Chapter 9: A Deal With The Devil: Chapter 9

He looks worse than I’ve ever seen him when he gets downstairs. That’s really saying something, under the circumstances.

He presses his fingers to his temples. “Take your daily vitamins,” I say, pushing Advil toward him.

“You’re judging me again.”

“Not at all,” I reply pleasantly, leaning both elbows on the counter to face him as he slides onto a stool. “Though the text you sent in the middle of the night saying ‘send these girls Florida’ was unclear. Did you want me to send them to Florida or somehow gift them the state of Florida?”

“Sorry,” he groans. “Fucking autocorrect. That was probably supposed to be flowers. I don’t really remember.”

I take a sip of my coffee, looking over his schedule. “So, I spent my entire shower trying to figure out how to gift them Florida for nothing.” I smile and shove the schedule toward him.

“You thought about me in the shower,” he says, mouth barely twitching. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Sometimes I wonder if my soap is strong enough to kill off the bacteria from your home. Is that the kind of thing you mean?”

He winces, pressing his fingers to his temples. “Ouch. I’m too hungover for your mouth this morning.”

I bet he doesn’t say that to many women.

“You currently have nothing from noon to two if you’re in need of a nap.”

His lip curls. “I don’t nap.”

“You should,” I reply with a sigh. Hayes has clearly brought this all on himself, but I feel bad for him anyway. The way he lives is untenable for anyone under normal circumstances, even without all the booze and the sleepless nights.

He holds his forehead up with his hand. “Can you get the girls upstairs out of the house after I leave?” he asks.

Girls. Plural. Any sympathy I might have felt vanishes. My arms fold across my chest. “What girls?”

“The ones upstairs. I thought I made that clear. Three of them.”

Three women? That’s the stuff of pornography and letters to Penthouse, not real life. And I seriously doubt any human, even him, has the agility to service more than two women simultaneously. “Can’t you just be content with a run-of-the-mill threesome like the rest of the world?”

His mouth lifts. I get a hint of a dimple. “Are you saying threesomes are run-of-the-mill for you? I don’t even see you having twosomes.”

He’s pretty much nailed it, not that I’d ever admit it to him.

“I would not be interested in a threesome because most men are barely capable of pleasing a single woman without doubling the workload.”

His eyes gleam. “Maybe you’ve been with the wrong men.”

“Maybe you’ve been with women who do a lot of faking.”

He laughs, so certain of his talents he isn’t even going to reply. “Don’t forget to send them flowers, yeah?”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. Today’s note shall read: Sorry I came so fast and left you all unsatisfied.”

“You seem very certain of yourself for someone who is, in fact, having sex with no one,” he replies. “And don’t try to tell me I’m wrong. You’re far too chipper and well-rested to be doing anything interesting at night.”

“Maybe I’m just capable of enjoying my leisure time without letting it destroy me the next day.”

“Tali,” he says, rubbing his brow as he stands, “any man sleeping with you would keep you up all night long whether it was in his best interest or not. He wouldn’t be able to help himself.” Without even looking at me, Hayes picks up the schedule and walks out, not even realizing what his comment has done to my insides. Because something in the almost-reluctant way he said it…made it seem like he might have been talking about himself.

That night, I go back to the first ball Aisling and Ewan attend in Edinad. It’s the crème de la crème of fae society in attendance—all of them charming and beautiful, constantly inebriated and consumed with sex—a bit like my new boss, actually. I haven’t fleshed them out much, aside from the evil queen, but suddenly, I want more. I picture a man there, just like the one in my dream. Julian. He’s beautiful and darkly intimidating, and when he steps up behind Aisling at the ball, sliding his hands over her bare arms, she’s not sure how to react.

“Name anything and it’s yours,” he tells her.

I don’t even know where it would go in the book, but for the first time in a year, the words come easily.