Temping is Hell Page 11

  The answer hit him like a thunderclap.

  He could be going from flirty banter one second to a dead redhead on his floor in the next.

  I’m distracting myself because I don’t want to kill her.

  “Okay,” Kate said, starting to get up—getting ready to walk away.

  He swallowed, hard. Then took a deep breath.

  “There’s a job description in the envelope over there,” he heard himself say, like a disembodied voice he barely recognized as his own. “On the corner of the desk.”

  She picked up the interoffice envelope. “This?”

  “That’s the one,” he drawled. Then held his breath.

  She opened the envelope, pulling out the red sleeve. She stared at it, obviously puzzled. “This?” she repeated.

  He frowned. Did she need to hold the scroll itself?

  “Huh.” He swallowed again, then forced out the words. “What’s in it?”

  Her fingers touched the ivory parchment.

  He gritted his teeth.

  She flipped the page over. “It looks like one of those things from Chinese New Year,” she said, her expression baffled. “Except—is that Japanese?”

  He felt like all the breath exploded out of him, and he forced himself to sound calm. “Weird. Must be something of Yagi’s.” It was supposed to sound casual, but it sounded strangled to his own ears.

  She held it out to him.

  “No!” he barked, then winced at her shocked expression. “I mean, just put it back in the envelope. That job description should be around here somewhere.” He made a big show of going through the mess of folders on his credenza—which, unfortunately, was not just there for show—until she got the deadly scroll thing back in the envelope. Then he sighed. “Sorry, I can’t find it. I guess you see now why I need an executive assistant.”

  “Seriously,” she agreed, instead of politely demurring. Which didn’t surprise him, now that he thought about it. “How does someone like you, super billionaire guy, manage without an assistant? Travel, meetings, stuff like that?”

  “Technically, I have a bunch of assistants,” he said. “Temps that Maggie hires. We’ve got the travel agency. And I know how to use a calendar,” he added.

  “And that works?”

  He smirked at the doubtful surprise in her voice. “More or less.”

  Before he knew it, she was standing next to him again. He caught a whiff of her perfume—something sunshiny and floral today.

  “At the very least you need a better filing system,” she mused. Then, without warning, she scooped up the folders.

  “Hey!”

  She scanned the papers, then scooped them up as well. He watched in shock as she sat down in his leather chair.

  “This is, like, four months old… These are copies… This is a newsletter… You’ve got a file for this, don’t you, over there,” she muttered, biting her lower lip as her glasses slipped a bit lower on the bridge of her nose. “These can go here, and you’ve got a ‘to read’ folder that’s ready to explode, might want to revisit. Otherwise, these things go here, this goes in interoffice, and voila. You’re good.”

  She replaced folders in the standing rack, leaving his credenza gleaming.

  “Damn,” he murmured. “I’m not kidding. I really, really want to hire you.”

  She grinned, looking cocky, her chin up. “Blinded by my mad filing skills. I get that all the time.”

  He grinned back. Then, due to some crazy cocktail of relief that she hadn’t died, gratitude at her competence, all piled on top of the stupid, persistent attraction he already felt for her… He leaned forward, framed her face with his hands, and kissed her.

  The last thing he consciously registered was a squeak of surprise from her before he just felt the soft, warm heat of her lips under his. It had been a long time since he’d kissed anyone. It had been a favorite pastime, he vaguely remembered, before all this. So there was the comfort of that.

  And then there was just her. Pure, unadulterated Kate.

  She was even better than he’d suspected.

  She tasted like chocolate, he realized, just an undercurrent of something sweet and rich. He didn’t mean to deepen the kiss, but he’d already come this far, and the thought of stopping made his whole body shudder in protest.

  He figured she’d either kick the shit out of him or sue him. Right now, he didn’t care. He was going for it.

  She sighed, and he realized there was a third option when she smoothed her hands up his shirt, under his jacket, and nestled in.

