Devilishly Wicked (9 page)

“And I will, of course, pay you overtime. This is a work event after all.”

She stopped staring at the cash to look at him. She nibbled her lower lip, and he wondered why she was hesitating. She clearly needed money to care for her grandmother.

And he clearly needed to get her somewhere away from the office and away from her apartment.

After another moment, she tentatively reached for the cash.

He smiled.

“So I will see you tomorrow. Take your time getting to work. Shop before you come, so I can approve the dress.”

She nodded, still unable to speak.

“Good night, Peaches,” he said, then reached out to brush a tendril of pink hair away from her cheek. “I’m looking forward to a night on the town with you.”

He leaned forward and just fleetingly brushed his closed lips against hers. He didn’t look back as he left her apartment, but he was certain she was still leaning against the counter looking dazed.

He smiled to himself, and once the door was soundly closed behind him, he pulled out his cell phone.

He pressed a few buttons.

“Hello. Yes, this is Tristan McIntyre. I need to book your best suite for tomorrow night. Excellent.”

He punched his phone off. Georgia Sullivan was about to get the seduction of her life. And he was about to get himself refocused.

G
eorgia was having a
Pretty Woman
moment, and it wasn’t climbing down a fire escape to be whisked away by the unlikely love of her life in a limousine.

No, of course, she wasn’t getting
that Pretty Woman
moment. Georgia was getting the moment where Julia Roberts was being snubbed by exclusive boutique employees as she tried to find an evening gown.

But in Georgia’s case it wasn’t her obvious lack of money or questionable career choice that was garnering her disdainful looks.... It was her size that was prompting the disapproving looks as she browsed the racks of Chez Renee.

She pulled out a dress in granite gray chiffon. The floor-length gown had Grecian styling with a draped bodice and one asymmetrical strap.

Not her style, but maybe she could find her inner goddess and pull off the look. Was gray as slimming as black? Maybe. Hopefully.

She managed to catch the attention of one of the saleswomen, who looked like she’d rather go to the dentist and get a root canal than help Georgia.

But Georgia ignored the woman’s pained look, and asked as pleasantly as she could, “Excuse me, do you have this in a size fourteen? Or maybe a sixteen?”

Generally, formal dress sizes did run smaller. She’d learned that after multiple fittings for her cousin’s wedding. Now talk about wearing something she wouldn’t normally wear. That yellow bridesmaid gown made her look like a giant pineapple.

“I’m sorry,” the saleswoman said, although she didn’t sound regretful at all. “We don’t carry plus sizes here. Perhaps you could try a store that caters to larger women.”

Georgia stared at her for a moment, and then nodded. She placed the dress back on the rack.

“Thank you for your help,” Georgia said, although she didn’t sound as affable as before. She didn’t look at any of the other women working there. But she was sure they were all sniggering once she stepped out to the street.

The poor fat girl wants to dress up like a princess. But everyone knew princesses weren’t chunky. That wasn’t allowed.

She paused on the sidewalk, trying to decide what to do next. None of the other designer shops were going to have her size either.

That was another thing that bothered her about the fashion industry. Designers always bandied around terms like “perfect for the average woman” or “wearable for real women.” But Georgia didn’t ever see couture that was designed for the average or real woman. At least, not her reality, which included some ample hips and big boobs.

Why did she have to do this anyway? Find an evening gown? A designer gown that would likely make her look like sausage stuffed into a ridiculously expensive and uncomfortable casing?

But the biggest question was why Tristan had insisted she accompany him to a gala in the first place. Georgia knew exactly what this event was, since she handled his business and social calendar. And this gala was a little of both, a huge fund raiser where all the biggest names in the fashion industry would make an appearance. Not to mention actors, actresses, and lots of other famous people.

Tristan was not a man who lacked dates, especially to an event like this one. So why her?

Somehow she felt like the butt of some private joke, which wasn’t actually unusual when dealing with Tristan. But now she feared that she wouldn’t just be the punch line of one of Tristan’s private jokes, but a very public one. Tristan was going to make the society pages, probably a few magazines, and even some celebrity news shows. He couldn’t really be excited to be seen at such a significant event with his chubby personal assistant on his arm.

