Fashionably Fooled
Robyn Peterman
Copyright © 2020 by Robyn Peterman
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.
This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.
Cover by Rebecca Poole of dreams2media
Edited by Cookie Inc.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Note From The Author
Excerpt from: It’s A Wonderful Midlife Crisis
Book Description
Chapter 1
Robyn’s Book List
About Robyn Peterman
Acknowledgments
Writing The Hot Damned Series is like coming home. All of the characters live inside my head and talk constantly. I love all of them, but Satan is one of my favorites. Don’t tell the others and do not tell him. His ego is big enough right now. He flies from my fingertips and constantly surprises and appalls me. LOL
My hope is that you enjoy reading Fashionably Fooled as much as I loved writing it. Each book I write is like giving birth to another beautiful baby. This baby happens to be naughty and full of delightful and ridiculous fun.
Anyhoo, as always, I write the book, but it takes a whole lot of wonderful people to make the magic happen. I am a lucky girl because I have a lot of wonderful people in my life.
Rebecca, thank you for my beautiful cover. You are the bomb!
My Cookie, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You saved me from some embarrassing mistakes. When we meet again, I will kiss your butt for real. LOL
Renee George and J.M. Madden, thank you. You are the most brilliant critique partners in the world! I don’t know what I would do without you.
My Magic Wanda, you kick ass on a daily basis. I’d be screwed without you. Thank you.
My beta readers—Wanda and Susan thank you. I adore you.
And to my readers… thank you. I do this for you.
Steve, Henry and Audrey, thank you. I love you and you make everything worth it.
Dedication
For my Best Cookie.
You saved my ass on this one.
I adore you.
Chapter One
“I have an outstanding plan,” I announced, leaning back in my leather chair and propping my feet up on the massive desk.
“Says the nutjob who thought blackmailing me into writing his profanely disgusting and over-sexed autobiography was a good idea,” Astrid muttered as she casually examined her manicure.
“Surely you jest,” I said flatly. I raised my brow and gave the Vampyre/Demon a look that would make most drop to their knees in terror and beg forgiveness. However, this particular Vampyre/Demon simply grinned. “My book was a New York Times Bestseller and the film version won an Oscar.”
Astrid threw her head back and laughed so hard, I smiled in spite of myself. If I were being honest—which was rare—I’d fully admit I’d bought my way onto the bestsellers’ list and had bribed each and every Oscar voter. However, just as a tiger was unlikely to change his stripes, the arbiter of evil had no desire to become an honest man. I adored evil and I wore it well. But most of all, I knew how to have an outstanding time doing outrageously bad things. It didn’t hurt that I was a devastatingly handsome son of a bitch.
Being the Devil did not suck.
“Are you done?” I asked as she continued to laugh like a loon.
“Almost,” Astrid replied, still giggling.
As much as Astrid made me want to incinerate buildings, it was refreshing to spend time with someone who wasn’t terrified of me. Of course, my niece’s blatant disrespect could be trying, but then again, a price had to be paid for everything.
“I’m done,” she said, swallowing back a few leftover giggles.
“You’re sure?” I inquired.
“No, but keep talking. If I need to laugh again, I’ll raise my middle finger and aim it at you. Cool?” she shot back, grinning.
“No, not cool,” I replied.
“Oh, my Hell,” Astrid griped. “You’re such an asshat. You called me to your neck of the Universe. Spit out what you want. I have a movie date with my son and husband in an hour.”
My niece was correct, not about the ridiculous name she called me, but about summoning her to Hell. I wanted Astrid to do something, and I wouldn't take no for an answer. Hence, the meeting in my intimidatingly fabulous office. However, as usual, she wasn’t appropriately cowed. So be it. I would win. I always did.
“Fine. Here’s what I’m thinking… since you owe me, I shall let you throw me a grand surprise birthday party. I want something on the scale of Christmas but bigger—national attention, complete worship of me,” I said as I heard a strange hiss and scanned my office warily.
My incredibly rude niece sat on the black leather couch and rolled her eyes so hard she should have been able to see her backside. Normally that kind of behavior would merit a vicious comeback or a threat. Often times it delighted me to light something or someone on fire when I didn’t feel I was getting the respect I was due. As a half-Vampyre/half-Demon, Astrid would survive electrocution. This morning I was off my game. Plus, my niece was a wild one. If I zapped her, she’d zap me right back. While I enjoyed her lack of fear, I enjoyed my custom Armani suit more.
Not to mention, almost getting decapitated before I’d summoned my niece had made me unusually cautious… the Devil wasn’t necessarily known for self-restraint, but there was a first time for everything.
Even so, she clearly hadn't heard what I heard.
“When you think, I get gas,” Astrid said, noticing the buffet table and eyeing it with ire.
“You’re dead. That’s impossible,” I reminded her. “Bodily functions are a thing of your past.”
