Devilishly Wicked (21 page)

T
ristan dreaded the door opening. His plans of being with Georgia were sadly on hold. That was bad enough without their being interrupted by Finola.
Anyone but
Finola.

“Good morning, Tristan,” Finola said as she breezed through the door. Today she wore a white gauzy dress and her pale hair was in a style he’d never seen before. It looked almost demure, in twisted braids across the top of her head.

“What’s up with the new do?” he asked, making a confused face. “Are you trying to rock Amish chic?”

Rather than the scathing look Tristan expected, his comment was met by a light laugh.

“Tristan, you are so droll.”

Droll?
Was that what she was calling it now?

“Finola, can we just cut to the chase? What do you want?”

“That’s the problem with you, Tristan. You never just let us enjoy a pleasant chat. You need to relax.”

“You’d love that, I’m sure.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I
would
love that. Things have been far too tense between us.”

“And it’s no mystery why,” Tristan commented, wishing she’d hurry this up. His cock was bored with the conversation and ready to spend some much more enjoyable time with—and in—Peaches.

“I will admit that I was very bitter about you taking my position as the leader of this rebellion, but I’ve come to terms with it. In fact, I’m quite content with how things are.”

“I’m sure you are,” Tristan said wryly.

Finola sighed, not an irritated or frustrated sound, but almost sad. “Okay, I can see you aren’t in the mood to discuss our past issues, so I’ll get to the point of why I’m here.”

“Excellent.”

“I thought you should come down to the mail room and see these employees for yourself. Especially Eugene.”

Her suggestion caught his interest, and he stared at her. “Why is that?”

“I just think they are the perfect people to help us.”

“Mail room employees? Don’t you consider them beneath us? Not worthy of being possessed or controlled. Simply just more souls to collect?”

Finola nodded, her expression serene, oddly serene. “I did think that, but now I see how much potential power they have.”

Tristan narrowed his gaze. She was up to something—trying to lure him into some sort of trap.

“What kind of power?”

She smiled, her expression sweet and almost . . . gentle looking, her angular features appearing softened somehow.

“They are just a lot more . . . remarkable than I originally thought. They have a certain—I don’t know how else to say it—power, I guess, that is amazing.”

Her tone sounded oddly dreamy and filled with awe.

Tristan narrowed his gaze more, regarding her closely. This was very clearly some new trick. He’d never heard of one demon being able to possess a whole workroom of humans, but he wouldn’t put it past her. Especially as scorned as she was.

Whatever she was up to, she clearly wanted him to go down to that mail room, and he didn’t think it was for altruistic reasons.

“I will consider it, Finola,” he said, pretending to be distracted by something on his computer screen. “But right now, I’m just too busy.”

“I understand,” she said easily, and when he looked back at her, she was still sporting that oddly kind smile. She didn’t even look like herself and that made him very nervous.

She was definitely up to something. And since this was Finola White, it was definitely something not good.

“I hope you have a good day, Tristan.” Her smile widened, but he couldn’t detect the usual undertone of maliciousness that usually accompanied the expression. “Good-bye.”

She drifted out of the room, and Tristan was even happier than usual to see her go. But he didn’t bask in his relief for long, already thinking about another relief that would be far more satisfying.

He reached for his phone. Georgia picked up on the first buzz.

“She’s headed back your way,” he said, tone sly and conspiratorial. “We both need a little fun after dealing with her.”

“Absolutely,” Georgia agreed, understanding his meaning and more than willing to oblige. Her eagerness was just one of the many things he loved about his Peaches.

He smiled and hung up the phone, thoughts of Finola already gone

“Seriously? Are you not even concerned with Finola’s behavior?” Dippy said, appearing out from under Tristan’s desk. “Can’t you see something is not right with her?”

Tristan sighed. “It’s just another of her silly and desperate strategies to gain control back.”

Dippy came close, sitting directly beside Tristan’s office chair. “You mean to tell me you don’t see something different about her?”

Damn it, that dog was always around. Always.

Tristan wanted to growl, much like Dippy often did. Did he have to have another pointless, irritating conversation with a recalcitrant underling?

“I see a desperate demon trying yet another strategy to get what she wants,” he said instead.

