgia managed to nod and mumble, “Thank you.”

“Absolutely.”

Finola gave her another eerily nice smile and disappeared into the back. Georgia watched her go, wondering what the heck she had in store for Tristan.