“And you’re a gaping hole of rude,” she snapped, pointing a perfectly manicured nail at the onyx marble table laden with silver platters of breakfast delicacies. “You know I can’t eat. You know that makes me stabby. Yet, for some unexplainable reason, you call me to Hell and make me look at food. Total jackhole move, Uncle Fucker.”
“Shit,” I muttered, as the Dark Palace began to tremble on its foundation. I quickly grabbed the mesh desk organizer with a sliding drawer, double tray, and five upright sections that I’d stolen from my mother. Surprisingly, Mother Nature had a delightfully large array of office supplies. I’d be pissed if it shattered. I’d only absconded with it last month and hadn’t enjoyed it properly, yet.
“What in the mother humpin’ Hell?” Astrid yelled as the couch she was seated on slid across the room and dumped her onto the black marble floor.
An unnerving and terrorizing rumble shook the office and echoed ominously through Hell. I considered moving my meeting with Astrid to a safer part of the Dark Palace. Surely Elle wouldn’t attack me
again with a guest present. However, my mate seemed to have lost her mind as of late, and I had no clue what she would do next. Normally, I found Elle’s violent tendencies arousing. This morning? Definitely not.
Astrid eyed me with concern as she warily got to her feet. “Was that a freakin’ earthquake?”
“Not exactly,” I said, staying as vague as I could. It wouldn’t really do to explain that I’d almost been beheaded by the woman I loved over breakfast. Not to mention, Astrid tended to have loose lips, and I didn’t need the Immortal Universe to know that my mate was trying to dismember me. I had the reputation of being an evil badass to uphold.
“Mmmkay,” Astrid said, still on edge as she began to pace. “Maybe I should come back another time when Hell isn’t about to blow up, and you don’t have a table of food on display that makes me want to permanently rearrange your face.”
“About that,” I whispered, glancing around the area again. “I wanted to have the buffet removed before you arrived, but… DUCK,” I shouted as I grabbed Astrid and threw her under my desk.
Her head hit the wood with a loud thud, and I winced as a sharp knife slammed into my upper leg. Thankfully, Astrid and I were Immortal and would heal quickly. The perpetrator of the attack disappeared as quickly as she’d appeared.
“What the actual fuck?” Astrid demanded, punching me in the stomach as I wedged my huge frame under the desk next to her.
“Shhh,” I whispered, pulling the dagger out of my hip and melting it with a flick of my fingers. “She’s trying to kill me.”
“So am I, Asshole of the Underworld,” Astrid hissed and blasted me with a bolt of searing hot magic.
“Lord of the Underworld,” I corrected her.
“Same thing,” she said with a raised brow. “Anyhoo, as the Dork of Down Under you’re impossible to kill. A dagger in the derriere isn’t gonna do much.”
Astrid demonstrated her statement with another painful blast of lightning.
“See,” she said with a giggle. “You’re still breathing.”
“Stop it. And it wasn’t my ass, it was my hip,” I snapped, still keeping my voice low. “If I retaliate, the Dark Palace will explode. I’d suggest you keep your itchy trigger fingers in your pockets, or I’ll come for an extended vacation to the Cressida House and make your life a living Hell—which is my specialty. I’ve had a seriously bad morning.”
Astrid sighed dramatically, zapped me again and pushed me out from under the desk with her stiletto clad feet. I was now exposed. For a brief moment, I considered pulling Astrid out from beneath the desk and crawling back to relative safety, but that was a cowardly move. I was many things, but I was not a coward.
“First of all, you’re doing an outstanding job of making my life a living Hell right now even though I’m technically dead. And I’m really not sure how, but somehow, you’ve made me feel sorry for you,” Astrid said with an exasperated shake of her head. “Who’s trying to kill you and why? If your story is even remotely plausible or makes any sense whatsoever, I’ll help you by putting an end to someone stupid enough to try to off the Devil’s ass.”
“No,” I said quickly. “No offing necessary. It’s Elle. She’s become very food aggressive. I think it’s a Siren thing. She electrocuted me for just looking at her blueberry muffin.”
My statement rendered my filter-less niece silent. I was perplexed as well. I’d even gone so far as calling my mother about the conundrum with my mate but got her voice mail. Her ludicrous message informed anyone who called that she was at a pole dancing competition in Belize, where cell reception was spotty at best. Mother Nature kept a bizarre and horrifying social calendar.
“The Keeper of Fate tried to annihilate you for looking at her muffin?” Astrid asked, trying to bite back her grin.
She failed miserably.
“It’s not humorous,” I hissed.
“Actually, it is,” she contradicted me. “However, just to be clear here, blueberry muffin isn’t code for some warped sexual thingie. Right?”
