by J. Morgan
"Hey!” Who said they could talk about me? Whoever they were? “Can we just get the testing over with so I can get back to fixing my door?"
"There will be no testing this quarter."
"Say again?” I know. It threw me, too.
"Melina has looked over your progress reports.” He pulled a pad out of his jacket. “She has determined you are on immediate probation. Until such time as you can show true evilness, you will be required to take on clients of her lady's choosing in hopes that you will learn the error of your laziness, or relocate to your parents’ domicile for the remainder of your retraining."
Oh, shit! This was bad. If I didn't shape up, it was home to Mom. Nope, I couldn't live through that again.
"So, when does this go into effect?” Give me a bone here, dude. I need at least a week. Three days?
"Your first assignment will be here at dusk,” the Gabaroon smirked. “Prepare yourself. Here is his case file, and all the particulars you will need to proceed. We expect timely reports on his dispensation."
I checked the window. The sun had already begun setting behind the tree line.
"Anything else?” I slumped into the couch, already hearing my mother's voice whining in my head.
"Yeah, don't screw it up."
Words to live by, if there ever were any.
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Chapter 2
Just great! Here I'd been thinking I'd get off easy. A slap on the wrist along with a do better next time—you know, the usual. But no! Melina and her smug butt were forcing me to work for a living. I was not made for all this manual, white-collar labor. I'm an heiress, for Morloque's sake. We don't work. We leech off our families until the reading of the will. Everyone knows that. Well, if they don't, they should.
Since I saw no way out of this thing, I needed to get down to business. What's-his-name would be here any minute. I pulled the folder out from under my butt and slapped it on the table, throwing a shower of kitty litter into the air. I gasped as a kernel of grit hit me in the mouth. Coughing, I let the folder slip from my hands. Scrambling to catch the file before it fell into the nastiness I'd strewn around before the Gabaroon's visit, I let a jumble of papers and a photo slide onto the floor.
This day just kept getting worse. Leaving the photo stuck to something I didn't recognize, I grabbed the papers. Man, I needed a latte. It has always been my opinion that a person should never start something important without a beverage in hand. I didn't have time to go to the Bucks and my liquor cabinet consisted of a Bud Lite so old the label was written in hieroglyphics. I found myself stuck with a job I didn't want, thirsty and a little mad about the whole situation. On the bright side, I felt positively unperky.
The first page told me all I needed to know. The blur of boredom made me want to yawn for the rest of my life. This slob wanted to find true love. Get real! True love was a lie, masked by pheromones and designer scents. I've tried a few love spells over the years, and none of them worked, which was good for business, as they say. It gives you time to make the guy or girl miserable until you finally spring the inevitable Sorry babe, you're unlovable on them.
Mom loved doing that. She even got a lifetime achievement award for it, back in ‘92. Mom had spearheaded a movement to rename it Smything, but no one else would agree to it. Despite the monogrammed voodoo dolls she sent out as enticements, she couldn't get one taker. Go figure. Mom is nothing if not original.
What was this guy's name, again? Gregory Hammer-toe. No, wait, Hamilton. Okay, it was a weak attempt at a pun, but I needed to get it out. I'm in a desperate situation here. I have a job with no perks. The file read pretty straightforward. Gregory, not Greg—it said so right there—worked as a computer programmer for some big internet accounting firm. Boring. He had reached the grand old age of twenty-nine and never been in love. Big whoop. Aged-not-telling and I ain't been in love. Sure, I've been in a couple cases of lust, but nothing to make me spend money. A few twenties slipped into a stripper's waistband does not count! Good thing my job definition in no way involved me helping this guy. If he looked half as boring as he read on paper, I doubted if even Heidi Fleiss could get him a date.
Where did that picture go? I remembered it being here a minute ago. Damn mess! It would take me a week to recover from all this filth. I hated redecorating after a visit from one of Melina's Gabaroons. Normally, a little dust didn't bother me, but cat litter pâté between my toes was another matter, especially when I needed to find this picture so I could prepare myself not to blow chunks if this guy was a total freakazoid. There it was!
