DevilishlyHot (4 page)
Authors: Unknown
Finola smiled, the gesture almost—sweet, if that was possible for a woman who was notorious for being demanding and a diva. “That’s fine. I should warn you, it will be chaos here. It is our busiest time of the year.”
She seemed to be waiting for him to react, but he didn’t recognize what was of such importance.
“It’s New York Fashion Week,” she said as if he was a total dolt.
“Oh, right.” He had heard of the event, although he didn’t know much about it. But he supposed for a fashion magazine that would be a huge and important occasion. It also meant the
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staff would be very busy.
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staff would be very busy.
Oh well. His investigation was important too.
“I appreciate your meeting with me,” he said, offering her his hand. Instead of accepting it from where she sat, she stood and came around the desk, and now Nick got the true impact of Finola White. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than his 6’2”. And she had a killer body, there was no denying that. Every lithe curve was perfectly displayed in a simple snow-white sheath that somehow managed to accent her pale skin rather than blend with it. She was so unusual-looking that she was totally stunning. He might not feel any reaction as he looked at her, but he also couldn’t deny she was beautiful.
And Nick didn’t trust her any more than he did her sidekick, who continued to watch them with his usual deadpan expression. How could they not realize what had happened to her employees?
Oh, she did. She might be self-absorbed, but even she couldn’t ignore twenty, twenty-one missing employees.
“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow,” she said, smiling wide, her ruby-red lips parting to reveal teeth that perfectly matched her hair, skin and dress. She shook his hand. He repressed a shiver that wasn’t totally due to her cool skin. Her dog rumbled grumpily from its place tucked under her arm.
“Great,” he said, ignoring the grouchy little mutt. “I will be in touch.”
She smiled widely. “I’m counting on it.”
Yeah, there were no double entendres in that exchange.
Nick extricated his hand from hers, nodded toward the vampire, then left, weaving his way slowly through the disorienting glass hallways.
Well, he’d learned only one thing from his meeting with Finola White. Dealing with her was going to be interesting, very interesting.
As soon as the detective disappeared, Finola spun on Tristan. “How did you let one of them get away?”
Tristan wanted to point out that cleaning up after Finola’s impulsive behavior wasn’t the easiest thing. Not to mention, the soulless did have a tendency to wander. It was a wonder that more of them hadn’t resurfaced.
“This makes me very unhappy,” she said, walking over to her wet bar in the far corner. She set down her dog, which immediately shook itself as if to cast off Finola’s touch. Then the animal scooted to its white velvet and Swarovski crystal–encrusted bed, settling in with an annoyed huff, its dark eyes moving back and forth between them like it was actually following the conversation.
After a moment, Finola returned with a bottle of champagne, handing it to Tristan to uncork. He noted it was only the Bollinger, which meant she wasn’t that mad. Tristan had long since learned to gauge Finola’s ire by the expense of the champagne she drank while distressed.
This one meant she was barely irritated. Interesting, since he’d have expected her to be royally pissed. A rogue soulless body was a huge deal.
He popped the cork from the bottle, then crossed over to the bar himself to pour the golden liquid into one of her crystal champagne flutes.
“I’m sorry, my dearest,” he purred as he handed her the glass, betting that a little groveling would calm her. “I’m sure this will blow over. There are no clues to be found. And certainly none of your employees would dare speak. No one will ever figure out what’s wrong with the mortal. At best, their medical science will pronounce her catatonic or demented or something. But still, I will make sure the others are where I placed them.”
Finola took a long sip of her bubbly, then nodded. “Of course it will be fine.” She wandered over to the necklaces she’d been admiring earlier that morning. The two exquisite pieces were each worth over a million. The perfect diamonds shimmered and shone as she took a leisurely sip of her champagne and ran her long, white fingers over them.
Again, Tristan was surprised she was taking this so well. Too well, really.
“I want him,” she said suddenly.
Tristan frowned, sure he’d misheard. “You want the Dior parure? I like it the best too.”
She took another sip, then shook her head, her gaze still focused on the spill of precious stones in front of her. But now, Tristan realized she wasn’t really looking at the necklace. The wheels were turning in her head.
A tightness filled his chest.
Damn it. It was never good when she got that look.
Then her icy gaze met his, and she smiled sweetly.
Damn. Another bad sign.
“I do want this one,” she said, tilting her head to study the necklace she still stroked. “But I also want Detective Rossi, and I will have him.”
Chapter Three
“I
don’t think that’s a wise idea,” Tristan said before he thought better of it. Then he remained absolutely still like a person who’d accidentally provoked a wild animal. One that could strike if he wasn’t careful.
don’t think that’s a wise idea,” Tristan said before he thought better of it. Then he remained absolutely still like a person who’d accidentally provoked a wild animal. One that could strike if he wasn’t careful.
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” Finola said, her smile withering to a look of irritated arrogance. “As you just said, there isn’t anything for him to discover. Now is there?”
Tristan lowered his gaze, then shook his head. The submissive act required every bit of his control. He was finding it harder and harder to submit to her, even though she was his superior.