“Then you are a fool.”

 

Georgia glanced away from her computer as Finola exited the back office. Usually, her interactions with Tristan seemed to make Finola even more irritable and vindictive, but this time she looked calm and almost happy.

“Have a wonderful day, Georgia,” she said on her way past.

“You, too,” was all Georgia managed to reply, totally bemused by this sudden shift in her old boss.

She watched the tall, pale blonde head back through the maze of
HOT!
offices and cubicles. Then deciding even the most unpleasant of people was bound to have a good day, Georgia rose, her thoughts going to Tristan.

She headed through the glass double doors to his office. She knew she should feel guilty and concerned about going back to fool around with her boss. But over the past week, they had grown so close, she didn’t feel like he was her boss. He was her lover and her friend and a person she felt totally comfortable with against all odds of position and wealth and beauty.

And she was insanely attracted to him. That at least did made sense.

She smiled to herself, realizing she hadn’t been this happy for ages. Tristan made her feel important, made her feel she had an ally, which she hadn’t felt in years. She’d had to be the one in control, taking care of everything since her grandmother had gotten sick.

She reached Tristan’s door, seeing that he was talking to someone. He was clearly alone, so he must be using the speakerphone. She considered going back to her desk and waiting until he was done, but then changed her mind. He wouldn’t care if she was there while he talked. They had even done some very naughty things while he was taking business calls. Definitely unprofessional, but oh-so-much fun.

She carefully pushed open the door and stepped inside the room.

“I don’t know what the hell you are worked up about now,” Tristan said sharply, and Georgia realized this wasn’t a usual business call.

“I’m worked up about the fact that you aren’t seeing what is so obviously right in front of you.”

Georgia frowned. The voice responding to Tristan was odd sounding, rough and raspy, but it didn’t seem to be coming from a phone line. It sounded as if it was coming from right in the room with them.

Which she didn’t think could be possible. After all, until Finola had arrived, he’d been cajoling Georgia to come back and play. Even Tristan, who was wildly adventurous with the places they had sex and role-playing and toys—all of which Georgia loved—wouldn’t fool around with a client or employee in the office with them.

“And what’s right in front of me now, Dippy?” Tristan asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

Dippy? That was the name of Finola’s dog. Georgia frowned, also realizing that Tristan’s attention was focused toward the ground. As if he was talking to . . . to a small dog on the floor.

“Finola has changed,” the raspy, throaty voice said.

“She’s changed because she’s desperate,” Tristan stated.

“No, she is actually changed. Just like you are changed.”

Tristan snorted. “I’m not changed.”

“You are,” the rough voice said. “You aren’t even thinking about this takeover.”

The takeover again. What did that mean?

But more important, who was Tristan talking to? Very carefully, so as to not draw attention to herself, she sidled into the room. Her heart stopped in her chest.

Finola’s little white dog sat perched on the floor in front of Tristan, his head raised, his gaze looking directly at Tristan’s dismayed face.

“I am,” Tristan said to the animal. “You just don’t like how I’m handling it.”

“Damned right,” the guttural voice said.

Georgia squinted, trying to comprehend what she was looking at. Was Tristan doing some sort of ventriloquism? Was he using the dog as some sort of alter ego? She hadn’t noticed anything odd about him, anything that would suggest delusions. But then again, Ted Bundy had a girlfriend who never saw his dark side. Not that she thought Tristan was a serial killer or anything.

“You’re not paying any attention to this rebellion,” the rough voice said, sounding even more eerie to Georgia as she realized how odd this situation was. “You are too busy being utterly obsessed with your personal assistant.”

Georgia’s heart stopped again. Was this some bizarre way of breaking up with her or something? Letting her overhear a strange conversation with a dog? If so, this would have to go down as the worst breakup ever.

“I’m not obsessed. And you need to leave Georgia out of this.”

“You’re right,” the raspy voice said. “You aren’t just obsessed. You’re changing, too. This relationship with her is changing you.”

Georgia frowned. Wait, was Tristan actually using this strange dialogue to admit his feelings for her? Was she supposed to be overhearing this? She had to admit it was as odd a declaration of potential love as it was an odd way to break up. But she still liked the declaration of love theory better.

