Temping is Hell Read online

  “And I’ll be by right after, I swear. This shouldn’t take long at all.” Kate paused. “Actually, I’ll be by right after I hit Costco.” She needed to pick up some Ho Hos, she realized. And some bottled water, and some energy bars. If the guys weren’t getting lunch or breaks, she wanted to make sure they were at least getting some kind of food.

  God, you’re such a den mother.

  “Tell me you’re not going to hang out with that skeevy, nasty little douchetard.”

  “Didn’t I just say it was for work?” Kate sighed, pulling up to the dilapidated Victorian in a seedier part of Alameda. “Listen, I’m here, and I don’t want to leave my brother’s truck in this neighborhood for too long after dark. He’ll kill me if I get it stolen. Let me just cut a deal with Tad, and then I’ll be right over.” She bit her lip. “I really, really need to talk to you.”

  “I’m at Thalossa,” Prue grumped. Then she paused. “You okay? You sound more stressed than usual.”

  Kate thought of Slim and the guys slaving away in the basement. They hadn’t left for the day. They’d just kept on working.

  Thomas couldn’t possibly know about that. He’d seemed so warm, such a down-to-earth guy for someone so rich and lofty. He had a nice smile, too, and he joked with her and listened to her, even when she’d insulted his company right to his face. A guy that mellow couldn’t be oppressing workers’ rights in his own basement.

  Could he?

  “I’m still figuring stuff out,” Kate said as she squeezed the truck into a parking space on the street between a hooptie tri-colored Ford sedan and a pimped out low-rider, “but I’ll tell you what I know. I’ll be at your apartment as soon as I can.”

  “Just one question—does the douchetard still live with his mama?”

  “See you at Thalossa, Prue.” Kate clicked off, then walked up the broken concrete path to the front door. It was September, and the air was definitely getting chilly.

  Tad “Tadpole” Stimes was one of the best computer guys she’d ever met. Considering her dating experience when she went to Berkeley, that was saying something. Prue had often joked Kate attracted more nerds than Comic Con.

  Kate and Tad had been lab partners in high school. For whatever reason, she’d taken pity on him, agreeing to go to Winter Formal, and since then, he’d kept the flame of unrequited crushdom burning undiminished. She’d seen him occasionally around the East Bay, and she’d let him friend her on Facebook, but she’d also made it quite clear that there was nothing between them. She wasn’t sure if he’d actually absorbed any of those signals, however, so most of the time she simply did her best to avoid him.

  Still, when it came to programming, there was no one better. And right now, she needed the best in a hurry.

  She knocked on the door, and Tad’s mother Meredith answered. “Oh, Katie! It’s lovely to see you.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Stimes.” She put her hands in her pockets, feeling eighteen again in the worst possible way.

  “It’s been a few years,” Mrs. Stimes said with reproach.

  “Um, yes.” The house still smelled like wet dog. Kate petted the three shelties that were currently trying to herd her toward the couch.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re going to see Tad. I keep telling him he needs to get out more, but he doesn’t listen to me.”

  Kate shifted her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I just wanted his help with a work problem.”

  “Sure. Work.” Mrs. Stimes sounded knowing, and Kate shuddered. “Well, go on down. You know the way.”

  Okay, yuck. The woman was doing everything but the “wink-wink-nudge-nudge” routine. Kate fled through the open door to the basement.

  Tad had painted the walls black, and the violet glow of a black light illuminated everything. There were Star Wars models hanging from the ceiling with fishing wire, their phosphorescent paint like beacons. Something techno and depressing was playing.

  “Really?” she murmured to herself. “You’re going to be that guy, Tadpole?”

  “Hey, sexxxxxx-ay.”

  She yelped. He’d emerged from the darkness behind her. He still looked the same, she thought… skinny, with stringy unwashed hair and a T-shirt that was almost more holes than cotton. She wondered how long he’d been wearing it; he had doused himself with cologne, so it was hard to tell. His smile was wide and lascivious.