So why had he asked her? And offered her big money as well to go with him?

She just couldn’t understand what was motivating him. Hell, he could probably call any woman, even with just a few minutes’ notice, and she’d drop everything to attend with him. Actually, no probably about it. Georgia had seen him do just that many times before.

Sometimes she was the one who made the call, only to hear the gorgeous woman—well, she assumed they were gorgeous—eagerly accept his last-minute invite.

Maybe she should just head to the office and suggest he do that. But there was the money, and that wasn’t something Georgia could dismiss. Her grandmother’s private care was costly and any extra money would make things easier for both Georgia and Grammy.

“So shut up and shop,” she muttered to herself, which earned her a strange look from a woman sporting an expensive, size-six designer suit as she passed, swinging her Saks and Bloomingdale’s Big Brown bags.

Now there was a woman who clearly didn’t need to give herself a pep talk to shop. Unlike Georgia, who still hesitated to brave the next store.

Georgia looked around, trying to decide what to do. She saw a man standing in the entryway of one of the boutiques. He was tall, muscular. He was probably some
GQ
type of man waiting for his size-two girlfriend or wife to purchase a new dress for a romantic evening out.

This was a nightmare. She wouldn’t find anything that would look right without major alterations to fit her curvy figure. And she didn’t even want to compare the waiting man’s evening with hers. She certainly didn’t expect romantic. Although, her wayward heart did thump a little faster at the idea of being romanced by Tristan McIntyre.

She sighed.
Focus, Georgia.

One thing was certain, she wasn’t going to find anything here. But she did know where she would find clothes that fit her, and while they weren’t “designer” gowns, one of them was going to have to do. She stepped off the curb and waved for a taxi.

 

“Oh, yeah, that one is totally you.”

Georgia smiled at Chastity, the shop’s clerk and a woman she knew well. Georgia hadn’t seen the dress yet; the fitting rooms in her favorite vintage shop were nothing more than stalls with psychedelic curtains as doors. But Georgia liked the way the dress fit and the silky swish of satiny material around her calves. Georgia stopped in front of the antique full-length mirror, twisting slightly to get a better view of the sides and back.

“Definitely you,” Chastity repeated.

Georgia admired the retro dress again, feeling very feminine, loving the color and style. Flame red, she would call it, in the style of Marilyn Monroe’s iconic white halter dress. This would rescue Georgia from all the reviewers’ “Worst Dressed” lists, she hoped.

But it wasn’t a designer piece, which was probably a huge no-no for an event like this. And she certainly wasn’t a size four. She studied her image in the mirror again, and then turned to Chastity.

“I’m going to need a pair of shoes and purse to match.”

 

When Georgia left Chastity’s shop, she didn’t feel confident that Tristan would like her choice of attire, but at least she would feel comfortable. She looked at her watch. She still had time to go pick up some other things that would help boost her confidence. Some stockings. Maybe a new strapless bra with some lace in a pretty color. Even panties to match.

Purely for herself, she thought, and then chuckled slightly. They certainly wouldn’t be for Tristan. He flirted, but she knew that was just a part of his makeup. She certainly couldn’t, and wouldn’t, take it seriously.

She glanced down the street, trying to decide the best place to buy intimates, when she saw a man lurking inside the doorway of a three-story walkup. Just as she peered at him closer, he leaned back against the wall, so she couldn’t see him clearly. She had just a vague image of his height and build. He was very similar to the man she’d seen in that pricey boutique. But it couldn’t be. Why would anyone be following her?

She glanced in the direction of the man one more time. He’d disappeared. Probably into the apartment building, where he probably lived. Mystery solved.

Georgia shook her head at her own crazy thoughts and then she refocused on her task: wrapping up her shopping with a visit to the salon.

 

“Did you locate Georgia Sullivan?” Eugene asked as soon as Gabriel entered his office.

