Inked by an Angel (3 page)

“Michael.” Kyle grabbed his arm and made him look at her while using her best schoolmarm’s voice. How she’d ever been intimidated by him was beyond her. He was as soft and gooey as the inside of a Cadbury egg. No wonder his clients called him ‘The Angel.’ She wondered what it would take for her to get a ‘street name.’ Well, other than the derogatory
Miss Muffet
that Jed kept calling her, which she thought she did a pretty good job of ignoring, darn him.

Either way, she’d been coming to Gentry’s studio every night for the past week-and-a-half to work on Michael’s books. They should have been pretty straightforward. File some invoices, log his expenses, have him sign off on the tax forms. Done. She could be free to search for more clients. She
needed
to search for more clients if this business of hers was going to survive. But, no. Instead, every night
without fail
he had totally undone all of her work one way or another.

Now, he turned innocent eyes to hers. “Yeah?”

The bell chimed and she glanced over as Jed ambled in looking as grumpy as he did every night. He didn’t glance her way, but he did exchange his customary grunted greeting with the ever-silent Noble.

She sighed and turned back to Michael. “How could you spend”—she scanned the printout from his credit card statement— “$327.99 on tattoo ink and not have accounted for it in your books? And where did you move those files I saved on your computer?”

“Files?” His face went blank.

“Yes. The ones I saved under Accounts?”

“‘Accounts?’”

She nodded, feeling bile start to rise in the back of her throat. She wondered if it was too late to call and beg her father for her job back. She’d meant for this venture out on her own, running her own business, to be liberating, freeing, not suicidal. With Michael it was a flat-out Kamikaze mission. Perhaps it would be better to die a slow death by boredom at her desk in her dad’s fancy-schmancy office. But she knew she could never go back. She was tired of hiding behind his name, being Daddy’s little girl with all the expectation and none of the affection. It had become plainly obvious she’d never get his approval, and never be her own person. Then, when the day came that one of his senior partners forgot her name at a board meeting and her dad said nothing. Nothing. She resigned the next day.

She. Had. To. Make. This. Work.

If not, she could imagine her father’s apathy and how her mother would gloat over her perceived ‘failure.’ No. Never. She’d die trying in the trenches otherwise known as Michael.

She glanced down at the ring on her left hand. After the kindly maintenance man at the country club had done some pipe surgery and fetched her ring from the bathroom P trap, Charles had had it fitted with a sizer until he could get it back to the jeweler.

She thought of Charles in his tweed jackets and polo shirts and penny loafers. He was perfectly content as Junior VP at her father’s firm with his window office, awaiting his turn at the helm. Why couldn’t it be enough for her?

If she listened to her mother, it was because she wasn’t meant to use her CPA license. She was meant for the Real Housewives of Travis County-Country Club Sect. She was a useless, frigid, wife-in-training, and she was petrified.

“Nice ring, Miz O’Neill. You gettin’ married?” Michael asked.

“Yes.”

“Ah.” He shifted his considerable weight uncomfortably. “So, I think I might’ve deleted it.”

“Might’ve . . .
what
?”

“I deleted it. The file.
Accounts,
did you say? It’s a goner. I didn’t know what it was.” He shrugged. “Sorry.”

There was the pulse behind her right eye again. “What do you mean, you didn’t know what it was? It was called
accounts!
” Her voice was slightly hysterical with the last word.

Jed walked over. “What’s going on, Muffet?”

She glared at him. She’d had it. “Bite me.”

Michael took the cramped stairs leading to the basement of the Old Tabernacle Church for his AA meeting with his shoulders slumped, his heart saddened, and feeling absolutely dejected. Nothing was going according to plan. And Divine plan was not something to be messed with. He knew from experience.

Gabriel stood up once the doors were sealed with light and called the meeting to order. “All right, everyone. Let’s get started. Is everybody here?” He looked around. “Good. So, let’s talk about our week.” He turned kind eyes to Rafael across the circle. “Rafe. Start with you? How are you doing?”

The golden boy of the group sat up straighter in his chair and smiled. “Well, things are moving along quite nicely, actually. My humans, Gloria and Roger . . . ”

Michael cringed. Rafael spoke like they were pets. Angels were not on Earth to keep humans as pets. They were here on assignment from the Big Guy Himself. They may be only Archangel namesakes on Earth, but theirs was serious business. No foolin’ around.

