Temping is Hell Read online

He stared at her quizzically, and she shook her head.

  “Never mind. So, if I, um, die… ?”

  “Your soul will be the property of the one who signed you,” Slim said. “And if he dies, on to the one who signed him.”

  So Thomas signed his soul, too. That explained a little bit, like how he was able to sign her soul.

  “Total pyramid scheme,” Kate mused.

  “All the way up to the demon lord who signed the original human and sent him out,” Slim agreed.

  “Is there any way to break the contract?”

  He frowned. “It is nearly impossible, but it does happen.”

  Hope lit in her chest. “How?”

  “The one who signed you has to—”

  “Kate,” Thomas’s voice interrupted. Sharply. “I didn’t know you were on a coffee break.”

  Then he took one look at Slim, and his eyes widened.

  Kate swallowed hard. Of course Thomas would choose now to show up. And find her here, kidnapping a demon from the basement and plying him with chocolate milk to pump him for information.

  Ah, crap.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thomas clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to react.

  Of course Kate was sitting at a coffee shop with a demon. Of. Frickin’. Course.

  Yagi had accompanied him, and even now the man was glaring at the tall, gangly looking demon. He snarled something in a low, hissing voice. It didn’t sound Japanese. The demon grimaced and slowly got to his feet.

  “Hey, knock that off! He’s here because of me,” Kate snapped, getting to her feet as well. Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait, don’t tell me. You’re one of those Uno-guys, too, aren’t you? Unomodi? Onomodi?”

  “Too?” That surprised Yagi enough to have him blinking at her. “You know another onimyoji?”

  “I’ve, um, heard about them,” she hedged, then stepped protectively in front of the demon. “Anyway, Slim wasn’t hurting anybody, so don’t put the whammy on him. We were just having a little Yoo-hoo break. The Boys will be done soon, and then he’s going to have to go back, so I wanted to hang out with him.”

  “And do a little research, huh?” Thomas asked dryly.

  She glared at him. “Really? You’re going to play king of the moral high ground. Really.”

  To Thomas’s surprise, the demon, “Slim,” stepped up. “Kate has a right to know,” he said with a quiet dignity that was surprising. “She needs to protect herself from those who would use her.”

  Thomas ignored the slice of guilt that slashed through him. “Back to the basement, big fella.”

  Kate put a hand on Yagi’s arm. “Don’t let Al do anything to him,” she said quietly. Desperately. “It was all my idea, dragging him up here.”

  “I will miss you, Kate,” Slim said, shocking Thomas again. Even Yagi’s eyes went wide.

  She didn’t seem to notice. “Don’t worry—I’ll visit again before you go back. If that’s okay?” she asked Thomas, with only the slightest hint of sarcasm.

  “Sure,” Thomas said uncertainly. With that, Yagi accompanied the tall demon to the elevators.

  Kate slumped down in her chair. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

  “You are trouble,” he corrected, sitting across from her. “What was he telling you?”

  “What Hell was like. Demon stuff.” She shrugged, then finished the rest of her milk. “Sounds awful.”

  “From what I understand, it’s no picnic.” He cleared his throat. “But I wasn’t interrupting you simply to lay down the law. I need you to do something for me.”

  The guilt that he’d started to feel at Slim’s cheap shot now intensified. He forced his voice to stay light, casual. Charming.

  It was his deal-closing voice, he realized.

  “When I first broached the subject of you becoming my assistant, you thought you weren’t, ah, ‘together’ enough to fit the job description. It occurs to me that what you wear might have something to do with it.”

  She blinked at him. “Seriously? I was talking with a demon, and you’re pissed about dress code?”

  “I’m not pissed,” he countered, as she took her usual Kate-left-turn from the conversation.

  She gestured down at her khakis and button-down shirt. “Because this is as business-y as I can manage, I have to tell you. If it were up to me, I’d live in a Raiders sweatshirt and jeans.”

