“You weren’t doing fine,” Chad said. “And you know exactly why.”
Joell paced the room, finger-combing her damp brown hair.
“We regulate our cycles with Seasonale,” she said. “Four times a year, remember? That’s manageable. We lock up the weapons. Rayna’s man-pets hold the key. Everything’s under control.”
Crowe watched her pace.Under control. Right. If by ‘under control’ she means ‘PMDD stands for Premenstrual Dangerous Divas,’ then sure.
Joell pinched the bridge of her nose.
“I do what I can to keep everyone stable,” Chad said. “But during that week every third month we lock everything away for a reason. The world is not ready for superpowered witches with PMDD and nearby access to weapons.”
Joell dropped into her tufted chair.
“Anyway, what’s so urgent that you had to move the entire mansion before even talking to us?”
There was a pause.
“Eight people kidnapped from a romance convention,” he said slowly.
“Look, that’s awful, but the answer is still no. I’m not asking the League to work another week of twenty-four sevens.”
Crowe hopped onto her lap.
Good. Stay strong. Say no.
Joell continued, “I even left my fictional couple in the middle of a steamy sex scene. You know we write during our Tennessee vacations—and I use the word ‘vacation’ loosely.”
“You’ll want this assignment as soon as you know what it is,” Chad said, enticingly.
Joell paused. Her brows lifted.
Oh, no. I can’t look. Or hear… I’m turning off my paranormal auditory senses.
“I don’t care how much money he offered?—”
Another pause.
Her mouth fell open.
“That much?”
Crowe blinked.
Uh oh. That’s the face she makes when she’s about to cave.
Joell stared at the wall.
“They were male models, huh?”
Crowe froze.
Oh no. We’re doomed.
Joell leaned forward. “Just so I have this straight. You want us to find whoever kidnapped eight muscular men and do it unarmed.”
She looked toward the ceiling. “Let me think about it.”
Crowe bumped the phone with his head.
