Hard Byte

by Misha Bell

  Me or Winnie? If the latter, then Winnie is female. I would’ve guessed differently, given all that crotch sniffing. Also, if that breed/species has sexual dimorphism, how big do the males get? Elephant size?

  “Holly, this is Napoleon Bonaparte,” Bella says, picking up the Chihuahua. “Or Boner for short.”

  Boner. Why does this make me think of her brother all of a sudden? Worse yet, that reminds me of my precarious job situation, making my stomach tighten with anxiety.

  Since I have a chance at authentic pet therapy right here, I smooth my hand over Boner’s short fur.

  The cute little bugger closes his eyes in bliss.

  “He likes you,” Bella says. “And he’s a good judge of character.”

  I grin, absurdly pleased.

  My relationship with animals is a complex one. Growing up on a farm, I was surrounded by them—and I don’t just mean my sisters. Now that I’m grown, I still love everything furry, but only in theory. Put another way, I love pets when they live with someone else, but for myself, I can’t imagine owning one due to the chaos and mess it would create. I suspect most people feel the same way about baby monkeys.

  Wanting to play with animals without the mess was part of the reason I came up with my VR pet project, in fact. It provides all the good parts of pet ownership and none of the bad.

  “Would you care for a spot of tea?” Fyodor asks poshly.

  Dragomir and Bella reply in the affirmative and turn my way.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” I say, beaming at not-quite-Carson. He’s really redeemed himself with that “spot of tea” bit.

  We sit on a nearby couch while the tea and biscuits get served.

  Bugger. Note to self: never say “biscuits” in lieu of “cookies” in front of Gia. For that matter, never say “bugger” either.

  As we have our tea, Winnie lies down on the floor and Boner sniffs her butt, making me chuckle.

  Noticing this, Bella demonstrates a dubious skill—ventriloquism. Only she voices the dogs instead of a traditional nightmarish wooden doll.

  “Winnie, ma petite.” She throws her voice to sound as if it’s coming from the Chihuahua’s maw and speaks with a strong French accent instead of the Hispanic I would’ve expected. “How I adore your postérieure. It has a certain je ne sais quoi that makes me feel like I have rabies.”

  Noticing the sniffing, Winnie leaps to her feet and jumps onto a nearby treadmill.

  Yes. A treadmill. In a car.

  Bella throws her voice at the giant creature, giving it a thick Russian accent. “Napoleon Carlovich, I am scandalized. Can’t you keep your nose—and other appendages—away from my orifices for at least an hour? We’re in new company. Know you no shame?”

  I blow on my tea. “Was this your talent at a beauty pageant?”

  Bella grins. “I’ve never done one of those, but it’s sweet of you to imply that I could’ve.”

  Huh, okay. Isn’t vanity supposed to be the Devil’s favorite sin?

  “How did you learn it then?” I ask. “You throw your voice very well.”

  “My parents own a restaurant,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “I performed there… for a time.”

  Before I can question her further, the RV comes to a full stop.

  “You first,” Bella tells me when Fyodor opens the doors for us.

  As soon as we exit, I come face to gorgeous face with the Devil. His cerulean eyes meet mine, sucking all the air from my lungs, and it takes all my willpower to tear my gaze away from that hypnotic stare and turn my attention to the dog at his side.

  A dog that could just as easily be a koala bear the size of a German shepherd.

  I blink at it, thoroughly distracted by its ginormous cuteness. There’s something clumsy in the way it stands, making me think it might be a puppy.

  Must be the aforementioned Beelzebub.

  Seeing me, Beelzebub starts wagging his tail and gets on his haunches.

  Oh, no. He’s going for my face.

  Not willing to be slobbered on, I turn away.

  A paw claws at my top anyway.

  Laughing, I push the puppy away, and as I do, I feel the material shifting, followed by a cool sensation on my left nipple.

  A cool sensation that’s unmistakably air.

  Chapter Ten

  Oh, bugger.

  My heart rate jacks up, my face flaming violently as I frantically tug my shirt back in place.

