Leaf runs back into the kitchen and latches onto my leg, clawing and biting at it. “Why the fuck would I be happy?”
Minnie storms off and I follow her, Leaf still managing to cling to my leg as I walk, only for Minnie to step into her bedroom and slam the door in my face. Again, Leaf bounces around, frightened by the noise. Though the way he bounces onto the couch, looking around the room with bulging green eyes like he’s about to be ambushed, only to leap again and run about, makes me wonder if this is his nature.
CHAPTEREIGHT
MINNIE
Unlike the night before,I managed to sleep. A sleep so solid, I almost missed my alarm, because of course, everything has to go wrong for me this week. I grab a random outfit, trying to get out the door as quickly as possible, and wonder what will be the resolution to this mess I’ve made.
Would Rosier refuse to make a contract with me and go back to Hell like nothing had happened? If he did, would Amber forgive me? I say “forgive,” but nothing I’ve done has affected her personally. All my mistakes are only bitingmein the butt.
Dressed in a dark blue jumpsuit, I leave my bedroom. Rosier is still asleep with Leaf curled up on his stomach. I pause, recognizing then that I’ve let a devil adopt a random cat. I’ve summoned myself the worst roommate imaginable, though so far the cat is the best part of this mess.
I decide I’ll raid the cereal bar at work for breakfast. I brush my teeth and pull my curls up to the top of my head, smoothing out the edges with gel. With one last look in the mirror, I huff and go to leave.
Only to find Rosier awake and sitting at the kitchen counter.
“I’m leaving,” I tell him as I grab my tote bag.
“You sound ecstatic.”
“Catching on to human emotions I see.” I start for the door, but Rosier gets up and manages to slam the door shut with his hand. Again.
Looking up at him, I pretend like I have the components available to make his big handsome head explode. As if I even know what I would need for a spell like that. Rosier tries to match my expression. I move to grab his wrist like the day before, but he grabs me instead, pinning me against the door. I keep my hardened expression despite feeling blood rush to my face.
“Your clothing is atrocious. Covering your body up in shame every damned day.”
“And what of it?” I glare. “Prince?”
He falters, and I manage to slip one hand out of his grasp, enough to end this little game of his. He huffs and releases my other wrist before pushing himself off the door.
“If I come home, and your cat has peed onanything,” I warn, “I’m kicking you both out to the dumpsters.”
I flee before he can respond.
Kamsa catches me in the hallway. “Minerva–”
I groan without thinking, Kamsa giving me a littleare-you-serioushead tilt. “Sorry, sorry… What is it?”
“I wanted to apologize.”
“Really?”
“No,” he admits. “But you look like you need someone to say sorry about something.”
How am I meant to respond to that? I settle on a deadpan, “Thanks. I gotta get to work. We can talk, if you want to talk, later, okay?”
He nods and lets me go on my way, which is a much kinder gesture than his weird not-apology.
Sitting on the bus, I pull out my e-reader like I do every commute. I resisted getting one of these for the longest time. I’ve always preferred physical books: the feeling of paper, getting to see my collection on the shelf, drawing little hearts next to my favorite passages. I thought I could handle reading my books in public; it’s not like I’m the only woman in the world who reads romance. But one day in grad school, when I was commuting to campus, this guy would not leave me alone. He kept asking about my cowboy romance and if I liked riding cowgirl. Original.
After that, I decided it was less of a headache to buy books digitally and keep my taste a secret. I still buy physical books, of course. Nothing will beat holding a well loved book. But I can read a lot more stuff when I’m not so concerned with space on my bookshelf. Plus my e-reader always tells me what else the author has written. I could literally read forever with this thing, and if it weren’t for my job, I probably would read romances from dusk till dawn, day after day, year after year.
Everything always works out in romance novels. The miscommunications are neatly tied up, or in the end, the leads speak their feelings plainly. There’s a nice manor for them to retire to instead of a one bedroom apartment. Even if I was in a romance book right now, I’d probably be one of the sniveling ladies who sits about waiting for someone to fix them. I never understood the appeal of such a heroine ‘til now.
Who doesn’t want to be fixed? Just a little…
At least at work I can be busy: check emails, grab bad coffee, check more emails, wish the coffee tasted better. I know there’s money in this company, so why is the coffee both too bitter and too watered down? As I shuffle into a conference room holding a styrofoam cup, I tell myself I’ll use my lunch break to go out, buy an overpriced latte and a new book for the bus ride home.