I had my head wedged under the coffee table when the doorbell rang. Two things happened at once. I was amazed the button worked after butt-boy smashed my door apart. I made him fix it before he left, by the way. The whole job thing made me forget to mention it before. Now, back to the painful part of the paragraph. The second thing was my head slammed into the top of the table. I'm talking black spots, stars, and a mini-explosion that could only be described as a near-death experience or the beginning of a nasty embolism. Okay, maybe not a near-death experience, but, man, did my teeth ring! I reserved judgment on the embolism until after my health-plan-approved CAT Scan.
To make matters worse, I lost the stinking picture. Again! It slipped from my fingers, and scooted under the couch like the dang thing had a mind of its own. Well, after all the junk I'd pushed under there getting ready for Jerkin to show up, I couldn't have found it if I'd wanted to. I guess I'd just have to wait to see what kind of nerd Melina had saddled me with. The doorbell ringing sent my head straight back into the coffee table. Note to self: burn table at earliest convenience.
With two knots on the top of my head, I knew I now looked like a satyr. On my way to the front door, I grumbled about the unfairness of life. I noticed, for one brief second, that the door jamb phased in and out of a parallel dimension. Damn Gabaroon, couldn't even fix a door without opening a gateway to Neverland. Thankfully, he wasn't powerful enough to open a gateway to Hell. I have relatives down there I owed money to. I thanked Morloque for the small favor. Loverboy still pounded on the door, which did nothing for my headache, or the mood Melina put me in for having to take this frigging job.
Swinging the door open, I was ready to unleash as much vile unperkiness as I could muster. Too bad my tongue stopped working when my eyes took in the hunk behind door number mine. He was flipping perfect. Throwing panties in the ceiling fan perfect, if there was such a thing. Seeing him, I'm pretty damn sure there had to be, because mine were slipping down my thighs at the sight of him.
His hair hung nicely tossed around his head without a care. It looked like a rampaging bird's nest. Normally, I'm not too fond of the whole blond-on-brown highlight look, but this guy pulled it off without even trying. And the face! I could have swum in those blue eyes. He had Robert Redford good looks with none of the social awareness. I liked that in a man. I needed my hair spray, and hated to be told I was killing the universe because I enjoyed manageable hair. Being naturally curly, I need the extra hold, so stop giving me the look.
His body wasn't bad to look at, neither. Forget the double negative. Get over it and move on. I'm using artistic license here. Even under the baggy clothes, I could tell he worked out. I'm going to be honest with you, if it wasn't my job to be a total witchy bitch to the guy, I would totally be rocking his world as soon as the door slammed shut if not sooner. I had never been averse to being taken against a door jamb in clear view of the neighbor's front porch. Only the Neverland leaking around the edges stopped me. Pixie dust up the ass had never been my thing.
Hell, why not have my cake and eat it too? Nothing said bitch like a quick nookie, and don't let the door smack you on the ass on the way out. Stick around, I may be able to pull this off, and still keep my witch-point-two rating.
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Chapter 3
His mouth hung slightly open. I hoped it was from my appearance and not from seeing the disaster are
a of my house. I didn't have time to change into my witch's costume, so he saw the unadulterated me. I'm no fool. I knew I was hot for a mortal woman, not to imply that I wanted to be one. Witch spelled different species, remember? You'd have to be blind, and totally ignore cable TV not to know I fit the perky-go-getter profile. I could be on America's Next Top Model and hold my own. For a witch it might not be something to brag about, but for a horny woman who hadn't had a date in mumble mumble, it worked to my advantage.
"So, are you really a witch?” His voice was squeaky, but I chalked it up to nerves.
"That's what the diploma on the wall says, so I guess it must be true.” I cackled, because that's what witches are expected to do. Must keep up appearances don't ya know?
"But, you're beautiful."
I took it as a compliment instead of rubbing salt over an old wound. “Thank you. Now come in before my neighbors start talking."