  “The black and silver would fit our color scheme, but I think it’d be better if you wore our clothing,” he said, waiting to deliver what he thought would be the winning point. “Fiendish Fashion. Everyone who is employed at Headquarters full-time is expected to wear it, actually.”

  “Seriously?” she repeated, then took a minute, looking him over. He imagined she was just taking in the black suit—which was pretty sharp, he had to admit—but the slight, almost reluctant look of admiration made him sit straighter and grin a little. “Aren’t they a bit pricey?”

  “We’ve got a lower end line at Nordstrom. I wasn’t expecting you to wear the couture line.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ah, yes. The affordable clothes at Nordstrom.”

  “In your case, it doesn’t matter.” He reached into his wallet, pulling out a glossy black credit card. “Go into the city, to our Fiendish Fashion flagship store. Get whatever you want. Hell, get two of whatever you want. And that includes accessories—shoes, bags, jewelry. Go nuts.”

  She didn’t wear any accessories, he suddenly realized, except for her square glasses. Not a ring, earring, or even a watch. Other than her messenger bag, he didn’t think she carried a purse.

  “I bet for some women, that whole ‘here, Sunshine, go on a shopping spree’ thing is a real panty-dropper.” She laughed, then gasped. “And… I just said that out loud. To my boss.”

  “Kate,” he said around a chuckle, “I can say with all honesty that I have never met another woman like you.”

  “Yeah, they broke the mold when they made me,” she said, her creamy-pale cheeks going pink as she gingerly took the card. “Beat the hell out of the mold maker, too. I’ll drop by the store this weekend.”

  “Now, that’s not going to do.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Take the rest of the day. Henri, the manager, will be waiting for you there to help you pick out stuff. I’ll send you with a limo, too. There’s no way you’d be able to carry a full wardrobe back on the BART.”

  “A full wardrobe? And the limo? Today?” She gaped at him. “Why?”

  Thomas cleared his throat. “We’re holding a press conference tomorrow. I want to introduce you as my new hire.”

  Now her eyes narrowed. “I’m a secretary. Who holds a press conference because they’ve hired an assistant?”

  He knew she’d ask. Any other woman might have just basked in the opportunity, or quailed at the exposure. Most would be too bowled over by the Pretty Woman wardrobe treatment to care.

  But Kate went to the heart of it.

  “The president and CEO of Fiendish does,” he answered easily. “Don’t worry, Fiendish is the story more than anything. All you need to do is smile, maybe answer a few questions about your background. Honestly, they’re probably going to want to take pictures of you and ask some stupid questions, but if you’re going to represent me, I want you to look… well…”

  “You want me to look Fiendish,” she said, and graced him with a mischievous smile that had his heart pumping a little more quickly. “You want me to look the part.”

  “I want you to be yourself,” he said. “But yeah, I’d like to see you in my clothes.”

  Her eyes widened, and she licked her bottom lip nervously. He stared at the unconscious action, drawn to it.

  Then realized what he’d said.

  “I want to see you showcasing the brand,” he amended. Although he suddenly had an image of her wearing only one of his shirts—and nothing else.

  She grinned, but her cheeks were pink. “Yeah, okay, sure. I’ll, er, go get branded.”

  He smiled, and they both la
ughed.

  It was so easy, he thought. So easy to forget why he’d hired her—why she was still there.

  So easy to ignore why he was putting her on television, in newspapers, and anyplace else he could think of to draw Victor Klauss out.

  …

  The next day, Thomas wasn’t sure if it was bribery, curiosity, or just a slow news day, but his hardworking publicist Rhonda had managed to get all the Bay Area news outlets there for his grand “press conference”—probably by using the fact that he hadn’t had a press conference in ages as some kind of bait, now that he thought about it. Frankly, he didn’t see what was fascinating about him personally, but apparently they were slavering for a shot at him like starving dogs staring at a rib-eye steak. They were set up in the biggest conference room, using the Fiendish logo as a backdrop. There were TV news crews. There were newspapers from San Francisco down to San Jose. He was pretty sure they’d let some bloggers in, as well. And all of them were eager to hear what the big news was, since everyone knew that after he made his first hundred million, he never, ever gave interviews. His publicist had been dying to pull together a press conference since they’d relocated the headquarters.