  I’ve just managed another nip-slip in front of the Devil—and since it was the right one last time, he’s now seen the pair.

  To his credit, the Devil doesn’t stare as he pulls Beelzebub away, though there’s a definite hint of a smirk on his face.

  But why not stare? Is my nipple unattractive or something? I’ve used electrolysis on that one errant hair that sprouted out of there, so it should be gone. Unless it’s back?

  Under the pretext of continuing to fix my attire, I sneak a frantic peek down my shirt and bra.

  Nope. All good there. Whew.

  The Devil says something in Russian to the unrepentant, tail-waggling demon.

  Whatever he said doesn’t stick.

  As soon as Beelzebub spots Bella, Dragomir, and their furry charges, he goes berserk, licking the faces of the humans before switching to licking the snouts of the dogs, then sniffing dog butts for dessert.

  Hey, at least he didn’t sniff the butts of the humans—or their crotches.

  “Do you want to hold Boner’s leash?” Bella asks me magnanimously.

  “No, thank you,” I say quickly. As is appropriate for the Tempter, Bella has an uncanny ability to place inappropriate images into my brain. Case in point: I’m picturing the Devil with a huge erection, a cock-ring with a leash attached, and me holding—

  “How about Beelzebub?” the Devil asks, wrestling me away from my naughty thoughts. “Do you want to walk him?”

  Beelzebub wags his tail spasmodically, and I bet if Bella were to voice his thoughts, he’d be shouting, “Please, please, please. Pick me. Pick me. Pick me.”

  “I’m good,” I say, ignoring the overeager puppy. “I’ll just walk on my own if you don’t mind.”

  Beelzebub’s tail sags and his ears droop. I feel a little pang of guilt. Maybe I should’ve said yes.

  But no. That way lies getting my own puppy, and then domestic Armageddon will surely follow.

  We begin the walk, and I remember how much I love Central Park—though apparently not as much as the dogs do. They look like they’re having the time of their lives as they sniff every previously urinated-on nook and cranny.

  “Has my sister told you why she wanted to buy your company?” the Devil asks.

  I shake my head.

  Bella pulls Boner away right as he tries to eat an innocent snail. “Women are typically more susceptible to VR sickness,” she says. “But Holly’s headset is the exception to that unfortunate rule.”

  Even though it’s not fair to call it my headset, I stand straighter. “It was important to us that women and children could use the gear. That’s why the headset is adjustable, especially the interpupillary distance and—”

  “Folks, you know the rules: no shop talk on a dog walk,” Dragomir says.

  Bella looks at him sheepishly. “Oops.”

  I fight the urge to say it’s not her or my fault. Her brother started it.

  A squirrel crosses the road, and Beelzebub looks like he’d sell his grandmother to catch it. In contrast, Winnie doesn’t pay the furry creature any attention, while Boner has clearly seen it but is pretending that the rodent doesn’t exist.

  I notice that Bella and Dragomir have gotten a little bit ahead of me and the Devil, as if giving us privacy on purpose.

  Huh. Weird. Is that because Alex said he and I needed to talk?

  As if reading my thoughts, she peeks at us over her shoulder with a sly smile.

  Wait a sec.

  Is she playing matchmaker? Is that why she’s invited me here—to act out her own persona
l Emma fantasy?

  If so, she’s certifiable. Her brother and I are like oil and water. Then again, didn’t I read something about MIT researchers developing an emulsions preparation process that allows oil and water to mix and stay that way? And Bella did go to MIT, so—

  No. No way. Besides, even if she fancies me now, once she learns I tried to sabotage her dream, she’ll hate my guts—an idea I find quite discomforting.

  Well, whatever her motives, I should take advantage of the situation and ask about my job.

  Yes, that’s exactly what I should do—only I’m having trouble launching into it. Maybe I’ll make some small talk first to build up to it.

  “Is Bella your only sibling?” There. Better than bringing up the weather—which is nice and sunny, by the way.

  Since Beelzebub is taking a leak, the Devil stops and I do the same. “We have a brother too,” he replies. “His name is Vlad.”