“Yes, she is shopping,”

Eugene’s left eyebrow rose slightly, the only sign he found that news odd. Gabriel knew Georgia Sullivan’s routine. She rarely missed work and certainly wouldn’t miss it to do something like go on a shopping spree. Gabriel was sure Eugene knew that, too.

Eugene might seem far too calm and unconcerned, but that didn’t mean he was unaware.

In his eerie way, Eugene seemed to follow Gabriel’s unspoken train of thought.

“Well, we both know that isn’t Ms. Sullivan’s normal behavior.”

“No, it’s not,” Gabriel agreed.

“I’m sure the shopping spree is somehow related to McIntyre. And I imagine she will be in at some point today. I want you to find out what is going on.”

“And what if she doesn’t come in?” Gabriel asked.

“I don’t think we should be concerned about Ms. Sullivan’s absence. In fact, I’m sure she’ll be in later. You should be able to talk to her today.”

Gabriel nodded, although he still had real doubts about the wisdom of bringing in an average mortal to work as DIA’s primary mole. A mortal woman would be spying directly on the most dangerous of this rebellion, the one heading it up. That could backfire so horribly on the DIA. It could lead to dire consequences for Ms. Sullivan, too.

And then there was the very real worry that Georgia Sullivan would tell McIntyre everything. Even telling her that McIntyre was dangerous wouldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t tell him. And of course telling Ms. Sullivan she was employed by a demon was totally out of the question. Who would believe that? Gabriel sure as hell wouldn’t believe it if he hadn’t been fighting the damned creatures for years.

“Maybe we should just stick to our old methods. I could act as a mail room clerk and observe what McIntyre is doing.”

“And we know how well it went the last time we sent up a slayer to do recognizance,” Eugene pointed out.

It hadn’t gone well at all. In fact, the mission had led to one of his brethren having to assume a new identity and leave the country. But Gabriel was certain he could be more successful than Michael had been. Not that Michael wasn’t a great slayer. He’d just had a few checks against him, coming back into the DIA after being cursed by a demon and frozen into a statue since the late 70s. He didn’t have all the new protocol down. But Gabriel knew how the DIA worked. How demons worked, too.

“I feel strongly that Georgia Sullivan is the right person for this task,” Eugene said, although his strong feelings weren’t evident in his placid tone. “Check the fifteenth floor again this afternoon. I’m sure she will come in at some point.”

Gabriel wanted to argue further, but Eugene was as stubborn as he was stoic. So Gabriel simply nodded, but he noticed as he exited the small office that a rare smile curved Eugene’s lips, just slightly.

“I
told her to take her time, but this is ridiculous.” Tristan checked his TAG Heuer watch for the fifth time in so many minutes.

Dippy lifted his head from the edge of his doggy bed. “Obsessed. Truly obsessed.”

Tristan didn’t bother to respond since the damned dog had already said that several times over the course of the last hour. He looked at his watch again.

“You need to stop this,” the mutt stated. “I told you that Finola is up to something down there in the mail room. That should have you far more concerned than a late assistant.”

Tristan glanced out of his glass-walled office into the catacomb of glass hallways. No sign of Georgia.

He sighed, turning back to Dippy. As much as he hated to admit it, the dog was right. Finola’s actions were much more worrisome than his curvy, sexy as hell assistant’s tardiness.

“What do you think she’s up to?”

Dippy sighed, a sign of annoyance that translated perfectly even in his dog form. “We are talking about Finola, right? Because frankly, I don’t care what your personal assistant is doing.”

“Yes.” Tristan’s irritation grew. “Finola.”

“I already told you, I think she’s working on gathering souls. She’s reading the people who work down there, figuring out what they desire most. What would convince them to sell their souls.”

Finola could be very good at that. She might be flighty and self-obsessed, but she was damned good at gathering souls when she put herself to the task.

“That hardly sounds like a problem,” Tristan said, giving the animal a wry look. “We are here to gather souls, after all. She’s just finally doing the work she should have done all along as the leader of this rebellion.”

Dippy gave him a look that stated quite eloquently he thought Tristan was utterly dense. “If Finola’s busy collecting souls, and you are just chasing after your assistant, don’t you think Satan will reconsider his decision to appoint a demon of lust as the head of this rebellion?”