Rafael continued. “Well, they’ve been dating several weeks now. I’ve hardly had to intervene at all other than to introduce them. The chemistry is quite amazing. Father does know what He’s doing, doesn’t He?”

His brothers and sisters at what they affectionately called Angels Anonymous all nodded their agreement. How had Michael ended up with this dud of an assignment? Jed and Kyle certainly were not cooperating. They were worse than Henry and Catherine, Henry and Anne, Henry and, well . . . , just Henry in general. Now he was paying several lifetimes of lovematch penance so he could finally graduate from the Cupid Squad and move up to the Messaging Brigade. What he wouldn’t give to just once be able to say:

Hark, do not be afraid!
and have a really cool message for a human from Father. But, he should be glad he hadn’t bumbled it badly enough to have his wings clipped and be cast down as a dark one. He’d take going back to halo polishing or wing prep, heck even Crossovers. Anything but being cast out. That would be unbearable.

“That’s great, Rafe,” Gabe’s voice cut in. “Rafael Sr. will be getting a full report. Well done!” Gabriel interrupted his fantasy. “What about you, Michael?”

He looked up. “Huh?”

Gabe tilted his head. “How about you? How are”—he ran his eyes over his notes—“Jedediah and Kyle doing? Have they made any progress in their union?”

“Well, uh . . .”

Rafael snickered and Michael felt himself flush with embarrassment. Just because
he
was probably going to skip Messenger and jump straight to Prophecy was no reason to get all big-headed. Michael still had time. Kyle wasn’t married to that other guy yet, though that was a sticky, unforeseen bump in his road. The game wasn’t lost and he hadn’t been demoted to halo polisher just yet.

“Well?”

“Oh. Sure. Jed and Kyle, they’ve, uh, met.”

Gabe furrowed his perfect brows. “They’ve met?”

“Yeah. I’m giving them time to get to know each other. Letting it simmer. Marinate.” He smiled. He liked that analogy.

“Marinate? Like, meat?”

“Does Father know about this?” Rafael demanded.

Michael shot him a wounded expression. “Stay out of this.”

“That’s enough.” Gabe spoke up, his light emanating a sudden flare of brilliance and the room became uncomfortably quiet. “Michael, come with me.” He waited until Michael rose from his chair and followed him out of the room to the small private lobby. He motioned for them both to sit.

“What’s going on, Brother?” he asked, concern in his golden eyes.

Michael ran a hand over his bald head. His heart was fearful. “My humans are not cooperating. It’s just like before and I’m terrified of having my wings clipped. I never want to become like . . . , you know . . . .” He couldn’t bear to say the name, though they both knew of whom he spoke. Dark ones roamed all around, but the darkest one of all kept them on a short leash and Michael never wanted to be one of them.

“I understand. Can I ask you something, Michael?”

Sigh. “Sure.”

“Why do you think Father has had you on Love Detail for all these many, many years?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “That is a fairly silly question, Gabe. Because of how badly I screwed it up with Henry. I royally messed up that match. Or matches. And now I’m making up for it until I get enough right to move up the ranks.”

“And let me ask you, Michael, did you make him divorce his first wife? Or behead poor Miss Boleyn? Or cause any of his other stupid mistakes where love was concerned?”

Michael stared.

“Well? Did you?”

“Well, no.”

“Did you forget about a little thing called
free will
that Father granted all of His children, Michael?”

“Uh . . .”

“Michael, you are not on our team out of some sort of punishment from Father. You are here because you are good at what you do and we need you here. But whenever you are ready to move on to another task, I will be happy to put in the word for you. And, Brother? Angels are never cast out because of failed assignments or simple mistakes. Our Father is not so unmerciful as that. We lose our light when we willfully break our Angelic Commandments and break Father’s heart. You know this.”

He nodded, speechless and humbled. He’d allowed himself to be blinded by fear and self-doubt.

“So,” Gabe continued with a smile. “Tell me more about your couple. What can we do to get them to cooperate with the plan?”

Michael practically flew back into Gentry’s with a renewed determination to make his Father and his Archangel namesake proud and to make this match.
Free will
his wings! So far, his little tinkering with the account files and losing receipts to keep Kyle close to Jed at the studio was just not enough. He and Gabe had hatched a plan to up the ante.