But quickly her opinion was changed again.

The rough voice continued. “Can’t you feel the change in your demonic nature? I can.”

Demonic nature? What?

“My demonic nature is not in question,” Tristan assured him as matter-of-factly as if the . . . dog had questioned his work ethic. “You are just getting agitated because I’m not making you my co-leader as quickly as you would like.”

Tristan planned to make a fuzzy white dog the co-leader of his potentially demonic takeover. This was utterly insane.

“I’m definitely not pleased about that,” the rough voice stated. “But frankly, I think you aren’t capable of running this rebellion, with or without my help. And I think it’s time to go directly to Satan and tell him.”

Tristan rose at that threat.

Satan was clearly the one they both answered to. Georgia remembered other mentions of Satan in the conversations she’d overheard.

Tristan really believed he worked for Satan. She shifted back toward the door, and then froze as the dog dashed away from Tristan, clearly feeling threatened. Thankfully, neither of them had noticed her. Apparently, shock had turned her virtually to a statue.

“You know I’m Satan’s favorite, and he will listen. And believe you me, there will also be very dire repercussions if something happens to me.”

Georgia didn’t even hear Tristan’s reaction to the dog’s threat, because she was too horrified by what she’d just seen. The dog was talking. She’d seen its mouth move, phrasing the words, its face making expressions that were entirely too human.

For the first time, she made a noise. A shocked gasp.

Then she realized both the dog and Tristan were staring at her.

She turned and ran, hearing Tristan’s desperate cry behind her.

G
eorgia ran straight through the
HOT!
offices to the front reception area, not daring to stop. She didn’t understand what she’d just seen, but she knew she
had
seen it. There was no denying that.

She wanted to believe her eyes had played tricks on her. Her ears, too, but she just couldn’t. That dog had talked. The dog she’d cooed to and cuddled.

And if that was the truth, that Dippy was a talking dog, then it only stood to reason, Tristan was also exactly what the dog had said: a demon.

She frantically pounded the elevator down button again, willing it to hurry up. Then she cast a frightened glance over her shoulder. The blond receptionist at the front desk regarded her with wary curiosity, and Georgia wondered if she knew she was working for the boss from Hell. Potentially for real.

Then more fear tightened her chest. What if the receptionist was a demon, too?

She glanced behind her again to be sure Tristan hadn’t followed. Then she gave up on the elevator and headed to the stairwell.

Her heels clomped and echoed through the empty stairwell and she hurried down the steps as quickly as her overly high footwear would allow.

The sound reminded her of a horror movie, that hollow echo as the heroine tried to make her awkward escape, the noise blocking out the killer’s more stealthy approach. She paused and pulled the shoes off, snatching them up, and felt relieved as she silently padded down the stairs and couldn’t hear any other footsteps.

Maybe you imagined the dog’s voice and the movement of his mouth and features, she told herself as she kept up her rapid pace down the stairs.

Maybe she’d imagined the whole thing. But even as she tried to rationalize it, she couldn’t. She had seen and heard it all.

Her breath was coming in short, harsh pants as she turned the corner at floor 7. She was over halfway down to the main entrance.

It was not as if Tristan couldn’t find her. He knew where she lived. Plus, if he was a demon, he probably could find her anywhere. Not that she really knew what a demon had in the way of tracking abilities, or other powers for that matter.

Dear God, was she really believing Tristan was a demon? This was insane. So insane.

Then her thoughts returned to the things she’d overheard at the gala and when he’d been on the phone. He’d mentioned Satan—or rather the Devil and the Prince of Darkness in those conversations. She’d thought those were figurative terms. Not literal names of Satan himself.

This made her original thought that Tristan might be involved with the mob look pretty damned tame.

The mob. Her thoughts turned to the mail room guy, Gabriel. He’d told her that Tristan was very dangerous and involved with the underworld. Hence, her deduction he’d been referring to mob connections.

But Gabriel might have meant
the
Underworld. Literally.

She glanced at the door she was passing. Floor number 4. She could stop at the main level and flee the building, or she could go down one more floor to the mail room to find Gabriel.

Of course, he was very likely as much of a nut job as Tristan was apparently turning out to be.