  “Hi Tad,” she said, backing away before he could touch her. He kept moving in, and she had to maneuver a chair between the two of them to prevent him from making contact. “You got my message?”

  “I sure did.” Same smile as his mom. Which was doubly creepy, now that she thought about it.

  Focus, she chided herself. “So, do you think you can help me with the computer program?”

  “Text image recognition? Child’s play,” he said, his thin, pointy nose sticking up with derision. “You might give me a challenge next time. What’s the language? English? Chinese? Farsi?”

  “It’s not a language, exactly. It’s some kind of code,” she said, and noticed his ears prick up as he leaned forward with interest. She handed him the slip of paper with the character Slim had drawn for her. “This is what they’re looking for, on a bunch of pages that have variations that look sort of like this contract. I need a program that can pick this out of a bunch of other stuff in this same code.”

  “It looks vaguely familiar,” Tad said, and she fought not to roll her eyes. He hated admitting he didn’t know something, so of course it looked familiar. “But even if it wasn’t a word at all, I could come up with something that would pick out this graphic. No problem.”

  “How long’s it going to take?” she asked.

  “Few days.”

  She stood straighter, taking a deep breath… then choked on the cloying scent of Axe body spray layered over dirty laundry.

  “Um, how much?” she coughed. “I know your time is valuable, and I’m willing to pay you for it.”

  He smiled. “Well, now…”

  “Not that kind of party, pal,” she said firmly. “I’m subcontracting, not whoring.”

  “Come on, we’re friends, not associates,” he wheedled. “How about dinner as payment?”

  “Um, okay,” she said. “I’ll get you a gift certificate to any restaurant in the city.”

  His look of hurt stabbed at her as he stepped in closer. Of course, she’d feel guiltier if he didn’t then inappropriately stroke her arm. “I’d like to take you to dinner, Kate. I think that it’s the least you could do, right?”

  Oh, God.

  He smiled. She could smell his breath—Cheetos and old pizza. His eyes gleamed.

  A date? She bet he’d go for a boob fondle, in public or not, or maybe a really awful ass grab. Did she really want this program that badly?

  She closed her eyes, picturing Slim’s sad, drawn face. She remembered his words: They don’t know how bad the Overseer can be. But I do.

  “If I get the program in twenty four hours,” she heard herself say, and shuddered. “Then I’ll go to dinner with you.”

  His eyes gleamed, and he licked his lips. Reading the signs, she dodged nanoseconds before he could reach in and hug her. His hands brushed over her ass and she shoved him back.

  “And, if on this date, you go for second or even first base,” she pointed out, “I’ll pepper spray you.”

  …

  “You know,” Thomas said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’ve brokered multi-billion dollar deals, and I’m still trying to juggle the needs of about fifteen different companies—which would be a lot easier if I didn’t have to deal with demon wrangling, contract hunting, and all this metaphysical, paranormal… crap.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be able to continue dominating the financial world soon enough,” Yagi said sagely. Of course, it was easy for him—he was a sage of some sort, as well as a ninja. “Once all this is over.”

  “Once all this is over,” Thomas repeated.

  Once Cyril is dead.

>   They had arrived at the door of Thomas’s condominium complex “sanctuary” he’d built, the Havens, just off Jack London square. As he did at Fiendish headquarters, Thomas occupied the entire top floor. It was easier that way and, according to Yagi, safer.

  Yagi frowned. He stopped Thomas with a quick motion of his hand, and then reached into his suit jacket. One hand held a gun; the other, a bronze, slightly curved knife.

  Thomas felt his heart freeze, then pump double-time. He, too, reached into his jacket, pulling out the special dagger Yagi had given him, the one he’d been practicing with for the better part of a decade.

  Come at me, Thomas thought. He doubted that Cyril would be stupid enough to send one of the twelve signatories that Thomas needed to kill… but God, it was a tempting thought.

  Yagi shook his head, then stood in front of Thomas, opening the door and moving in quietly. There was the large, public “suite,” and then Thomas’s real bedroom hidden in the back, panic-room style. As his bodyguard and main counselor, Yagi was his roomie, as well. The bedroom that Thomas pretended to use, the luxurious, fake one, had the door open. There was obviously someone there. He could smell sexy perfume in the air, the scent of spice, woman, and seduction.