Like a demon of greed had been a much better choice. Finola’s greed had never motivated her to focus on the task Satan wanted her to perform. Until now.

“I’m growing tired of talking about my assistant,” Tristan stated.

“You could have fooled me,” Dippy growled.

“You know what I mean,” Tristan stated. “Georgia isn’t an issue. And after tonight, she’ll be less than an issue. She’ll be a non-issue, if you will.”

Dippy looked dubious.

“You were the one who suggested that I manage my little focus problem by getting rid of my perpetual hard-on for the woman. So tonight, I plan to seduce her and spend the entire night making sure my hard-on is well sated.”

“I believe I suggested using your hand, not Peaches’ hoo-ha.”

Tristan grinned, just imagining Peaches’ hoo-ha. All plump and pink and glistening with her juices. Then his juices.

He looked at his watch again.

Dippy growled. “Seriously, pumping her hoo-ha is not going to get you refocused.”

Tristan grinned wider. “Who said I was going to pump just her hoo-ha?”

Dippy rolled his eyes, and muttered something about demons of lust being ruled by, well, lust as he got up, turned several tight circles, then flung himself back down onto his dog bed, facing away from Tristan.

For Tristan, the hound’s action was more of a relief than a snub. He was so sick of that mutt’s judging stares and dismayed puppy sighs. But Tristan still needed a break from both Dippy and Finola. Surely, Satan wouldn’t expect him to work with all these backseat demons evaluating his every move, every decision.

Time to find Georgia. Maybe she was at her desk and had just gotten to work without checking in with him. He left his office without another word to the demon dog.

Dippy might think demons of lust did nothing but fixate on satisfying their libidos, but Tristan knew what he was doing. One good, sweaty, orgasm-filled night with Peaches, and he’d be more than ready for world domination.

After all, he was only so obsessed with this particular woman because he’d been denying himself. Once he had her, it would be like every other conquest in his long, long existence. He would get his fill of her and then quickly want to move on to his next acquisition.

But he had to admit, he was relieved to see the current object of his desire bustling toward her desk, her arms weighed down with bags.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” she said, her voice breathy and so sexy.

He instantly imagined her in bed, under him, begging him in that same breathy voice. His cock hardened just as instantly. Of course, that was nothing new around his Peaches.

“I—I had to go to a few places to find a dress that would . . .” She pursed her lips. “The right dress.”

“And you got your hair done.”

 

Georgia hesitated, fighting the urge to touch her hair self-consciously. Of course, the multiple bags she carried made that impossible anyway. Instead, she just tried to read Tristan’s expression. Had she gone too far? Truthfully, her newly dyed black locks striped with chunky, bright red highlights were rather tame for her. She had replaced her hot pink highlights with the red. To match her dress, of course.

“I love the red,” he stated. Then to her surprise, he stepped forward to rub one of the flaming red locks between his thumb and forefinger.

“Oh,” she said, feeling as if the air was being sucked from her lungs at his closeness. “Good.”

She realized that was a lame response, but she couldn’t be expected to think straight with him so near. His body seemed to overwhelm her, and his gaze held hers. Vivid green locked with dark brown. His woodsy, spicy scent filled her nostrils, and she desperately wished her hair had nerve endings so she could feel his fingers stroking her.

He touched her hair a moment longer, then seemed to realize what he was doing, and dropped the strand. He stepped back, and she pulled in a shuddering breath. Their eyes held for moment longer, but then the look in Tristan’s eyes, an almost dazed look, returned to his usual irreverent, sardonic expression.

Of course, she had to have been imagining that bemused gaze. Why would he be staring at her that way? She had to be projecting her own overwhelmed feelings onto him. That was the only answer that made sense to her.

“So do I get to see the dress?” His green gaze flicked to the bags she held.

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the dress before the big event?” She instantly wanted to groan. Dear God, had she really just made a wedding reference to this man? Her cheeks burned and she knew they probably matched the streaks in her hair.

Tristan grinned, and she had no doubt he noticed her embarrassment.