But superior or not, she was an impulsive, careless and arrogant demon. And all those traits made her dangerous. More specifically, a danger to their mission.
“I’m sorry, Mistress.” His voice caught on the title of submission and respect. “I’m just afraid he will somehow use your attraction to him to garner information.”
Tristan instantly realized he wasn’t making any reparations by continuing to question her.
But this attraction was very dangerous. Even in the short time he’d seen Detective Nick Rossi, Tristan could tell he was a smart, perceptive guy. The detective’s career revolved around getting a person to talk and using whatever means necessary to do that.
And whether Finola wanted to admit it, which of course she didn’t and wouldn’t, she did have her weak spots. Her ego being one. And her certainty that she was superior to everyone else.
Still he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “He’s here to investigate you and the magazine. Letting him too close is like playing Russian roulette. What if you slip and reveal something?”
She made a disparaging noise, then waved one of her elegant hands in the air, a huge, multi-carat ruby ring flashing on her middle finger. “I haven’t done anything wrong. So what is there to let slip?”
Tristan regarded her, glimpsing what had gotten her to the powerful position she held in Hell. No remorse, no sympathy, no sense of right or wrong. Evil in the truest sense. He admired that.
“Plus he’ll soon be so smitten with me, he won’t even consider that I could be involved. What is that adage? Keep your enemies close? Very close.”
Not exactly, but Tristan didn’t bother to correct her. He could see from the glitter in her pale eyes, as hard and uncompromising as the diamonds beside her, that her mind was made up.
Which meant his only way of survival, and keeping their assignment on track, was to simply run interference. Just like he always did. They were headed into Fashion Week, critical to their plans for a demon takeover. He couldn’t let Finola’s capricious desires ruin their scheme.
Tristan simply nodded then, again dropping his gaze.
But as usual, Finola’s arrogance knew no bounds, and she came over to him, pressing a cool palm to his cheek.
“Wait, my beautiful Tristan, are you jealous?”
His gaze shot up, denial nearly spilling from his lips, but instead he looked away. He knew it was a long shot, but maybe if she thought the idea of a tryst with the detective hurt him, she would reconsider.
He feigned his best pained look.
“Oh my poor baby,” she cooed, “are you afraid I will lose interest in you?”
The hand caressing his jaw forcibly lifted his face to meet hers. “You know I treasure you above all else.”
Tristan’s gaze roamed her face, flashing emotions in his eyes. Need, hunger, even the desire to please. To please his ultimate master, Satan. Even if it meant groveling to Finola to keep them on task.
She smiled, clearly liking his display of vulnerability. As she always did.
“I keep you here with me because I can’t exist without you.”
That was true. She couldn’t exist without him, but he simply nodded, not saying a word, although his eyes shone with humility and gratitude.
His submission aroused her and she kissed him then, her lips moving over his possessively, her teeth tugging roughly at his bottom lip. She bit until he moaned with a mixture of pleasure and pain.
For a moment, he thought maybe, just maybe, his game had worked, but as soon as they parted and he still saw the hardness in her eyes, his hopes vanished.
“But you know I like my diversions,” she said, gently caressing his cheek again.
“Yes,” he said, his voice low, passive.
“After all, he was quite delicious. In an unpolished, very manly way.”
Now, that Tristan wouldn’t deny. There was no question that Detective Nick Rossi was a very attractive specimen of human male. And very dangerous. Tristan had recognized that as soon as he’d seen him in the lobby.
“Perhaps I will share him with you,” she said with a sweet smile as she crossed back to her desk and reached for her cell phone. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, dearest?”
He nodded. As a demon of lust, he would. That he couldn’t deny. But his thoughts weren’t on his carnal needs, not at the moment. They were on making sure Finola’s lust didn’t out them all.
She smiled, pleased by his compliance. She walked to her desk and picked up the phone. She pressed in a number, then waited. Her smile faded and the softness left her voice as she spoke to the person who answered, “Anna, where are you? Are you nearly done?” She made an impatient face, cutting off her assistant’s response. “Fine, fine. But get back to the office. ASAP. I have a job for you.”
Annie pressed the END button on her phone and didn’t bother to contain her frustrated growl.
The taxi driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Bad news?” he asked in a heavy accent.
“Always,” she muttered, glaring down at her phone, her electronic shackle to Finola. God, it was such a temptation to just open the window and pitch the damned thing out. But that wouldn’t free her from her bonds. She was owned—completely. And the worst part was that Annie had done it to herself, willingly, gladly.
If only she’d truly understood what she’d gotten herself into when she’d signed on the dotted line and agreed to become Finola White’s personal assistant.
She dropped her phone back into her purse and sighed.
What did Finola want now?
She leaned her head against the cold glass of the window, staring blankly at the world passing her by. Hopelessness drained away all her energy and she could only think one thing over and over.
I can’t do this anymore.
By the time the taxi pulled up to the large warehouse, Annie had rallied herself yet again, telling herself she could survive whatever Finola threw her way. Annie was tough, determined, and frankly, she wasn’t going to let evil win.
