by Brux, Boone
A knock sounded at the door just as she entered the kitchen. On her way to answer it, she slapped her hair into a serviceable ponytail. Flash raced past her and propped his front paws on the door, his tail wagging so hard his back end looked like he was doing the conga.
“Is that Mommy?” Faye said.
“Good riddance,” Whitney muttered, and continued to paw through her magazine.
“Be nice.” Faye opened the door to a smiling Mrs. Perkins.
“Morning, dear.” Mrs. Perkins bent and scooped up Flash. “Everything go all right?”
“Like clockwork. He was a perfect gentleman.” She stepped back, allowing the woman inside. “I’ll grab his bag.”
She bustled into her room and picked up Flash’s backpack. The Twitter screen glared at her. She tried to ignore it, but it seemed to have a built-in tractor beam. Satan’s tweets dominated her feed. With a Herculean effort, she pulled her gaze away and jogged out of the room, trying to put as much distance between her and the possessed computer as possible.
“Here you go.” She handed the bag to Mrs. P. “Thanks for letting Flash sleep over.” She scratched his head. “Even if he is a bit of a bed hog.”
“Indeed,” the woman said. “That’s why I bought him a twin bed. Put it right next to mine. Even bought him Scooby-Doo sheets.”
“What a good idea,” she said, not completely sure indulging Mrs. Perkins’ doggie delusion was wise.
“All righty, we’ve got to toddle. Lots of errands to run.” She gave Faye a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t know what I would do without you. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Anytime, Mrs. Perkins.”
Whitney harrumphed. Faye ignored her, even though she knew she’d just opened the door to more impromptu sleepovers. She couldn’t help it. Mrs. Perkins depended on her and she didn’t have the heart to turn Flash over to somebody who might not appreciate him.
“Ta, ta.” With a backward wave, she left, bag over her shoulder, and Flash tucked happily under her arm.
Faye followed their lead before Whitney could make any snide remarks. “I’m going out.”
“Don’t forget about tonight.”
Crap, in her crisis she’d forgotten about her promise. “Right.”
“Wear something nice,” Whitney added.
What the heck? Did Whitney really think she had to be told not to dress like a bag lady? She gritted her teeth. Maybe should wear the canary yellow bridesmaid dress from her sister’s wedding. The thing had more layers than the wedding cake and even on her small frame, she still ended up looking like a sunny lampshade in the wedding pictures. She shoved on her sunglasses and left. Her roommate’s manners were the least of her problems.
She tromped down the sidewalk to Continental Joe’s House of Java.
“Crap.” She stopped and glared at the line extending out the door. “Of course.”
A sunny and warm Saturday morning, it figured everybody and their dog would be out and about. She took her place in the queue and checked her watch. The sun beat down on her shoulders. In an attempt to shield her skin from a burn, she cupped the back of her neck. People fanned themselves with newspapers and glistened under fine sheens of sweat.
A handsome, older gentleman in front of her smiled. “Hi.” His stare lingered. “I’m Vern.”
She gave him a strained smile. “Hello…Vern.”
He winked, turning his smile from friendly to just plain creepy.
She fumbled in her bag for her iPad. Rule #4 of The Shy Girl’s Guide to Living: Using electronic devices to ward off a panic attack or ignore people you don’t know is an acceptable avoidance technique.
She flipped open the cover and mapped out her next stop, the Bandicott Estate. The man continued to stare, using some kind of Jedi mind trick against her. She fought the urge to look at him. Was he flirting?
Double gross.
“It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it, Faye?”
She started at the use of her name and glanced up at him. “I’m sorry, have we met?”
“Not directly.” He dropped his sunglasses into the front pocket of his shirt. “But I know you.”
She shielded her eyes from the sun to look up at him. “Really? From where?”
He leaned in. “Welcome to the fold.”
“I’m sorry?”
“No need to pretend.” He leaned an inch closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’re one of us now.”
Her body bent, recoiling from his sulfury breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The line inched forward but he ignored it and continued to stare at her.
“Sure you do.” He wiggled his index finger in the air, tapping an imaginary button. “It’s as simple as a click.”
The breath stuttered in her throat. “Who are you?”
“Vern.” He straightened and pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket again. “Think of me as a messenger.”
Faye glanced around, looking for some other explanation than this guy was one of Satan’s minions.
“The sooner you accept your fate, the sooner you can start enjoying the benefits.” He tapped her shoulder once with his glasses. “No sense in fighting it.”
How could being bound to the Devil have an upside? Her voice croaked out. “What benefits?”
“You’ll see.” Vern slid his glasses over his eyes. He made to leave but stopped. “Oh, and Ms. Albert, the contract is ironclad.”
For a second Faye thought she saw flames dance behind the dark gray tint of his shades. She watched him walk down the block and turn the corner. A breath she’d been holding rushed from her body. Had she really just had an encounter with a badass from Hell? Or worse, was she really bound to the Devil? Of course she was. That’s how her life went. One simple act of rebellion and she landed on the V.I.P. list of eternal damnation.