  It was like pushing the launch sequence on a rocket. He wove his hands into her hair, freeing it from the last restraint of the ponytail, feeling it wash like a silk wave over his fingertips. He kissed her harder, ignoring everything else, even the vague, nagging sounds of something…

  “Thomas!”

  He tore away on a gasp. Kate was pulling his jacket lapels, and she looked dazed, her glasses fogged up.

  “What?” he snapped.

  Maggie was standing in his doorway, looking scandalized—and hurt.

  “You’ve got a call coming from Tokyo,” Maggie said, her voice breaking. Then, after leveling a murderous glare at Kate, she turned on her stiletto heel and stalked out.

  I’m going to pay for that one, he thought, and guilt stabbed at him. He stepped back from Kate.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was so inappropriate. I just… You’re really funny, and I like you, and I… Shit. I’m sorry.”

  She smiled. “You’re funny, and I like you, too,” she said, then cleared her throat briskly. “And wow, that was a mistake, so let’s just pretend it didn’t happen, okay?”

  That grated at him, but he nodded. “Good idea. I’ll, uh, be more careful next time.”

  “Me, too.”

  He smiled. “You’re pretty cool, Kate. Think the job offer over?”

  She nodded, even as her eyes said hell, no. “I’ll, um, see you tomorrow.” And she hurried out.

  Thomas rubbed his hands over his face. What the hell was that? What just happened?

  Whatever it was, can it happen again? Soon?

  Logically, he knew that it was foolish. Probably just some combination of attraction and timing and… Damn it, it had felt really good. There. He’d admitted it.

  Still, it would be beyond foolish to pursue it a second time. It would be dangerous. For both of them.

  When he moved his hands away, Yagi was standing there, arms crossed, face placid as a mirror-calm lake.

  “Well,” Yagi said, “she’s not dead.”

  “No, she sure isn’t.”

  Yagi’s eyebrow quirked for a second with that, then he frowned. “Which leaves us with one question.”‘

  “What’s that? She’s not signed to anyone.”

  “True,” Yagi countered. “And she’s not possessed. I don’t know why, but she’s somehow immune.”

  Thomas frowned. He hadn’t thought of that. “Which means…?”

  “Which means we don’t know what she is. I’m calling the private investigator. I want to know everything there is to know about Kate O’Hara,” Yagi said, shrugging. “We still may have to kill her, after all.”

  …

  “No way.” Prue handed Kate a mocha in a huge blue ceramic mug, her brown eyes wide. “No. Way.”

  “Way.” Kate took a sip. God, she needed this. After the weirdness at Fiendish, she’d made sure the guys were off for the night—she’d insisted that I.T. bring down a big TV and DVD, and they were watching “non-violent entertainment,” mostly cartoons. Al and that Yagi guy had both been adamant about that. Now, she was finally where she wanted to be, at Jung at Heart, the bookstore/coffee shop/mystical emporium where Prue worked.

  She hadn’t told Prue about the kiss. Yet. She knew she should—but taking the job there was embarrassing enough. One humiliating detail at a time.

  You are like the patron saint of fuck-ups. Kissing the boss? Kissing a billionaire, uber-rich, probably evil g
uy?

  And her parents thought her weed-dealing boyfriend back in high school was bad.

  Kate squirmed uncomfortably in the ancient, tapestry-upholstered sofa, ignoring Prue’s pointed stare. “Mmm, this is good. Ghirardelli chocolate syrup?”

  “Yes, and don’t try to distract me.” Prue leaned against the counter, her gold eyes like lasers. “This asshole has smuggled illegal immigrants stowed down in his basement, and now… you’re on the payroll?”

  “No, he’s not an asshole, and yes, I’m on the payroll.” Kate sighed heavily, taking another comforting sip of mocha. “And they’re not illegal immigrants. Although he mentioned they’re actually prisoners. Like, gnarly violent offender felons.”

  “So he says. Which, by the way, totally justifies them being starved and beaten,” Prue said, and Kate suddenly regretted calling Prue on the BART after she’d been fired. “And why in the world would he choose violent felons to go through a bunch of weird documents? When I’m thinking of cheap labor to go through paperwork, I don’t think, ‘Hey, you know who would be perfect for this? Murderers!’”