She rushed toward the warehouse where the photoshoot was being held, arms overflowing with designer clothes. Probably only three or four of them would be used for the photo spread in the June issue of
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, but all designs had to be available. As she fought to open the heavy metal door, she wrestled with the slippery, plastic-protected garments, hoisting them up to keep them from dragging on the ground. But her attention was quickly diverted from her struggle as she entered the building.
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, but all designs had to be available. As she fought to open the heavy metal door, she wrestled with the slippery, plastic-protected garments, hoisting them up to keep them from dragging on the ground. But her attention was quickly diverted from her struggle as she entered the building.
Greenery hid the industrial metal beams and ductwork. Real palm trees swayed in a warm tropical breeze created by portable heaters and fans. Annie could hear the rush of a waterfall, glimpsing blue water through the jungle of verdant leaves and undergrowth. A brightly colored parrot cawed, only to be answered by another one.
“Amazing,” she murmured to herself, recalling why she’d wanted to work for
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in the first place. For these moments of magic.
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in the first place. For these moments of magic.
She wandered farther onto the set, taking in every detail. That was until she squealed and stumbled backward, realizing the “hanging vine” near her left shoulder was actually a snake. A real, live, tongue-flicking, ginormous snake.
“Don’t worry. I’ve been assured they are all friendly and nonpoisonous.”
Annie turned to find Charlie Bowen,
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’s up-and-coming new photographer, headed in her direction.
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’s up-and-coming new photographer, headed in her direction.
“They?” Annie peered around her nervously. “Well nonpoisonous is definitely good. But I’m not convinced that anyone can know for sure if they are friendly.”
Charlie chuckled as he took the majority of the garments from her arms.
“Right this way.” He jerked his head toward the other side of the warehouse, where a makeshift wardrobe and makeup area had been made.
“Thanks for getting these here,” he said, giving her a friendly smile over his shoulder while managing to negotiate electrical wires and other builders’ disarray without effort. Annie picked her way behind him, more aware of needing to watch her footing. Never mind that the snakes could have slithered anywhere.
“I’m sure Finola was fit to be tied when she realized they weren’t here already,” he said.
Annie glanced up, just for a moment, then shrugged, her attention back on her footing. “She’s always fit to be tied about something.” Then she shot a look at Charlie, afraid she might have said too much. Much like the snakes, she wasn’t sure who at
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magazine was friendly. If anyone at all.
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magazine was friendly. If anyone at all.
Charlie shot her a sympathetic smile, which again looked sincere, but Annie decided the best bet was to keep her mouth shut. Always the safest strategy at
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“Just one minute,” Charlie said as he strode to where about a half dozen models were seated, getting their hair and makeup done. Charlie spoke with each of the makeup artists, gesturing with his one free hand, clearly telling them what he liked and didn’t like. Then he stopped beside one particular model. Ava Wells. His girlfriend.
Ava and Charlie were
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’s “it” couple, their romantic tale sort of a Cinderella story in reverse. The mailroom clerk discovered to be an amazingly talented photographer who gets the dream career and the girl. And the girl’s a supermodel to boot.
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’s “it” couple, their romantic tale sort of a Cinderella story in reverse. The mailroom clerk discovered to be an amazingly talented photographer who gets the dream career and the girl. And the girl’s a supermodel to boot.
Annie watched, the sight bittersweet. Annie had given up everything for the same dream. To have an exciting, successful career. To have true love. To be happy. And here she stood, overworked, with nothing to show for her suffering and hard work but long hours, stress, exhaustion and headaches. There was no glamour, no respect. There was no true love. And what rewards she had gotten came at a very steep price.
No, Finola White wouldn’t break her. Yet deep inside her, in a darker, more cynical place, Annie wondered what the “It Couple” had sacrificed to obtain their dreams. And would the cost really be worth it in the end?
She watched them a moment longer, finding herself hoping it was worth it. She needed to believe life could work out and be better. She needed to believe happy endings did exist, even after bad choices.
Annie shifted the remaining clothes from one arm to the other, telling herself for the umpteenth time that things would work out. She had to believe that.
Charlie returned to her, directing her toward the dressing rooms. Outside was an improvised clothing rack, which was nothing more than the rods and framework from the tropical rainforest set.
“Roget would have a stroke if he saw his pieces hanging on old theater scaffolding,” Charlie grinned.
“But he’ll be thrilled with your work when you are done.” Annie put the last of the garments on the bar. She brushed down the bags to keep the clothes as wrinkle-free as possible, then turned to Charlie. “Okay, I’ve got to go.”
Charlie stopped inspecting the different pieces and frowned at her. “Aren’t you going to stay a bit and see how these look?”
Annie laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, right. Finola has another task awaiting me, pronto. See you later. Good luck with the shoot.”
“Annie,” Charlie called as she began to pick her way back through the cords and wires. She turned to look at him. He walked across the several feet, his usually amused hazel eyes serious.
“You will be free of her one day soon.”
“Of course,” she said readily, although she wasn’t sure what he meant.
He nodded at her as if they’d just shared a private promise of some sort. One that she didn’t understand. But she forced another smile, then hurried back to the waiting cab.
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