A couple of the busy-bodies were already gathering on the road, gawking, obviously taking a break from their nightly speed-walking through the neighborhood to gossip about me. He looked behind him, saw the people pointing, and couldn't get in fast enough.
My mind went into overdrive. He had to be the hottest guy I'd seen in a long time. Not only was he more or less officially off-limits, but it was my job to screw with his mind and leave him a shambling wreck, unable to trust or love another woman for the rest of his life. You know, when I say it out loud like that, it doesn't make me sound like a nice person at all. Goodie! There may be hope for me after all.
I motioned for him to take a seat on the couch while I took the chair facing the door. My choice of seats gave me two advantages. I could dominate the room and look aloof while keeping an eye on the Neverland flickering into my living room from the Gabaroon's piss-poor job of fixing my door. The last thing I wanted was a horde of tinkerbells flitting through my house. Raid only went so far before you had to beat the snot out of them with a shoe. I don't know about you, but fairy crap on the bottom of a good pair of pumps was so narsty.
I kept one eye on the door, and one eye on the stud. He fidgeted around and did his best not to look at me, but I caught the glances at my cleavage while he thought I wasn't looking. I may have let a little more fall out than usual just because he acted so shy about it. My sluttiness, and the fact I had lecherous thoughts, had nothing to do with it. Was it hot in here? Should I take off all my clothes? Forget I said that. I had some Nelly in the CD player, and it kind of got stuck in my head. But it was a damn fine idea. Think I could work up a heat spell and get him to do it first?
"Uh, I think this was a mistake. I really should get back to work.” He stumbled to his feet. “Sorry for wasting your time."
"Hold it there, stud-muffin.” He wouldn't be getting away that easily.
"Excuse me?"
"Look, guy. You contracted for some witchly help, and you're gonna get it. Now, sit your butt back down so we can get to the root of your problem.” I waved my finger toward the couch.
"Would you please not point that thing at me?” He plopped back down.
I shoved the finger in question under his nose. “What? This?"
"Yes, you being a witch and all, I'm sure it must be considered a lethal weapon or something."
Was he for real? “Listen here, buster. I am a witch and, as a witch of good standing, I would never do anything to endanger a client. It's right there in the Witches’ Code."
A confused looked wracked his face. “It is?"
"Of course it is. What, do you think I'm making this up?” I so was. Witches’ Code indeed!
"Well, okay.” He looked doubtful, but was smart enough not to call me a liar.
"I think we need to get down to the reason you're here. I'm a very busy witch, and have a whole list of things to do. A cursing that I must get done before midnight, a man who doesn't want to be a frog anymore, and a girl with a wart she wants removed. It goes on and on.” I checked the list off on my fingers.
"Well, I'd like to ... um..."
"Come on. Spit it out.” The edge to my voice made me turn around to make sure my mom hadn't snuck up on me.
"I'd like to find true love.” You would have though he admitted to grand larceny.
"Was that so hard? Now that we have it out in the open, the rest should be a piece of cake.” It would be if I actually planned to help the guy.
"It will?” See, it shocked him, too.
"Of course it will. Admitting the problem is half the battle. Don't you watch Dr. Phil?” I tsked at the very idea. “So, what type of woman are we looking for?” The little voice in my head was screaming: me, me, me. I told it to shut the hell up.
"It's not that simple."
"Sure it is. True love isn't hard. You're just not opening yourself to the possibility.” Where did this line of B.S. come from? “Why don't you explain the situation to me and I'll be the judge of whether or not you're just complicating it."
He shrugged. “If you really think it'll help."
I leaned forward, pushing the girls up. “It will. Trust me."
"Okay. A few years ago I invented this program, and it made me kinda rich. Now I don't know if women like me for me, or the fact my bank account is in the seven figures.” Did he just say seven figures? I wondered if that was before or after taxes.
"That is a sticky situation.” I stroked my chin, like I really felt his pain. I so didn't.