  Aha. So every Chortsky I came across during my research is related. Makes sense.

  “How about you?” the Fallen Angel asks as we resume the walk. “Are you an only child?”

  I wish… unless, is that question a diss?

  “I have seven sisters.” Did I just sound braggy?

  His eyebrow shoots up—yet another bizarrely attractive expression on him. “Seven?”

  “Yeah. Me and my twin, plus the sextuplets—everyone monozygotic.”

  A second eyebrow joins the first. “Monozygotic as in identical?”

  Why are those eyebrows so sodding attractive?

  “Indeed. My twin and I look the same, as does the litter of evil.”

  His satyr-like grin is as seductive as the eyebrows. “The litter of evil sounds like what we call Beelzebub and his siblings: the Chort Pack. You see, my last name means—”

  “Of the devil,” I blurt.

  He stops, though I’m not sure if it’s to focus on me or to allow Beelzebub to pee on a tempting-looking oak trunk. “You speak Russian?”

  “Sadly, no. There were just rumors about you guys at the office, so I looked up your name.”

  “I see.” Beelzebub pulls on the leash, so the Devil resumes walking. “Sextuplets are exceptionally rare, right?”

  “That they are. The chances are astronomically small for a regular pregnancy, but more likely when using assisted reproduction technology, which is what my parents did.”

  “Ah. And are all of you close?”

  “Only me and my twin. I mainly interact with the others at family events. They’re a bit much for me. Too chaotic and messy—especially when together in the same space.”

  The Wicked One chuckles. “I bet. There were only three of us growing up, and it was pretty crazy some days. Hard to imagine eight.”

  Grr. I hate the reminder that there are eight of us. Why couldn’t the Hymans be like the Chortskys and have a nice prime number of kids? Especially three.

  Three would be so much better than eight.

  Can’t say that to him, though, so I opt for something safer. “You and Bella get along well enough. Are you also close with Vlad?”

  He pulls on Beelzebub’s leash to prevent him from molesting a yorkie. “Vlad’s my best friend.”

  “Tidy.” I smile. “Same for my twin and me.”

  He cocks his head. “I know you went to school at Cambridge, but did you also live in England before or after that?”

  “Why?” I ask, sounding defensive.

  “Certain words you choose,” he says. “Like tidy.”

  This again. “It was just the four years. Turns out, I absorb languages and dialects like a sponge. I even had a British accent when I got back, but after merciless teasing, I managed to drop it.”

  He grins. “Maybe if you hang out with me enough, you’ll learn Russian. And get a Russian accent.”

  Cheeky bastard. Does he want me to be tempted by the idea of hanging out with him? Of course he does. He wouldn’t be the Tempter otherwise.

  No more dilly-dallying.

  I take in a breath and expel the words in a rush. “Can we talk about my employment status? If I need to update my CV, I should—”

  He locks eyes with me. “No shop talk on dog walks.”

  “But—”

  “Rules are rules,” he says sternly. “Once we’re done here, we can set up—”

  The alarm on my phone goes off.

  What the bloody hell?

  When I check it, I want to smack myself.

  The NYU Langone meeting is in a half hour, which is barely enough time for me to get there.

  I look up from the phone to see the Devil frowning.

  “Is everything okay?” he asks.

  “I’m fine. But I do have to skedaddle.”

  The frown morphs into a confused expression. “You do?”

  “I’m sorry.” Louder, I belt out, “Bye, Bella. Bye, Dragomir!”

  Bella turns around and hurries toward me.

  Crap. I shouldn’t have said goodbye. Now I’m getting delayed.

  “Did I hear you say you’re leaving?” she says, reaching me.

  “Yep. Got to run.”

  Bella gives her brother a narrow-eyed stare. “What did you do?”

  “No one did anything.” My voice jumps an octave. “I have a prior commitment, that’s all. When I agreed to join you guys, it slipped my mind.”

  “Oh.” Bella takes out her phone. “Before you go, please give me your contact info.”