“Hey, Mike, how was your meeting?” Kierstan asked, glancing up from her magazine at the front desk.

“Fine.”

He’d had to tell them something when he left every week, so he told them he was a recovering addict and attended AA meetings. It worked remarkably well as his cover and they commended him for his efforts. He hated to lie, but “
Hey, I’m an angel,”
wouldn’t work either, and it was also strictly forbidden by the second Angel Commandment.
An Angel shall never reveal their angelic visage or mission to a human unless commanded, ordained, or, in exceptional cases, Heavenly possession by the Father.

“Your appointment’s here.” She nodded to a couple of girls sitting in the corner.

“Sure. I’ll be right back. Seen Jed?”

She turned back to her magazine. “He’s in the back.”

Michael knew there was a history there between Jed and Kierstan and it was tricky. But he didn’t have time to tread that water. He had a job to do. He marched back to Jed’s office and knocked on the doorframe to get Jed’s attention.

“Yeah?” Jed answered without looking up from whatever he was sketching on.

Michael stepped in and shut the door.

Jed looked up. “Mike.”

“So listen,” Michael began, “I’m gonna be having a little party. At my place. I’d like you to come?”

Jed sat back in his chair and studied him like he’d just sprouted horns. Or wings. “A party? Dude, I didn’t even know you
had
a place, you’re here so much.”

“Yeah, well, I like work. And it keeps me busy. Part of recovery . . .” He tried not to choke on the little white falsehood.
An Angel shall never bear false witness against another angel.
Humans were no easier.

“Right.” Jed swiveled his chair to the side and stood. “When?”

“When what?”

“When is your party?”

“Oh. Uh, tomorrow night. Eight?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m sure. Tomorrow night. Eight. My place. You’ll come?”

Jed shrugged. “Sure. Why not? You want me to bring anything?”

“Nah, I got it covered.”

Michael stepped out to meet his clients while making a mental checklist. In all his centuries, he’d never hosted a party before. He was kind of excited.

Chips.
Check.

Soda.
Check
.

Music.
Check
.

Ornery tattoo artist.
Check
.

All he needed now was an accountant.

Kyle held onto Charles’s hand for dear life as she knocked on Michael’s door. She offered him a small smile, more to encourage herself than him. After all, he had no idea she was quaking in her boots. She glanced down. Well, quaking in her new sling-back pumps which were currently pinching the tar out of her toes. Hey, they weren’t Louboutin’s, but they weren’t bad. Baby steps. She had told Charles they were invited to a friend’s party. She had not elaborated that Michael was really and truly a
client
who had become a friend of sorts, nor had she dared describe what Michael looked like.

God,
she prayed silently,
please don’t let Charles be an uptight asshole tonight. Please, please, for once let him break free from his country club upbringing and surprise me. Amen.

She wanted a chance to make some
real
friends for once in her life.

Charles squeezed her hand and smiled. In his other hand he held a very expensive bottle of wine he’d purchased to bring as a gift for their host. He was being so thoughtful, she didn’t have the heart to tell him that she was pretty sure Michael had mentioned something about attending AA meetings.

The door opened and soft light spilled out from dozens and dozens of softly scented candles.

Sweet Jesus and His crown of thorns
.

It wasn’t Michael who answered. It was Jed. The light pooled around him, softening his hard edges, and for just a moment Kyle was lost in the blue of his eyes.

“Muffet,” he said as he moved aside to allow her in and then the moment was lost.

Charles lagged behind like he was confused. She turned around. “You coming?”

“Kyle?” Charles’s voice was pitiful.

“Yes?”

He looked at her like she’d lost her mind. She shifted her focus and scanned the room. Michael smiled at her. Jed still stood by the door watching Charles with only slight interest. Noble leaned against a far wall, dark and intimidating. Right. It looked like a Hells Angels Convention.

“Come on in, Sweetheart.” She tried to sound calm and convincing. “These are my friends.” She shot Jed a dark look warning him to behave. “That’s Jed.”

Charles inched in the doorway and moved to stand at her side.

“And that’s Noble.” She pointed.

Noble grunted and lifted his drink to his lips.