Or Gabriel could be her only hope for help. After all, how was she going to protect herself from Tristan? He could just come to her apartment. Maybe Gabriel knew how to make sure Tristan didn’t hurt her or her grandmother.

Making her decision, she bypassed the main level and headed to the lower level and the mail room.

Georgia’s first instinct was to burst into the mail room. But she contained her fear and agitation, carefully pushing open one of the swinging double doors at the end of the hallway.

Several mail room employees noticed her quiet entrance, but they didn’t stop their work. Somehow that made her feel better. If this was a den of demons, wouldn’t they all descend on her?

Like she knew. Until fifteen minutes ago, she hadn’t even believed demons were real.

She cast a gaze around the room, trying to locate the tall, handsome blond. She spotted Gabriel on the other side of the room. Of course. She was already a wreck without getting herself farther away from the exit. What if this was a trap, too? What if Gabriel worked for Tristan?

She took a calming breath, telling herself she had very few choices here. And right now, as unlikely as it might seem, Gabriel was her best bet.

She strode toward him, trying not to seem overly panicked. Given that every movement around her, the sorting machines, employees pushing mail carts, even people just walking by, caused her to start, she suspected she wasn’t pulling off casual in any way, shape, or form.

But after what felt like traversing a harrowing ravine, she made it to the giant blond.

“Gabriel,” she whispered, her voice escaping as little more than a croak.

But he heard her, looking up in concern. Concern for her? Or for Tristan?

“Ms. Sullivan,” he said, and she almost found his formality amusing under the circumstances. Or she would have found it amusing if she wasn’t so scared.

“Are you okay?” he asked, positioning himself to shield her from the room.

Oddly, she didn’t find the action intimidating, but rather comforting.

“What is Tristan?” She didn’t see any point in beating around the bush. If Gabriel knew the truth, he would tell her.

“He’s a demon,” he said without hesitation.

A wave of nausea washed over her, stealing her color and her strength. She sagged against his worktable.

He placed a hand under her elbow to steady her, and she didn’t pull away, feeling the need for human contact. If this man really was human.

She studied his face, trying to tell. How would she know a demon if she hadn’t even realized the man she’d been having sex with was one? Clearly, demons didn’t look like they did in movies.

“How?” she finally said, having no idea what else to ask. How had this happened? How did demons exist? How?

“Come with me,” he said, looking around. Maybe he was afraid Tristan would appear, too. Or maybe he knew others in the mail room were demons as well. Whatever the reason, she found herself following him.

He led her toward a rather rustic-looking cubicle made of plywood in the middle of the room. Then he seemed to change his mind and led her in the other direction. The sudden change made her a little nervous, but she still followed, again feeling she had no other choice.

He led her to what was clearly the employee break room; one wall was lined with small rectangular lockers and the main floor littered with round tables and uncomfortable metal folding chairs. A water cooler gurgled in the far corner.

He closed the door behind them, and then gestured for her to sit. She did, although just on the edge of the cold metal, feeling she’d never relax again.

He sat, not looking any more relaxed than she was.

“I know what I’m going to tell you is going to sound totally crazy,” he said.

“I just saw a talking dog,” she told him. “Nothing is going to seem crazy after that.”

“A talking dog?” He gaped at her.

“Great, my crazy is already outdoing your crazy.”

He frowned, clearly still considering what she’d just said. Then he refocused on his explanation.

“You are safe down here,” he told her. “I work for an organization called the DIA, the Demon Intelligence Agency.”

She blinked. She had to be dreaming. Things were just getting weirder and weirder.

“The Demon Intelligence Agency?”

He nodded. “It’s a government agency that was established decades ago to locate and counteract demonic activity.”

She shook her head slightly. The government knew demons existed?

“I know it’s hard to process,” he said, his voice low and sympathetic.

“Next you will be telling me there’s really government alien cover-ups?”

He made a pained face. “One paranormal creature at a time.”

She groaned. Aliens, too? Dear God.

“We have been working down here to watch the employees of
HOT!
We discovered about two years ago that Satan planned a demonic revolution by infiltrating the fashion industry.”

Georgia glanced at her dolly platform heels, which now rested on the table in front of her. “Fashion can be pretty hellish.”