“It is not code for anything,” I huffed. “It was a goddamned blueberry muffin. I don’t even like blueberry muffins. I didn’t want her muffin. I didn’t reach for her muffin. I barely even looked at her muffin.”
“Can we call it something other than muffin?” Astrid inquired. “While I understand this is a fairly serious conversation, I can’t keep a straight face when you keep referring to your mate’s muffin. You feel me?”
Closing my eyes and squeezing my hands into fists so I didn’t incinerate most of Hell due to the hissy fit that was brewing inside me, I nodded. However, a muffin was a muffin. I wasn’t a walking fucking thesaurus. I knew no other term for the unfortunate breakfast food.
“And what would you suggest I call it?” I asked tersely as I stood up. “Sweet roll?”
“Umm… no. Sweet roll still sounds grossly sexual.”
“For the love of everything dastardly, pick something. I have no time for this. I could lose a body part at any moment,” I insisted.
“Puffy fruit pastry?” Astrid suggested with a wrinkled nose, crawling out on all fours from under the desk and walking back to the couch. Her lopsided grin was filled with massive disrespect.
“No. Puffy fruit pastry is unacceptable.” While I normally found Astrid’s lack of respect charming, right now… not so much. She’d just made me aware that most breakfast items could easily sound like a woman’s nether region. For a moment, I couldn’t even remember why I’d summoned her.
“How about blueberry breakfast bread? That term doesn’t sound like a va-jayjay nickname,” she offered, still smiling.
“Fine,” I snapped. “I was almost beheaded for glancing at Elle’s blueberry breakfast bread. Better?”
“Nope. Still sounds nasty,” Astrid said with a laugh. “However, I got it. No need to say muffin again, Uncle Fucker.”
“Excellent,” I said, glancing around to make sure Elle hadn’t popped back into the room and was within easy decapitation distance. While I could grow my head back, it would be incredibly itchy, and I had a full agenda for the day. “Do you have any idea why Elle might have tried to maim me over a…”
“Muffin?” Astrid supplied with a naughty grin. “Not a clue. Now, if she was a Vampyre and couldn’t eat, I could see how having muffins around might be an issue. I mean, I would freakin’ lose it if Ethan could ingest food and ate in front of me. I’d go straight for his nuts. Eating is serious business to someone who has to drink blood—a concept I still find slightly disgusting. I dream about pizza and black raspberry chip ice cream all the time. But… I suppose it could be possible that Aunt Flow is visiting and that might be causing the muffin warmongering. Being dead, I don’t have to deal with that shit anymore. Dead does have its advantages. So, in conclusion, if Elle is dealing with the curse, I really can’t help you out, dude.”
“Who in the Hell is Aunt Flo and what curse?” I demanded, completely confused by Astrid’s diatribe. However, if there was some distant relation named Flo that I could blame and incinerate for Elle’s behavior, it would greatly improve my mood. A little violence could go a long way towards making a day fantastic. Although, a curse was something altogether different.
“Decapitation is probably only on the table for a week to ten days. You need to relax your crack,” Astrid said.
“I’m sorry. What?” I hissed as my eyes narrowed to slits.
It was a look that had terrified millions. I’d perfected it and it looked damned good on me. Astrid wasn’t impressed.
“You have eight daughters. Correct?” she asked.
“Don’t remind me,” I muttered. Only one of my eight daughters didn’t drive me to drink. Dixie was not the best as far as Demons went since she had a kind and compassionate side, but she was my favorite by far. Dixie was a true and loyal delight even though her need for fairness was bothersome. The Seven Deadly Sins were another story—a horror story to be precise.
Those girls were a hot deadly mess and needed t
o get the Hell out of Hell. Of course, finding mates for them was nearly impossible due to the unsavory fact that most of their paramours didn’t survive the first date. Rumors spread quickly in Hell and getting anyone to even look twice at one of my spawn was an unnerving situation for any male with a shred of sense. I had plans to unload them soon. They’d be none too pleased, but taking their credit cards, cell phones and cutting off their allowances would go a long way toward getting them mated off and out of my hair.
“You freely admit you have daughters?” Astrid pressed.
Where she was going with this was anyone’s guess. My niece had a habit of talking in circles—usually confounding circles.
“Yes. Your point?”
“Demon DNA and Siren DNA is close to human DNA,” Astrid stated with the beginnings of a smile on her lips.
I nodded curtly. She was up to no good, but if she had any kind of information that might help, I was willing to listen. Of course, if she didn’t, I’d be sure to visit her home and profanely enhance her decor on a much more regular basis.
“Get to the point,” I said, glancing over at the door to Elle’s closet where she’d barricaded herself after the muffin episode.
“Girls get periods,” Astrid said with an eye roll as I blanched in terror. “They can get hungry and irritable during the visit from Aunt Flow. The medical term is hangry.”
Fashionably Fooled Page 1