Charles’s eyes darted around the room, seemingly not sure who to land on, his brows furrowed in confusion. Bless him, he was absolutely bewildered outside of the country club.

Kyle grabbed his hand and moved to where Michael stood near some people she had never met. “And this is my friend Michael. This is his party.” She beamed. “Michael, this is Charles.”

“Ah.” Charles extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I hope you like Merlot?”

Suddenly, Michael looked unhappy. Very unhappy.

He totally ignored Charles’s hand and the wine. How could he be like this? She tried to soften the blow of his rudeness and grabbed the bottle to set it on the coffee table with a pointed look. “Who are your friends, Michael?”

His eyes narrowed fractionally as they stayed trained on Charles’s face. “Gabe and Rafael,” he answered matter-of-factly.

Kyle smiled at the two men. They didn’t seem a thing like Michael. They could’ve been Charles’s golf buddies or partners at the CPA firm. They wore their hair perfectly slicked back and their neatly ironed shirts were tucked into Chino slacks. “It’s so nice to meet you. How long have you known Michael?”

“Oh, it seems like forever,” one of them answered.

“So, you’re his accountant?” the other asked.

“Yes.”

“And what do you do, Charles?” the first one asked politely.

Charles seemed relieved to be on safe territory with safe-looking people for the first time since they arrived. His grip on her hand relaxed just a bit. “I’m a CPA. Just like Kyle.” He glanced over at her. “I work at her father’s firm. Junior VP.”

“Ah, impressive,” Michael said, sounding anything but impressed.

Charles turned to Kyle. “Honey, would you get me something to drink? I’m parched.”

“What, can’t get it yourself,
Junior VP
?” Jed spoke from where he leaned against the kitchen doorway, beer in hand.

Kyle jumped to attention, her inner peacemaker at work. This was a client’s home, after all. “No, it’s fine. I’ll get it. What would you like?”

Charles snapped his gaping mouth shut. “Uh, whatever. A beer is good.” He glanced at Jed then back to her. “Thanks.”

She looked at Michael. “May I?”

He appeared to be suppressing a grin. “Help yourself.” He pointed toward the kitchen.

Kyle stormed past Jed and opened the fridge. She ignored him when he followed her into the room. She rummaged around and found the beer before shutting the fridge and turning around. She tried to breeze past him, but he grabbed her arm.

“Whoa. Hold up a sec. What’s got your panties in a wad, Muffet?”

She looked down at his hand on her arm then up into his eyes.

“Nothing has got my panties in a wad. And would you
please
stop calling me
Muffet.
”

He shrugged and stepped back. “Fine.” But he didn’t move from the doorway.

She glared up into his face. Again she found herself lost in something deep within the blue of his eyes. What, exactly, she couldn’t be sure. He was studying her like he pitied her. But it was more than that.

“Why do you let him treat you like that?”

The label of the beer bottle crinkled beneath her thumb. She forced herself to step further away from him. He was far too imposing and he was shooting out pheromones like electric currents.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re his high-priced servant? ‘
Fetch me a drink, would you, girl?’
” he mimicked in a phony British accent. “He should be getting you something to drink. It’s what
gentlemen
do.”

“And what would
you
know about being a gentleman?” she shot back.

He gazed at her for one long moment, sizing her up. “I know a gentleman would’ve taken your coat for you.”

She glanced down at the light jacket she still wore.

“He would’ve kept his hand at the small of your back, smiling politely as you introduced him to your friends, no matter how uncomfortable he was.”

She swallowed. The beer suddenly felt ice cold so she switched hands. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

“A
gentleman
would’ve offered to get his lady a drink. He would try to make her comfortable.”

She looked up at him.

“To make her happy.”

Her heart was pounding now. “Excuse me,” she whispered as she tried to pass.

He stayed rooted in the doorway. He waited until she turned her face up to his.

“Excuse me,” she said again. “Can I get by?”

His ultra-blue eyes studied hers for a moment longer, making her heart nearly beat out of her chest. “Sure, Muffet.”

She passed through and she thought she heard him laugh under his breath.