  “First, I don’t think he knew about the conditions. Second, they’re being treated fairly now—rest breaks, plenty of food, enough time to relax at night,” Kate interjected, ignoring Prue’s sarcasm. “It was one of the conditions of me working there.”

  “Oh really?” Prue rolled her eyes. “And how long do you think that’s gonna last?”

  “Prue, damn it, I’m doing the best I can.” The words were torn from her. “You didn’t hear my father’s voice when he was talking to Uncle Felix. The thought of losing the house… it’ll destroy them. Dad and Mom, I mean.”

  Prue’s gaze softened, and she sank down on the couch next to Kate, giving her a shoulder hug. “It sucks,” she said, nudging Kate’s head with her own. “All the way around.”

  “Yeah, but it’s what I’ve got.”

  They sat there, silent, for a second.

  “There’s no other way you can make money?” Prue finally asked.

  Kate shrugged. “I could always hook.”

  Prue snorted. “Yeah, I hear flat redheads are all the rage on the streets these days.”

  “Bitch.” Kate nudged her hard with her shoulder, and Prue laughed. Kate chuckled with her. It was a relief… a little pressure release.

  “Besides, it’s been like, what, a year since you got any play, yeah?” Prue shook her head. “Ever since that dweeb. What was his name?”

  “Jake.” Kate shuddered. “The slam poet?”

  “The limp kisser.”

  “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

  “You need to get some,” Prue declared. “That might at least help put a rosier glow on the rest of the crap.”

  “Yeah,” Kate agreed, then hastily picked up her mocha and took a sip, hoping the soup-bowl-sized cup would hide any telltale blush.

  She’d done plenty of stupid stuff in her past—age twenty-four to twenty-six qualified in their entirety—but she’d never, ever gone so far as to kiss her boss.

  He kissed me first. I kissed back in self-defense.

  She sighed heavily, drinking the rest of the mocha in a few large gulps, like a gunfighter taking a swig of whiskey.

  Prue smiled, shaking her head hard enough for her dreads to bounce around like snakes doing aerobics. “You know what they say, the universe doesn’t close one door without opening another one.”

  “Yeah, but those hallways are a bitch.”

  “You need a reading,” Prue said, patting her knee. “Let me get my cards.”

  Prue came from a long line of psychics and Tarot readers, so she really did feel that was a useful, even practical, line of action. She was good, too.

  What the hell, Kate thought. I could use all the advice I can get.

  “You know,” Kate said, as Prue pulled out a small ebony box and cleared off the coffee table, “I still think you could have a rockin’ online business.”

  Prue made a face. “Online readings,” she muttered, the same way most people said “bestiality.”

  “Hey, it could work.”

  “I live simple, and I like working for the Madame.”

  Kate giggled. “Now that sounds like you’re the hooker.”

  Prue let out a long-suffering sigh. “Focus, Pinky. Okay?”

  Kate closed her eyes, stifling any further humor. She took a few deep breaths, just like she’d been taught when Prue still held out hope that Kate could meditate. “Okay, what am I thinking about?”

  “Think about what you need to know.”

  Kate got a little somber as she cleared her mind. I want to know if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life. I want to know if I’ll be able to get my parents out of this jam. I want to know if I’ll ever find work that makes me feel like I’m finally doing something good.

  She squinched her eyes shut. Oh, and I’d like to know if I’m going to find love or at least get laid. It’s been a while… my boss notwithstanding.

  And no, he does not count.

  She finished shuffling the heavy, slippery cards and handed them in a pile over to Prue. A card fell out during the transfer, and Kate moved to retrieve it.

  “Nope, we’ve got a jumper,” Prue said, grabbing it herself and putting it face-up on the battered oak table. A hooded skull with a scythe grinned back at her. “Oh, good. Death card.”

  “That’s promising.”