A man behind her cleared his throat, drawing her back to the present. She closed the gap in the line and stepped inside the coffee shop. Large rattan ceiling fans circulated a welcome cloud of cooled air. Every table appeared filled. She pulled off her sunglasses and let her eyes adjust to the shadowed interior, but didn’t see Christopher. No matter, she’d stand next to the door and wait for him.
Finally it was her turn. “Sixteen ounce mocha with whip.”
The Italian-looking guy behind the counter smiled at her. She’d been in here enough to know his name was Edwardo and he was an aspiring actor.
“Something hot and sweet for someone who is hot and sweet.” He winked at her.
Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
Never once had Edwardo acknowledged her existence. As a matter of fact, he usually forgot to post her order. She’d stand there, waiting while the people behind her got their orders. Now that she thought about it, the only reason she came back to this place was because the location was convenient. Their coffee wasn’t even that good.
He slid a twenty-ounce cup toward her and made a little kissing gesture with his mouth. “On the house.”
What the heck? Fast service and free? Maybe it was a ploy to get her to buy a bigger size. The old bait and switch. Though to be honest, Edwardo didn’t seem clever enough, or the type to care about his employer’s profits.
She opened her wallet. “Thank you, but I can pay.”
He leaned on the counter and covered her fumbling hand with his. She froze. Her eyes slowly tracked upward.
“Never, while I’m working.”
As politely as possible, she extricated her hand and wallet from his grip. “Well, thank you. That’s very kind.”
“Perhaps we could have dinner sometime. Say…tonight?”
“Sorry.” Double what the heck? “I have plans.”
His voice became more insistent. “Then tomorrow night?”
Was this some kind of joke? She glanced at the workers behind the counter, but they all seemed focused on their duties. Though Edwardo was good looking, she couldn’t picture herself with him. She wanted somebody with more
substance—and brains, someone who didn’t use so much hair goo and cologne. She stopped her rambling thoughts. No, that wasn’t the reason she’d turned down his dinner date. Plain and simple, the way he looked at her creeped her out. Even with her limited experience with men, something about Edwardo felt wrong.
“Faye?”
She looked to the left, relief washing through her. “Christopher.”
He waved to her from one of the tables, as handsome as ever. She gave Edwardo a sheepish smile, picked up her coffee, and walked to Christopher’s table.
Because of his job as Pierre’s photographer, she knew he traveled a lot, usually to exotic locations. His perfect smile flashed against his bronzed skin and showed those dimples that made her weak in the knees. He had the kind of hair that looked messy on purpose. It was the perfect blend of golden brown and light blond.
“Morning,” she said.
“Hi.” He stood and pulled out a chair, smiling as if he was really happy to see her. “Have a seat.”
Even though she knew he dated women more like Whitney, Faye couldn’t stop her heart from fluttering. She checked her watch again. “What time is the car supposed to be here?”
He patted the table. “We have plenty of time. Have a seat and enjoy the cool air.”
“Oh, all right.” Faye tried to lift off her bazillion pound messenger bag, but the strap caught on her ponytail. She ducked her head in an effort to unhook it but only managed to trap her arm inside the area that her head occupied.
“Hold on.” Christopher stood and detached the lock of hair wedged into the hook of the strap and lifted the bag over her head. “If you’re not careful, one of these days you might decapitate yourself.”
She blushed. God, she was such an idiot. She set the bag on the floor and slid into the chair. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure. It’s not every day I get to help a damsel in distress.”
Imbecile in distress, more like it.
“You must have had a lot of practice.”
He cocked a brow at her.
Her face heated when she realized the womanizing implications of her comment. “I mean, you probably get to help women…because you’re good-looking and women like strong men to help lift heavy things, and…” Could she be any more of a doofus? “And I’m going to stop talking now.”
He tapped the side of his paper cup. “So, you think I’m good-looking?”
“Well, um…” She glanced at the wall to the left of his head, unable to meet his gaze. “Yes.”
An arrogant grin spread across his face.
“What?” she said.
He shrugged. “Just thought you never noticed me.”
“We work together. How would I not notice you?” She sipped her mocha and looked around the coffee shop. Silence stretched between them. When it became too uncomfortable to bear, she cleared her throat. “I’m surprised you notice anything with all those women hanging around.”
“What women?”
She looked at him, her mouth dropping open in a silent duh.
“You sound jealous.” He ran his finger around the rim of his plastic lid. “Are you?”
Why did good-looking guys need every woman to fawn over them? She rolled her eyes and grunted an as if.
Today was getting weirder and weirder, and in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder if her new “bound” situation was what drove this exchange with him. She and Christopher had spoken a few times in the break room and had worked together on photo shoots, but there had never been much beyond polite conversation. Why now did he seem overly attentive?
Edwardo sidled up to the table and slid a piece of banana bread in front of her.
She glanced at him and back to the gigantic slab of bread that had to have been half the loaf. “I didn’t order this.”
He fisted a hand over his heart. “From me to you.”
Faye glanced at Christopher. Amusement played across his face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair, obviously entertained by her situation.
“Thank you, but—”
Edwardo’s finger smashed against her lips. “Sssshh, my sweet. This is a gift from my heart.”
