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So this is how it feels to be the Devil. The right arm of the East Coast’s most powerful family. I can’t stop the shiver of pleasure that ripples between my thighs, and before I question why it’s there, my eyes land on the wall opposite. Every inch of the gilded wallpaper is covered with drawings. Some with creases down their center, others bent and torn at the edges, but all drawn with crayon and a wonky hand.
Children’s drawings.
My nostrils flare; I can feel them. My hands clench around the arms of the chair—and is that the feeling of my heart sinking?
He has a kid.
Of course he has a fucking kid. Look at him, he’s a god among mortals. Carved from stone and clad in marble. He’d get you pregnant just by looking at you the right—or wrong, depending on how you see it—way.
So where’s his wife?
I scan the contents of the desk, starting with the surface. There’s nothing but a globe, an empty, leather-bound diary, and a Montblanc pen. As I tug open every drawer, my mind trips into overdrive. Maybe she’s died, and that’s why he needs me? Maybe the kid’s a result of a one-night stand? That’dmake sense because I haven’t seen any evidence of a child living here. Unless it’s locked behind one of those goddamn—
As I open the bottom drawer, I see something. It’s small, but it’s not hard to miss, considering it’s the only thing in the drawer. A Polaroid. Tucked into the corner seam. With a cursory glance toward the door, I pick it up with trembling hands and hold it up to the glow of the chandelier above me.
A woman stares back up at me. She’s lying on a bed, strands of her dark hair splayed on a pillow, her heavy breasts spilling out of a lacy bra. Green eyes. Ski-jump nose. Olive skin.
It knocks the breath out of my lungs.
Whoever she is, she’s gorgeous. But that’s not what’s making my head spin or making me want to smash open the window and dive headfirst onto the street, hundreds of feet below.
No. It’s her smile.
I know it too well. It stretches across her tanned face, but her eyes tell a different story.
It’s the smile of a woman who’s broken inside.
I know because that smile is the same as my own.
Oh, god. Whoever he is. He broke her, just like he promised he’d do to me.
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
The voice slices through my thoughts like a steak knife. In a panic, I drop the Polaroid, and it flutters to the floor, disappearing into the pile of carpet. My head whips around to follow the icy tone, and I spot a woman in the doorway.
Slowly, I nudge the drawer with my knee until it clicks shut. “S-Sorry,” I manage to choke out. Her sudden appearance doesn’t give my brain enough time to assess whether she’s a threat or not.
She sighs, breezes into the room, and perches on the edge of the desk. Despite my instincts taking their time to catch up, I grab the closest thing to me that could be used as a weapon, the expensive-looking pen on the desk.
Her eyes lower to my hand, then she returns her gaze to mine.
Wow, she’s striking. Long, auburn hair cascades down her back, a stark contrast to the turquoise dress she’s poured her curves into. When she reaches up to tuck a strand behind her ear, the diamonds in her watch dazzle me. She smells as good as she looks, a blend of vanilla and something sweeter.
But judging by the blistering expression on her face, she’s anything but sweet. “Poppy,” she announces, sticking out her slender hand. I glance down at it, my lip curling into a snarl.
Finally, my self-preservation seems to be up and running again. “What do you want?”
Her emerald eyes flash. “First of all, don’t be so fucking feral. I’m here to help you,” she snaps back.
Despite the abruptness, something about her is warm, something that sucks me in and stops me from plunging this pen into the carotid artery in her neck. But I’m not done assessing her, so I make a fist around my makeshift weapon and lower it into my lap.
“Second of all, this is Aisling.” She points at the doorway, and I almost flinch when I see another figure standing there. I immediately recognize her as the woman who took my coat. Yeah, where the fuck have you been for the past twenty-four hours, love? “She’s your go-to contact here at One Diabhal Square.” Aisling flashes me somewhat of an apologetic wave. Ah, so that’s where she’s been. Cleaning up my rage. I feel a flicker of guilt, then remember she’s done nothing to stop this from happening to me. “Stand, please.”
I turn back to Poppy. “What?”
“Stand,” she commands again, looking at me like I’m the dumbest kid in class.
“Yeah, I’ll pass on that.”