  “Remember? Death card’s a good one,” Prue said. “It means change, which you’ve got in spades. Your uncle’s publishing company going under, moving back in with your parents…”

  “Again, whoopee.”

  “Relax. It rarely means physical death.”

  “Rarely?”

  “Hush,” Prue said, starting to flip cards like a blackjack dealer. Then her face turned into a blank mask—the look that Kate knew, from experience, meant she’d seen something bad. “Hmmm. This is… um, interesting.”

  There was a picture of what looked like part of a castle getting struck by lightning. People were falling headfirst out the windows, which were filled with fire.

  “That can’t be good,” Kate muttered.

  “It’s The Tower,” Prue said, and she sounded apologetic. “It means… well, change, basically.”

  “So it’s like the Death card?”

  Prue bit her lip. “The Death card is good change—when you let go, surrender to what’s coming, and ride the wave.”

  “So what’s the difference with the Tower?”

  “The Tower is when the universe has been trying to tell you something by tapping you on the shoulder, and you’ve been ignoring it,” Prue answered. “After a while, it stops tapping and just, um…”

  “What?”

  “Smacks the shit out of you.”

  Kate stared at Prue, wondering if she was joking. The nervous look in her friend’s eyes suggested she wasn’t.

  “Great. Just great.” She picked up her cup. “Barista, I’ll take another, please. Pure chocolate this time. I need a belt of the hard stuff.”

  “Don’t worry, chica,” Prue said, trying unsuccessfully to comfort her. “I’ll be here. Besides, the Death card jumped out. If you just learn to ride the wave, odds are good you’ll be carried to a great new adventure.”

  “Sure, sure,” Kate said, as Prue made her a hot chocolate. “Besides… how bad could it be, right?”

  The bell on the entryway rang out like a gunshot as someone shoved the door open. Jumping, Kate spun.

  “What the hell?” she blurted.

  Nan Temper walked in, holding a rosewood cane and shuffling. Her robes were a royal purple, almost like a sari, embroidered with gold thread. They were at odds with the bright blue Reebok sneakers she was shuffling in. Her hair was gray, in dreads like Prue’s, except down to her waist. She tilted her head, eyes bright as a bird’s.

  “Nan Temper?” Prue said, her mouth dropping open as she rushed around the counter to the smaller woman. “What are you doing here? Is everything al
l right? You know you’re not supposed to drive at night.”

  “Is this her?” Nan Temper said, shoving off Prue’s well-meaning hands. “Is this the girl who gave you that filth?”

  “Pardon?” Kate asked, taken aback.

  The little old woman stood in front of her, eyes blazing like hot coals. “Do you even know what you gave her?”

  “You mean… the contract?” Kate ventured. “The symbol I gave Prue?”

  “You knew!” Nan’s hand shot out, and she gripped Kate’s wrist in a painful vise. “You knew, and you let her handle something so evil?”

  “Ouch! What?” Kate said, aghast. “What are you talking about? It was just some paperwork from my office!”

  “Oh, it’s paperwork, all right,” Nan muttered darkly, not releasing her grip. “Someone sells his soul to the devil, this is the paperwork. It’s binding—and unbreakable except by death.”

  Chapter Ten

  Kate couldn’t help it. After the stress of the day, she burst into laughter. “You’re telling me that’s a contract with the Devil?”

  “It’s one symbol from a contract,” Nan Temper spat out, dropping the thing on the coffee table. Prue stared at it curiously. “Which is the only reason I’m not beating you for letting my little Prudence touch it. If you’d given her a full contract…” She let the words trail off menacingly, and gripped her cane hard enough for her knuckles to crack. Seriously—crack.

  Kate looked at the paper, then at Prue. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding, child?”

  Nan’s face looked like the grim reaper… if the grim reaper were black, female, short, and pissed as hell. Kate took a deep breath, sending another quick look at Prue, who shrugged.

  “You know I love Prue like a sister,” she started. “I would never give her anything that I thought would hurt her, and I swear I didn’t realize it was dangerous. How was I supposed to know that one weird symbol thing could hurt somebody?”