He gave Christopher a withering glare before spinning and resuming his position at the cash register.
“I’m allergic to bananas.” She pointed to the bread. “Do you want it?”
He stared at her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wanted to laugh, damn him. She could do absolutely nothing and still end up looking like a fool.
“Fine.” She scooped the bread up and pushed out her chair. She knew herself too well. Best to throw it away now before she began picking at it out of nervousness and swelled up with giant welts. “If you don’t want it.”
Christopher plucked the bread off the napkin and shoved half of it in his mouth before she could stand. He chewed slowly. She set the napkin in front of him and rubbed her hands on her pants. What was with men today? Had everybody taken a crazy pill?
Christopher licked each finger and it was all Faye could do not to shamelessly stare. She shifted in her chair, her gaze darting around the coffee shop. She noticed Vern staring at her through the window from across the street. That creepy smile of his lingered on his lips. Was all this attention what he meant by benefits?
Wanting nothing more than to get as far from Satan’s Little Helper as possible, she looked back at Christopher. “We should probably get going.”
He glanced at his watch and out the window, swallowing the last bit of banana bread. “Right. The car should be here in a few. I need to get some shots inside of the chapel before the construction crew has at it.”
They stood, Faye’s chair scraping loudly across the floor. All heads seemed to turn to watch her heft the bazillion-pound bag back over her head. Christopher placed his hand on her lower back and guided her out of the shop. She ignored the stares and the tingly feeling spreading across her skin where his fingers splayed. Once outside, she slid on her sunglasses and glanced around. Vern had disappeared—hopefully for good. She took a deep breath, feeling like she could breathe again. A black car pulled up to the curb.
“Perfect timing,” Christopher said.
He opened the passenger door. The scent of oranges and a brush of cool air greeted her. She balanced her coffee and hefted the cumbersome purse onto the seat. With rather ungraceful movements, she scooted and pushed her way across the gray leather seat, biting back a curt remark every time hot coffee splashed on the hand clutching the cup. At last she settled into the seats plush softness. Christopher eased in next to her and set his camera bag between them.
The driver turned and smiled. “There’s refreshments in the bar if you’d like anything.”
Faye held up her coffee cup and wiggled it. “All set, thanks.”
His gaze lingered on her until Christopher cleared his throat. “The Bandicott Estate.”
“Right, sir.” The driver turned and pulled into traffic.
Christopher looked at her. “Do you always cause such a stir when you go out?”
“No.” She shook her head. “This has been the weirdest day.” The words rushed out before she could censor them. “Edwardo, at the coffee shop. Him,” Faye whispered, pointing to the driver. “And you.”
“Me?”
She stopped her ranting, realizing what she’d said. “Well, yeah. We never really talk to each other and then all of a sudden we’re having coffee and sharing a ride.”
He smiled. “I would have done it sooner if I’d have known you weren’t going to reject me.”
She was pretty sure he was teasing her. Best bet was that Christopher White had never been rejected by any woman. “Right.”
She took a sip of her coffee and stared out the window. Between dealing with the Devil and men, she could already see this was going to be a long day.
The drive took approximately forty minutes. At first their conversation was strained. Faye struggled for neutral topics and settl
ed for the chapel. The more they talked, the more relaxed she became. Something about Christopher put her at ease and her awkward shyness slipped away. Maybe it was the way he teased her, but she felt like he honestly enjoyed talking with her. It wasn’t as if he was going to ask her out.
The car turned off the main road and onto a wide paved drive. Trees of the same size and shape lined the winding driveway and as the car rounded the last bend, an enormous mansion came into view.
“Wow,” Faye said, leaning over Christopher to get a better view. “How many people do you think live here?”
“Three, from what I’ve heard. Mr. and Mrs. Bandicott and their darling son, Jason.”
“Three? Holy crap, talk about personal space. I’d get lost in there. What do you think it looks like inside?”
“Big, pillary, with lots of pictures of dead ancestors hanging on the walls.”
Faye looked up at him, her breath catching in her throat. She had practically draped herself across the camera equipment and his lap to get a glimpse of the house. He smiled and she yanked her hand off his thigh. “Sorry.”
Christopher gave her one of his dimpled smiles. “Don’t be. I rather enjoyed it.”
Heat spread from her neck to the roots of her hair. She pressed herself against the passenger door, cursing herself for becoming way too comfortable. The car continued past the house and down a narrow lane. Five men milled around three parked work trucks.
“They’re actually on time for once,” Christopher said. “It’s a miracle.”
Faye stifled the urge to lean across him again to see the small, stone chapel the workmen would be deconstructing. Instead she pulled out her phone to go through her email. She held it toward the ceiling but there was no cell service.
“Dang,” Faye said.
“What?”
“I can’t connect here.”
Christopher took out his phone to check. He swung it from side to side, searching for service. “Huh, that is strange. I’ve been here before and have never had any troubles.” He dropped his phone into his shirt pocket. “Guess we’ll have to entertain ourselves.”
His eyes traveled down, and back up, her body. Was he flirting? He sure seemed to be flirting.