  Thomas gripped the dagger tighter. Moving like a shadow, Yagi glided to the door… then kicked it open.

  There was a squeaking shriek, then Yagi turned on the light. His almond-shaped eyes went wide.

  “This,” he said, tucking his knife and gun away, “is not my area.”

  Thomas’s heart was still pounding when he glanced in.

  Maggie was wrapped in the chocolate-brown comforter, looking incensed. “Really!”

  “Maggie?” he asked, putting his own dagger away. “What are you doing here? Is something wro…”

  Before he could finish the sentence, his mind quickly took in the details of the scene. She was in his condo. In his bedroom—at least, the one he supposedly used. And she obviously wasn’t wearing anything beneath the sheet.

  He glanced at Yagi, turning slightly and lowering his voice. “Don’t suppose you could take care of this?”

  “She’s not my type. And she’s definitely not in my job description,” Yagi murmured back, shaking his head. He didn’t even spare Maggie a second glance as Thomas followed him down the hallway.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be my bodyguard?”

  “I’m shinobi,” he said. “I deal with demons and the metaphysical, as well as the occasional psychopathic assassin. Frankly, you’re not paying me enough to deal with her.”

  “Coward,” Thomas muttered, then rubbed his hands over his face. When Elizabeth had died, he and Maggie had bonded, sharing their grief, him for his fiancée, her for her sister. Still, as close as they’d gotten—he’d offered her a job and let her know the details of his plans for revenge and retribution—he’d known that one day, she was going to try and shift their friendship to something a little less platonic. He’d also known that, when she put her mind to something, Maggie was like a pit bull.

  He stepped into the room, where Maggie was still lying in wait in the bed. “Maggie, I told you, we don’t have that kind of relationship, hon.” He tried to say it as kindly as possible, but damn it, he was exhausted—and Yagi was right. “You’re making things harder.”

  She smiled wickedly. “I’d like to make things harder,” she said, reaching for him.

  He’d gotten too close, into proximity of her grasping fingers. He quickly moved farther, out of arm’s reach. “Damn it, Maggie. I was engaged to your sister.”

  “That was six years ago. Since she died, you haven’t been with anyone for longer than what, a week?” Maggie sounded reasonable and just a little wistful. “Don’t you get tired of coming back to this big bed, night after night? All alone?”

  She did have a point there. He’d tried some casual affairs, just for the companionship and physical release, but after the last time, when the woman he’d taken to bed tried to kidnap him, he really hadn’t had much in the way of a sex life.

  It had been a while, he realized uncomfortably.

  Still, he’d have to be more than simply hard up to sleep with Maggie. He’d have to be insane. “High maintenance” didn’t even begin to cover the hot mess that was Elizabeth’s sister. And guilty conscience or not, giving her a job was as far as he was going to go.

  “I manage just fine, but I do appreciate the concern,” he drawled. “Now, why don’t you go on back to your condo, Mags? Let’s not say or do anything we’re going to regret later.”

  She got up, the sheet falling to reveal a perfectly sculpted body with enough solidity to remind him there were bags of salt water involved and enough nipping and tucking to make a quilt. The look on her face told him that she’d used this particular strategy before—on lots of men, if the rumors were true—and it had probably never failed. She was smug, her eyes bright. Any desire in her eyes was overpowered by sheer determination.

  She must want something, he realized. Beyond the obvious, anyway. It often amazed him how his cool, sophisticated Elizabeth was related to someone so damned calculating.

  Suddenly, unbidden, he thought of Kate, the temp. She wouldn’t pout, or nag, or bulldoze through an extortionate seduction. In fact, he got the feeling that she was the full-blown opposite of calculating.

  With my luck, Kate would try to serenade me, he mused… then quickly shuffled through a few musical choices. Maybe “Let’s Get it On” by Marvin Gaye. The thought made him smile.