  And today I’m announcing… that I hired a secretary.

  He’d probably come off looking self-indulgent at best, an idiot at worst. But he was running out of time—he had Victor in striking distance, his metaphysical ninja consultant was about to walk, and he didn’t have a lot of options. With thirteen bodies to drop in one year, he wasn’t going to let the only one he knew of get away.

  Yagi was confident that Victor might be brutal, was probably an unbelievably strong soul… but he had a weakness, and right now, that weakness looked just like Kate.

  Thomas glanced over. Kate had done as instructed, going out to the Fiendish Fashion store and getting outfitted “as befit her new job.” She looked sharp and chic, which wasn’t surprising, since he’d hired a stylist who had done her hair and makeup, and they’d chosen her outfit. Kate’s glossy red curls were tamed and lacquered, falling in perfect crimson swirls. She was wearing a snappy black military-inspired jacket with shiny silver buttons, a snowy white shirt, and a black tie. Her trademark glasses were gone. Her lips were a dark crimson against skin that was a little too pale, even for her.

  She looks like one of the Men in Black, he thought uncomfortably. She didn’t look like Kate at all.

  Then he noticed she also looked scared as hell, which made him even more uncomfortable.

  “You holding up okay?” he asked for the fifth time.

  “If you ask me that again,” she whispered between her teeth, “I am going to throw up.”

  Now, there was the Kate he knew. “It’ll be over quickly. Like a measles shot.”

  “Well, let’s get it over with, then.”

  He glanced at the publicist who’d pulled this together, a stick-thin woman with iron-gray hair and a beaming smile. She gave him a thumbs-up.

  Showtime, he thought, and then walked up to the black podium.

  “Thank you all for coming here today,” he said to the sea of faces in the room.

  “Mr. Kestrel! Mr. Kestrel!” People started calling out his name, waving their hands frantically, trying to get his attention.

  “Now, now, there will be time for questions at the end, but…” He took a deep breath. “The real star of today’s show is my latest hire. Everyone knows behind every great man is a phenomenal assistant, and for me, that’s Kate O’Hara.”

  There was a moment of silence as they digested that—then camera flashes went off like fireworks. Kate winced a little, a plastic smile hanging on by a thread.

  “Why don’t you step up here, Kate; let them get a look at you?” Thomas said, gesturing to her. There was a second’s flash in her eyes—why don’t you just screw yourself, her expression seemed to say—but she walked forward and took her place at his right side. “Folks, Kate O’Hara is local to the East Bay, which should show just how serious I am about our relocation here. A CEO’s executive assistant is his right arm, buffer, and guardian. She’s going to be an invaluable part of my corporate team and one of my most crucial assets here at the new Oakland headquarters.”

  They stared at him, silently, for a long moment. He could read the disbelief in their expressions. Seriously? You really brought us out all this way because you hired an assistant?

  He stood his ground.

  The flashes strobed again, like a dance club, and reporters started yelling questions like crazy.

  “That’s the announcement,” Thomas said, holding up his hands. There was a roar of disappointment.

  “You can’t just leave them like that,” the publicist said, stopping his retreat. “You were the one who called this. If you don’t control the story, God knows what they’re going to print up.”

  He knew the publicist was right, but he also knew his real agenda here. He needed Kate visible. If she just walked away, the story would still be him. He needed Victor to see her… hale, hearty, and maddeningly unharmed.

  He stopped Kate’s retreat, guiding her toward the microphones. “Kate will take a few questions,” he said, then, God help him, nudged her in front of the microphone.

  She shot him one quick poisonous glare before she turned back to the roaring clamor of journalists. “Whoa. Okay, let’s everybody… Come on. Everybody settle down now.”

  Pandemonium still reigned for a solid five minutes. In the meantime, Kate stood there, arms crossed, looking bored. “I can stand here all day, guys,” she said, and they finally quieted. She pointed at an earnest young Asian man in the front. “You’re from the Daily Cal?”

