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“You told me to bring Lyric’s gifts to your flat before six o’clock in the morning,” I reminded her, in a rather bland tone. Even though this was a colossal clusterfuck, it wasn’tmycolossal clusterfuck.
“I meant in the early morning, you idiot!” Gretchen kicked away the wrapped gifts between us, showing me exactly how much she cared about her child’s birthday presents. “Not in the middle of the night. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I wanted to get this assignment done so I could be available to tend to all of my other Gretchen Beatty–related duties tomorrow morning.” I took a step back, not in the mood to be showered with her spit. “You know, like finalizing your farewell speech, finding that sound bite from that interview with POTUS, working on Lyric’s school diorama, and booking you that interview withVogue.”
In my periphery, Demigod leisurely buttoned his black Dickies with one hand, then flung the balcony doors open and lit himself a joint. His blue eyes met mine, and he smirked quietly as if we had some sort of alliance.The things that leave her mouth when my cock’s not stuffed in it, amiright?
“You ladies need a moment?” His voice was rich and smoothand—I couldn’t help but notice—quite mocking.
“A moment, a drink, for you to build me a time machine to get me out of this mess.” Gretchen picked up one of the presents and hurled it at him.
He seized it midair, then calmly placed it on the credenza. “I can get you a drink and a moment. As for the time machine, I only build shit if it comes with an IKEA manual. Though if you’re serious about it, my friend Arsène could probably—”
“I really don’t care what your friend Arsène can do. Canyoustrangle and bury her somewhere?” Gretchen seized me by the wrist, obviously worried I’d escape. “No one’s gonna miss her.”
He examined me through half-lidded eyes, the ghost of a smile hovering over his gorgeous lips.Bollocks. Was he going to kill me? Was I going tolikeit? Hewasnauseatingly attractive. And Iwasin the market for a rebound. In other news, I really did have the tendency to surround myself with the worst of people. Between BJ breaking the news to me tonight that instead of proposing to me before my visa expired—in two weeks—and my boss plotting to kill me, one had to wonder if the FBI could use me as bait to attract domestic terrorists.
“Nah. I think I’ll keep her as a pet.” Demigod winked.
“You just try.” I narrowed my eyes at him, my feistiness trickling back into my system. “I’ll chew on all your furniture, piss in your shoes, and bite your arse.”
Chuckling and shaking his head, he glided out of the double-glazed doors, leaving us alone.
Gretchen swiveled to me, a demonic sneer stamped on her face. “You had no right to barge in here.”
“I’ve been coming here three times a week since we started working together,” I pointed out. “I reckon you simply forgot you invited me this time around.”
“Oh, fuck. I got so drunk. He always makes me lose control. What do I do?” Gretchen let go of me, raking her shaky fingers over her face. She began pacing, shaking her head frantically. “No one can know. This could end my White House career before it even started.”
To make matters worse, because WNT had been in the midst of a humongous sexual harassment scandal when I’d joined their forces, the network had decided to waive all NDAs for people who worked with the stars of their flagship shows in an effort to exhibit full transparency. Which meant I had never signed a nondisclosure agreement. Nothing stood in the way of me shopping myself a nice, six-figure interview about how I caught Gretchen Beatty shagging a man who later on toyed with the idea of keeping me as apet. Then plotted my murder in my presence.
Wait, wasn’t that aCoronation Streetplot?
I stood there silently, processing the power shift while Gretchen tipped her face skyward, presumably to demand of one of God’s angels that she speak with the manager.
“This isn’t happening to me. I’ve worked too hard, I’ve given up too much ... there must be a way to make this go away. To think of something ...” She paused, seemingly remembering Demigod was here too.
“Bring your ass back here, mister! Don’t try to leave me with this mess. Your dick’s not even dry yet, and you’re already planning your escape.”
I forgot to mention—Gretchen wasn’t known for her manners.
Demigod took two idle drags, flicked his joint off the balcony, and strolled toward us. Up close, he was positively gigantic—six foot three, minimum—and ruthlessly sculpted.
I didn’t even fancy attractive men. Blokes like him were so inaccessible, so out of reach, that I regarded them like aliens. With aHuh, so you do existapproach. As opposed toWhy yes, I’d love to be kidnapped, then anally probed by you.
Besides, well-bred men with receding hairlines and trust funds were more my speed, and this bloke had very few clothes, all of which seemed in poor condition.
“Relax.” Demigod wrapped her hair around his fist and tugged teasingly, his biceps flexing. Even his body language could trigger a spontaneous orgasm. “Little Mary Poppins won’t breathe a word.”
Gretchen swatted him away on a bark. “Easy for you to say. You have nothing to lose if she walks out of here and starts singing to the press. You’re single.”
“That I am. The best state to be in, and I’ve visited all of them.” He winked as he ambled to her fridge and plucked out one of her ginger juices. Leaning a narrow hip against the counter, he took a long sip before pointing at me with the bottle. “Does Mary Poppins have a name?”
“Daphne Markham.” Gretchen twisted her mouth in repulsion, as though the very thought of me depressed her. “She’s my assistant.”
Now I was standing there in my flowery Ellie Nap jigsaw dress—I couldn’t leave my flat in the same jammies I’d collected biscuit crumbs on—being roasted by these two cheaters. The amount of rock bottoms I’d hit today had me sinking to a whole different galaxy.
“Assuming your temper out of bed is as ferocious as it is inside it, I’m guessing there’s not a whole lot of motivation on her part to keep her mouth shut,” Demigod said to Gretchen.