  I’m so going to be late. Then again, I find the idea that Bella wants to get in touch a little exhilarating. Reminds me of being in middle school, when I wanted the prettiest girl in class to befriend me.

  Could Bella become my first friend with whom I don’t share one hundred percent of my DNA?

  Wait, what am I saying? Once she learns what I tried to do, she won’t want to be friends. Quite the opposite: she’ll fire me—if her brother doesn’t beat her to it.

  Not showing any of this on my face, I put my number into her phone and hand it back.

  Just as I prepare to sprint away, the Devil hands me his phone. “In case I need to reach you for work.”

  Hmm. Do I want him to call me? I’m not sure, but denying him my number would be a pointless gesture. He’s now my boss, so he can get access to it from the HR records if he wishes.

  “Well, actually, I wanted Holly’s number for personal reasons,” Bella says to him and sticks her tongue out, causing Dragomir to give her a heated side-eye. With a warm smile at me, she says, “I’ll text you so you have my number as well.”

  I feel a pang of sadness knowing a close friendship with Bella can never happen. Side note: what’s the female equivalent of bromance? Is it homance, as in hos before bros? No, sounds offensive. A quick internet search reveals the term: womance.

  Realizing I’m delaying myself, I quickly enter my info and thrust the Devil’s phone back into his hands.

  The Wicked One’s fingers brush against mine, and a surge of seductive energy shoots down my arm, zips around my heart, and electrocutes a few butterflies in my belly before settling sinfully in my core.

  Blimey. Did his cerulean eyes widen?

  Nah. All I see on his face is a smirk. “Thanks,” he says, his accent sounding particularly delicious. “I’ll text you too.”

  His “too” makes me think of “two,” one of my favorite primes. “Cheerio,” I blurt. Bugger. The British accent I thought I’d gotten rid of is back with a vengeance. “I really have to run.”

  “Bye,” Bella says.

  “Do svidaniya,” says the Ruler of Darkness, the smirk still on his gorgeous face.

  “It was nice to meet you,” Dragomir adds.

  “Au revoir, chèrie,” says Boner. “I look forward to sniffing you again in the future.”

  With a queenly wave, I dash for the park exit, where I leap into the first available cab and bribe the driver to punch it.

  Once on the way, I look up “do svidaniya.”

  Svidaniye means “meeting” or “date”, and
the phrase is used as an optimistic farewell with the meaning of “until the next meeting.”

  “Do svidaniya,” I say out loud.

  Becoming animated, the driver catches my gaze in the mirror and rattles out a torrent of Russian words.

  “Sorry, I don’t speak Russian,” I say.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You said do svidaniya like a true Russian. Forgive my confusion,” the driver says, his accent much thicker than the Devil’s.

  So it has begun. Before I know it, I will have a Russian accent as prominent as this guy’s and will say do svidaniya instead of bye.

  Hey, that might work better with Gia than cheerio.

  I look up other Russian greetings in case they come in handy. There are many, but the easiest to say is probably privet, which is an informal hello.

  A text chimes.

  It’s the Devil.

  I store his number as first name Lucifer, last name Satan.

  Bella’s text comes soon after.

  It might be a double standard, but I enter her into my contacts with her real name.

  For the rest of the ride, I count the seconds my mind wastes picturing a certain pair of cerulean eyes. At a hundred and thirty-seven, I halt the count, as I don’t want even more proof of how mental I am.

  When we stop next to NYU Langone, I’m already seven minutes late—and the fact that it’s a prime number is little consolation.

  Grabbing a hundred-dollar bill and a single, I throw them at the driver and dash out of the car with a shout of “keep the change.”

  Time to pull off a miracle.

  Chapter Eleven

  On the way to my destination, I do accomplish a small miracle: I don’t knock anyone over during my mad sprint.

  Once I get to the meeting room, however, I find it empty.

  Bloody hell. Did they leave already?

  I sit down to catch my breath.

  The door opens and Dr. Piper walks in.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says. “The others will arrive shortly.”

  Hurrah!

  Instead of being late, fate has made me look early. Fingers crossed this continues.