  “Yes,” he said with a grin.

  “I went to Cal,” she answered, with a grin of her own. “What’s your question?”

  “Why is your hiring important?” he asked, his voice breaking on the last word. He cleared his throat as people laughed. “I mean, Thomas Kestrel never has interviews and never does press conferences. What does your hiring mean for Fiendish Enterprises?”

  Kate glanced over at Thomas. “That sounds like a question for my boss,” she said, but he shook his head, ever so slightly. She sighed. “Okay. I have no idea. I’m sure it seemed like a good idea at the time. Next question?”

  Thomas saw the publicist’s eyes go frantic. He realized that he’d wanted to keep Kate in the dark about his plan to use her to taunt Victor out of hiding—and suddenly realized, in the middle of all his other work tasks, he might have considered coming up with a better cover story for this.

  Stupid. This is why you need an assistant, he thought, the irony not lost on him. Still, it would be a good way to see how Kate handled herself in pressure situations. God knew she’d probably be in a few more before the year was over.

  A local news anchor type, all big smile and fashionably cut hair, stood up and waved. Kate called on her. “So, you’re local to the Bay Area?”

  “Yes.” Kate nodded.

  “Don’t you think it’s odd that Thomas Kestrel, one of the most powerful business men in the world, hired you for an assistant?”

  “I know, right?” Kate answered vehemently, prompting more laughter. “Totally odd. Next question?”

  “Wait, I wasn’t finished,” the woman pressed, annoyed. “I mean, people with MBAs and impressive resumes would kill to have your job, working with him. And you’re… Well, my research shows that you’ve held—briefly—over fifteen jobs since you graduated from Berkeley eight years ago.”

  Thomas saw Kate grip the edge of the podium.

  “You’ve also apparently got some sealed criminal records, from when you lived in Southern California,” the woman said, and Thomas winced.

  How the hell had she gotten ahold of that little tidbit? His pricey investigator had only gotten it as a result of digging and a massive bill. Either he was overpaying the P.I., or this woman had been prepped—tipped off.

  He’d definitely be talking to that private investigator soon.

  Kate�
�s pale skin turned almost translucent, and guilt grilled him. He’d thought this would be slightly embarrassing for him. He certainly hadn’t been expecting this.

  Kate closed her eyes for a long minute, then opened them.

  “Was there a question in all that?” she finally asked the reporter.

  The woman’s responding smile was smug. “I’m just wondering why Thomas Kestrel is holding a big press conference for an executive assistant that he seems to have pulled out of the temp pool, who appears to have a spotty work history, a criminal record, and no real aptitude for the job at hand.” She waited a beat, then went for the knockout punch. “Especially when his last assistant was a woman he was planning on marrying… and since he hasn’t hired a personal assistant since her death six years ago.”

  God damn it.

  Almost ten years, but of course they’d bring up Elizabeth. And of course, Kate would have to field it, with no prep.

  All he was trying to do was dangle a victim in front of a serial killer, so he could whack the guy and get his soul back. Was that really so much to ask?

  Now, this was happening.

  He’d thought he was giving them a puff piece, and here they were, turning it into a character assassination. Kate must hate him. She’d probably break down crying, want to quit, might even come at him swinging. Because he didn’t have enough hysterical women with Maggie around.

  Come to think of it, Maggie wasn’t around. Which was suspicious enough.

  Thomas gritted his teeth. The way his luck was running, Victor probably didn’t even own a TV or read newspapers.

  Could this possibly get any worse?

  Kate took a deep breath. Then she crossed her arms.

  “So what you’re really asking is,” she said slowly, “am I banging my boss because I appear to have no other marketable skills, and he’s got a history of hooking up with his secretaries?”

  There was a communal gasp, and Thomas felt his heart stop as his hand reflexively went up to cover his face.

  Oh, Jesus Christ on a cracker.

  Yup. It could definitely get worse.

  Chapter Ninteen

  Kate felt fury coursing through her blood stream like Red Bull.