Little Miss Muffet was engaged to a real asshole. And now he was a real drunk asshole. Jed was not impressed. And it had taken all his willpower to keep from punching the fucker’s teeth out when he brought his hoity-toity ass in, sneering at everyone like he was an exterminator and they were a bunch of roaches. Seriously. If Jed wanted that judgmental bullshit, he’d book it to the country club. And, funny enough, though Kyle was engaged to the uptight prick, she had never once looked down her nose at Jed and the guys. So why was she with such a pantywaist? It was obvious she didn’t love the guy. So was it the money? The rock on her hand had to have cost a pretty penny. Was she that shallow? He didn’t know her well enough, but he didn’t get the impression that she was money-hungry.

He studied the asshole passed out on Michael’s couch. It didn’t appear to be his looks. Jed wasn’t into dudes or anything, but he didn’t think there was much there to write home about. And he definitely treated Kyle shitty. That really got Jed’s goat. After their little discussion, if you could call it that, in the kitchen, the ass had just gotten worse. Especially after Michael and his uptight friends started plying the dude with liquor. And with Michael attending AA meetings, Jed was really surprised.

He glanced over to where Kyle sat alone in the corner. She looked miserable and exhausted. He made his way over and sat next to her. She regarded him, wariness in her tired eyes.

“Go away,” she said, her voice quiet and defeated. “I can’t spar with you right now.”

He glanced at the couch. “You need a ride home?”

She peered up at him suspiciously. “Are you being nice to me?”

“I’ve been known to have an off day.” He smiled.

“What about Charles?”

“What about him? He’s shit-faced drunk. He’ll probably wake up in a pile of his own vomit in the morning. Michael will make sure he gets home. Don’t worry about him.”

“You think so?” Her brows furrowed with concern.

He stood and offered his hand. “Yes. Come on. Stop taking care of him. Serves him right.” He called out to Michael, “I’m taking Muffet home.”

Michael looked over from where he was playing cards with Noble and his clean-cut friends at the kitchen table. He smiled broadly. “That’s great! Thanks!”

The super-excited response surprised Jed, but whatever. “Okay. You’ll watch out for the drunk fiancé?”

Michael glanced at the couch. “Yeah. Sure.”

Kyle looked at Charles. “You’re sure it’s okay to leave him? I’m so embarrassed. He never drinks like that.”

Michael waved his hand. “No. It’s fine. You two go ahead. I’m glad he had such a good time.”

Kyle gave a weak smile. “Well. Okay. If you’re sure.” She reached for her purse. “I’ll check on him later. See you at the studio tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. Bye, now.”

Jed grabbed her jacket and held it up for her to slide into before opening the door and walking her to his car.

He clicked the automatic unlock and opened the door for her, but she had stopped short and was staring wide-eyed from the walkway. “
This
is your car?”

He quickly assessed his baby. Perfect, as always. Why was Muffet acting like his car was an alien from another planet? “Yes. So?”

“This gas-guzzling monstrosity is what you drive everyday?”

He nearly choked. Had she just called his gem a
monstrosity
? Oh,
hell
no. “Listen here, Muffet—”

“Don’t you care about the environment?” She shot him a pointed glare.

His jaw slacked open as his gaze bounced between her and the racing stripes on the roof.

“Our dependence on foreign oil?” she continued. “Your carbon footprint?”

“What the hell?”

“What?”

He pointed to the interior of his ‘gas-guzzling
monstrosity
.’ “Get in the fucking car, Muffet.”

She sat silently and buckled her seatbelt. This was going to be one long ass ride. He rounded the hood and got in, starting the engine with a roar and getting some satisfaction from her little jump.

“Where do you live?” he asked as he eased out of Michael’s driveway.

She told him. It was a pretty nice area. He pulled into traffic and changed his Foo Fighters CD for Switchfoot. She glanced at him, but didn’t say a word. She leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes.

“So, you and Kierstan?” she asked after a few minutes, her voice sleepy.

He glanced over. She hadn’t opened her eyes and her head still leaned back on the seat. He turned back to the road. “What about me and Kierstan?”

She rolled her head to the side and looked at him now. “There’s some tension there. I just thought . . . I was just curious is all. Were the two of you involved?”

He wanted to tell her it was none of her business, but that would just make her more curious. “Something like that.”

“Oh.”

“Any other burning questions, Muffet?” He glanced at her.

The lights from the instrument panel illuminated a small portion of her face. “Just one.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Why do you hate me?”