  Maggie must have figured his smile was for her, and she pushed harder. “You can’t tell me you don’t want this,” Maggie said, arching her back just a touch.

  “Actually,” he countered mildly, his drawl getting more pronounced with his annoyance, “I can all sorts of say that.”

  She amped up the smile, obviously fighting to look sexy and not miffed. She reached for him, and he dodged like a boxer. “You can’t say you don’t want me. You just let guilt or work get in the way. Now you’re in a new state, you’re close to getting your soul back. You don’t have to fight it anymore.”

  “Trust me, I’m not fighting anything.” Except you, he thought. “I’m not interested and, no offense, but I won’t be.”

  She kept walking toward him, and he kept evading. Pretty soon, he thought she was going to start chasing him around the room like some stupid sex-farce, except it would be the secretary chasing the boss around the bed.

  She huffed impatiently. “You’re just being stubborn,” she said. She cornered him, her eyes catlike with pleasure at trapping him. “One time with me, just make love to me once, and I promise any thoughts you have of anyone else will disappear. You’ll thank me.”

  “No means no,” he said sharply. “Have you been drinking or something?”

  All pretense of a smile left. “I’m not leaving this room until I get what I want.”

  Now that was the Maggie he knew… and the main reason he wouldn’t sleep with her. “I need you to leave now, or I’m going to have to get a lot less gentlemanly.”

  She stroked her breasts. “I want you to get a whole lot less gentlemanly,” she purred.

  He sighed again. “Can’t say you weren’t warned.”

  Then he moved in one quick strike, grabbing her around the waist and tossing her over his shoulder like she was a bag of oats. She went from a purr to a shriek of insult as he strode down the hallway, heading for the front door.

  “Knock it off, Mags. I mean it,” Thomas said, tossing her unceremoniously out in front of the elevator. Then he shut the door on her screech, leaving her naked in the hallway. She kept on shrieking for a few minutes, then it went quiet.

  “I imagine she’s going to be in a bad mood at the office tomorrow,” Yagi noted, walking out when the coast was clear, keeping the grin off his face. Almost, anyway.

  Thomas rubbed his face with his hands. “She’ll get over it. I’ll steer clear of her tomorrow.” He thought about it, then prudently added, “And most of this week. M
aybe this month, if I can swing it.”

  “You realize you could just fire her.”

  Thomas glared at him.

  “I know she’s Elizabeth’s sister,” Yagi said quietly. “But she’s a grown woman. Just because Elizabeth took care of her doesn’t mean you are obligated to.”

  Like the Al argument, this was another one they’d gone through, over and over.

  “It’s not that easy, and you know it,” Thomas said. His phone rang. He glanced at it, sighed. Then he picked it up.

  “How dare you!”

  “Maggie, listen to me,” he said, letting his voice become sharper than it ever had with her. “I’m not going to get together with you.”

  “You tossed me in the hallway naked!”

  “You weren’t listening to me,” he countered. “That pushy, I-get-my-way thing might work on the other guys you’ve been with, but you should know better. That shit is not going to work with me.”

  She paused for a fraction of a second, then he heard the wheedling note come back into her voice. “But I can give you what you need…”

  He gritted his teeth. The woman was relentless. “Oh, really? The way you’ve been giving it to the mail guy, that guy from publicity, and one of our new limo drivers? Just in the past month?”

  She was quiet for a second, and he felt guilt pick at him.

  “I’m not judging you. I don’t give a damn who you sleep with,” he said. It was true. He didn’t care if she slept with the Fifth Fleet, if she’d get off his back. “I just know it’s not going to be me.”

  “Who else have you got, Thomas?” she asked, surprising him. Apparently she was trying an entirely new tack—reasonableness. “Who else knows you, really knows you? And who else do you honestly think could love you, knowing everything I do?”

  He was stunned into silence.

  She shifted gears. “Elizabeth wouldn’t want you to live like this,” she wheedled, and the quick stab of pain cut deep. “I’ve known you for years. And no matter who else I’ve been with, I love you. Just let me show you how much you mean to me…”