Gabriel nodded, although she got the feeling he didn’t really understand her comment. Then again, what did men know about high heels, Spanx, and all the other implements of torture women were expected to use and wear in the name of beauty?

“It was easy to get people to sell their souls for beauty and success and wealth in this industry. The demons played right into humans’ desire for all of these things.”

Georgia could see that.

“Finola was the first leader of the rebellion, but she made some mistakes and Satan then placed Tristan in her place.”

Georgia couldn’t believe this. She’d been working for demons. And she never had any idea. Hell, she’d been sleeping with a demon.

Talk about being unaware.

“Eugene, who is the head of the DIA, asked me to talk to you about spying on Tristan to find out who he was meeting with and what contracts he was making. Because that is how they are spreading their poison. Making deals with designers, other fashion editors, even department stores and boutiques. They are spreading their power throughout the industry.”

Georgia thought about all the huge fashion industry people Tristan met and worked with. Were they all involved?

“Well, I can’t help now. Tristan knows I know what he is. Or at least he must be pretty certain. I didn’t exactly make a casual exit after seeing the talking dog.”

Gabriel shook his head, clearly amazed. “I had no idea we also had a hellhound in our midst.”

“A hellhound? That white, fluffy ball of fur?”

“Hellhounds can disguise themselves,” Gabriel explained. “Just like demons.”

So Tristan was in disguise. Well, he’d picked a good one.

“So what do I do now?” she asked, not able to think about how duped she’d been by Tristan, on every level.

God, she felt like a fool. She had actually thought she was falling in love with the man. Or rather, the demon.

Gabriel didn’t answer right away, and again she sensed reluctance in him that she didn’t understand.

“I guess I have to talk to Eugene. I’ll get him. You just wait here.”

She nodded, still feeling she had no other choice.

 

Gabriel was actually surprised how well Georgia was taking all of this. He suspected it was mostly shock that had her acting so calm, and the truth would sink in eventually.

Hell, he’d never even seen a hellhound in all his years of slaying. Seeing a talking dog had to be pretty damned weird. Even if the hound was disguised as a bichon frisé.

He slowed his pace as he approached Eugene’s office, still not sure what to do. He didn’t trust Eugene. His behavior had just been so weird with Finola.

But honestly, he didn’t see any other alternative. Georgia needed protection. And Gabriel could only provide so much.

He reached Eugene’s office, gathering his thoughts and what he’d say. He wanted to be sure Eugene finally understood how dangerous the situation was getting, especially to Georgia Sullivan.

He knocked.

“Come in.”

Gabriel entered, resolved to see something done. Something real.

“Sir, Georgia Sullivan is down here. She knows Tristan McIntyre is a demon. And apparently Finola’s little white lapdog is actually a hellhound.”

Eugene looked at him, raising an eyebrow as if only mildly interested. “A hellhound. We missed that, didn’t we?”

Gabriel wanted to point out that Eugene seemed to miss a lot, but knew sniping would serve no purpose. Right now, he had to focus on seeing that Georgia remained safe.

“Well, has Georgia agreed to work with us now?”

Gabriel knew he should keep the shock out of his expression, but was Eugene kidding? How could Georgia work for them?

“Sir, you must be joking,” Gabriel said, realizing his voice didn’t sound calm in the least. “Sending her anywhere near Tristan now would be insane. Beyond insane, outright deadly.”

Eugene smiled then. “And we just talked about having faith. I don’t need her to do much. Just to get Tristan down here. And the hellhound, too.”

That sounded like a whole lot to Gabriel. And why did Eugene need Tristan down here? Gabriel hated to admit it, but his first thought was that Eugene, if he was working with Finola, just wanted all the most powerful demons congregated in one place. That would make it easy for the demons to attack the DIA, right on their own turf.

“Gabriel, you have always been one of my best men. Loyal to me and the agency. Why the hesitation now?”

Gabriel stared into Eugene’s eerily blue eyes. “I just don’t think sending a defenseless female mortal out to bring us a very strong demon, basically Satan’s right-hand man, is a wise choice.”

“But she’s the only one who has the power to do so,” Eugene said. “Faith.”