"What I need is something to take out the guess work, and find that one person I'm destined to fall in love with.” He looked so sincere, I didn't have the heart to burst his bubble. In my experience, you were destined to die and little else in between. I am not being mean. That's the truth, as I saw it.
"Well, you've come to the right place.” I beamed, before turning serious. “But it won't be easy. From what I can see here, we have our work cut out for us."
"Huh?” He looked confused. How sweet!
"Look at you. You're not exactly GQ material."
He shifted in his seat. I could see I was getting to him. I wasn't trying to be mean. Really I wasn't. Except for the hotness potential I saw hiding behind the geek exterior, I could tell he wasn't making women swoon in ecstasy with what he was pushing. He could do with a little work. That's what bothered me. He had all the equipment in the right places, but had no clue how to work it. Too bad my job wasn't to make it work.
He sighed, and I knew I had him. “So, what should I do?"
Told ya. This is where I turned on the wicked. I put my finger to my lips, and let out a nice, loud tsk. I swore he melted into the furniture, and I hadn't even turned on the appraising glare yet.
"To start with, you need a total makeover. New hair-do, wardrobe.” I paused for dramatic effect. “Um, contacts. Definitely contacts."
"But shouldn't my true love...” he squinted his eyes shut, and I could tell he was looking for the right words, “love me for me?"
"Heavens, no! True love is all image. We need to market you in the most favorable light possible, without bringing your fortune into it.” Yes, I was counting dollar signs.
"Okay, I guess a new haircut and some new clothes wouldn't hurt.” He sighed.
"Don't forget the contacts. We need to let the ladies see those baby blues.” And what pretty blues they were.
"Anything else?"
"Now that you mention it ... we need to see your moves in the sack.” I actually held a straight face. Can you believe it?
"My what!” His eyes cut toward the door. He wasn't getting away that easily.
"Calm down, tiger. I'm not talking anything freaky.” Unless he swung that way. “But I can't in good conscience unleash you on an unsuspecting true love without knowing you can back up the packaging.” Straight face was still in place, but my mind was screaming, Oh yeah, baby!
"You want me to have..."
"You got it. Me and you, sex in my bedroom.” I thought he would die right then and there. “Or here in the living room, if you want."
"This isn't what I
signed up for. I thought you would give me a spell or something."
"That is so eighteenth century. Get with the program. This is the new millennium. We witches have a responsibility to our clients to ensure they get exactly what they want.” Yeah, right.
"Couldn't I watch an instructional video instead?"
"Then how would I know you would just be pleasuring yourself when I wasn't watching?” Yes, it was me being pleasured that I worried about. It had been a while, so get off my back.
"I would never!” Nothing screamed cute hottie like a deep red blush.
"I mean, instead of pleasuring your potential true love, silly.” Though I thought the other was more likely.
"Oh, well that's different,” he blushed. “I don't think a few pointers would hurt."
The big pointer I saw, straining at his jeans, told me hurting was not in the cards. Oh my! What a dirty little witch I am. Aren't I?
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Chapter 4
I skipped the boring bits while you were scrolling down. Hope you appreciate my effort to cut to the chase. But really, who wants to read through the open-the-door, drag-him-in-by-the-hand parts? I know I wouldn't. And, I don't. My fingers can smell the dirty parts in any and every romance novel on my massive shelf. It's a seldom-appreciated talent, but who was I to knock a Morloque-given gift.
To bring you up to date, I'm wearing something slinky, showcasing my best assets, and he's wearing red Fruit-of-the-Looms with a hole in the butt, shivering like I'm going to eat his yummy tushie instead of rock his world.
First I had to get rid of those ridiculous drawers. They were totally inappropriate for the sexual ambience I'd been hoping to achieve. Once they were gone, I could deal with the deer-in-headlights thing he had going on.
"Didn't we agree you'd be naked when I came out of the bathroom?” Sorry but the trip to the bathroom was necessary. I left my best nightie hanging over the shower rod. I would have mentioned it earlier, but it fell under the boring bits deletion. Try to keep up.