“I think you are referring to a different kind of event. Plus, we couldn’t possibly have bad luck tonight. It’s not allowed.”

Georgia appreciated his not making more of the stupid comment. Although he probably thought it was pretty presumptuous to imply a man like Tristan McIntyre would marry a woman like her. As always, visions of supermodels danced in her head. Okay, he probably thought it was downright delusional.

But she wasn’t going to make any more of her foolish comment. Tristan hadn’t, so neither would she.

But she still hesitated, not wanting to see the inevitable disappointment on his gorgeous face when he viewed her dress. Of course, he was going to see it eventually, so what the hell. She wrestled the bundle of bags onto her desk and pulled out the bright red halter, holding it by the shoulder straps in front of her.

Tristan didn’t react for a moment, and some of her bravado wavered. She started to lower the dress, but his words stopped her.

“You are going to be the sexiest woman in the room.”

She gaped at him. Was he being sarcastic? He didn’t appear to be. If anything, that sort of dazed look was back.

She slowly lowered the gown. Her cheeks burned again, and she wondered if her complexion was going to match her dress all night.

“Thank you.” That response was perfectly appropriate, but she still felt as if it wasn’t the right one.

Their eyes held again for a moment; then Tristan looked away. He cleared his throat as if surprised, maybe even a little flustered, by his behavior.

“What else did you buy?” He started to reach for one of the bags, but her hand shot out to stop him.

“Just . . . incidentals.”

Tristan’s smile curled, looking utterly devious. “Incidentals? What kind of incidentals?” He reached for the bags again, and she yanked them away.

“Shoes,” she said quickly.

“That’s a lot of bags for just a pair of shoes.”

“And a purse,” she added, still holding his wrist even as she slid the bags closer to her.

“And . . .”

“And other stuff.”

His smile widened, and he looked stunningly beautiful and totally naughty. “I like other stuff. I like other stuff a lot.”

“Well, too bad you won’t get to see it,” she said with a flippant smile of her own.

She snatched the bags up and placed them behind her desk. She was surprised at her own cheekiness, but she didn’t have time to regret it, because he laughed, the tone deep and rich and decadent like the most delicious salted caramel.

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see about that one,” he said. “I’ll be at your place at eight p.m. Have your incidentals ready to go.”

He shot her another wide grin and waggled his dark brows before disappearing through the double doors to his office.

Georgia collapsed into her desk chair, literally. Was he really implying he might possibly seduce her? He couldn’t be. Not seriously.

She stared at the now closed door a moment longer, and then straightened up in her seat. Just his usual flirting. Just like always. That was his thing. He probably wasn’t any more aware of it than he was his own breathing. It was second nature to him, and she had to remember that and not take him seriously.

But even as she scolded herself, she lifted her legal pad and fanned her flushed skin. Damn, he had way too much effect on her.

After a couple more waves, she noticed a tall man standing just outside the alcove of her reception area. He didn’t seem to be aware of her, but was instead busy with the cart in front of him.

A clerk from the mail room, she realized.

She didn’t recognize him. An elderly black gentleman named Elton was the one who usually picked up and delivered her mail, but the mail room did have a lot of employees.

Had he witnessed her very inappropriate interaction with her boss? She shot him another covert look. He was still shuffling around his letters and packages.

She studied the man, sure she’d never seen him before. At least not in the
HOT!
offices. But there was something familiar about him. She couldn’t place what it was. Truthfully, it was amazing she was even aware of the man given how flustered she was by her conversation with Tristan.

She waved the pad of paper again, and a small rush of air cooled her heated skin just a little.

She dropped the pad, determined to get to work. She turned on her computer, and it hummed to life, grumbling and taking its time to get started. As she waited for it to boot up, Georgia had that strange sensation of being watched.

She glanced back toward the man, but he wasn’t looking at her. She watched him a moment longer, trying to figure out why he seemed strangely familiar. But she couldn’t place where she might have seen him before. And frankly, her mind was determined to stray back to Tristan McIntyre.

Damn, it was going to be a long afternoon.