Twisted Devotion: A Fae Paranormal Romance

by Jessi Elliott

  Or maybe she’s hiding it from Jackson.

  Jackson offers the young-looking receptionist a charming smile. “Morning, Bethany,” he says back, pulling out a keycard. “This is Kelsey Young. She’s joining the team for a few months.”

  Her soft blue eyes flit over to me, and she smiles warmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Kelsey.”

  I offer her a polite smile in return. “You as well.”

  We continue past reception after Jackson presses his keycard against a panel on the door. The lock clicks and he pushes the door open, holding it for me.

  “We’ll keep things easy today,” Jackson says to me as we walk down a long hall with closed doors lining both sides. The walls are taupe and bare, not a single painting or print to decorate. “I’ll give you a tour of the facility this morning and introduce you to my team at the meeting. Sound good?”

  “That sounds fine,” I say. A low key first day will allow me to get a feel for the place. Scope out the surroundings and get my bearings.

  “Excellent,” he beams. “I’ll take you to my office so you can drop off your things. It’s a fairly small site, so I don’t think you’ll have any issues finding your way around, but if you have any questions, just ask.”

  Why can’t this be the Jackson I interact with all the time? This guy, I don’t mind. It’s the arrogant guy I’ve gotten the majority of the short time I’ve been on this assignment that drives me up the wall. He also does other things to me, but I’d rather not think about that—especially here of all places.

  Jackson stops walking while I’m lost in thought, causing me to plow into him. He grabs my elbow, saving me from falling backward, and I immediately pull away, muttering an apology.

  “You good?” he checks.

  “Fine,” I say flippantly, glancing at the closed door we’ve stopped in front of. “This is your office?”

  “That’s what I said when you were too busy staring at me to hear what I was saying. Or to notice when I stopped walking.”

  “Ha,” I deadpan.

  He laughs softly, swiping his keycard again to get into his office. “It’s not a huge space, but make yourself at home. The plan is to expand the site eventually, but I’d like to get the first year under our belt before that happens.”

  “That’s probably smart,” I comment, stepping into the room as he switches on the light.

  Jackson nods, pointing to a black cabinet on the other side of the room sandwiched between bookshelves. “You can store your things in there. Kitchen is down the hall, last door on your right. It’s unlocked. Every other door in this place is locked. Bethany will set you up with a keycard this afternoon that will grant you access to every room. I’m the only other person in this place who has that level of clearance, so you should feel very special.” His tone is serious, but the charming sparkle in his eyes tells me he’s trying to keep this entertaining.

  “Do you have any procedures scheduled today?” I ask, walking around the room and taking it in. The set-up is simple, with a desk and chair straight across from the door and a small sitting area with a couch and glass coffee table off to the side. His desk is covered with papers and a few books; there’s barely enough room for the computer screen that sits dangerously close to the edge.

  Like the hallway, the walls in Jax’s office are bare. The lighting is abysmal and the window behind his desk is covered by heavy navy curtains. The darkness of his office is surprising considering the abundance of natural light at his home.

  “I’ll have to double check the schedule, but I’m fairly sure we’ve got a couple tomorrow, and then that’s it for the week,” he says.

  The number of clients being treated per week doesn’t seem that high, but when the price tag attached to this completely non-guaranteed and potentially lethal procedure is thirty thousand dollars, it doesn’t take many appointments to meet a profit margin.

  I’m boggled that fae are paying so much money to remove their abilities, their immortality, and everything about themselves that makes them superior to the human race—all with a likely chance that they may not even survive the transition. There’s no money back guarantee on this shit, either. It’s final sale taken to a whole other level.

  The success rate on the procedure is about seventy percent. I’m not a doctor, or someone who considers herself to be good at math, but I’m not sure I’d take those odds when the other thirty percent—an ironic reflection of the cost of this procedure—is death.

  Chapter 8

  After getting familiar with his office, I follow Jackson as he shows me around the rest of the facility. It’s set up much like a therapist’s office. Everything is warm-toned and soft.

  Jackson takes his time introducing me to the members of his team, as he calls them. There were brief profiles on each employee of the facility in the file I was given for this assignment, but meeting everyone in person helps connect faces and names.

  Shannon and Emma are redheaded, blue-eyed twins in their thirties. They’re medical specialists who perform the procedures. According to Jax, he’s been friends with them for years and knew before the facility opened that he wanted them to work for him. I can appreciate his need to have people here he knows well and trusts, considering how lucrative yet high-risk his business is.

  We run into them while waiting for coffee to brew in the kitchen. The space is barely big enough for all of us to grab our caffeine and move on, but all the essentials are here. Being so far out of the way of any sort of drive-thru, I’ll have to remember to start bringing something to snack on during the day.

  Next, we backtrack to the office next to his, and Jackson opens the door to a dark room with a wall of security screens. There has to be a dozen of them with different angles of the property, both inside and outside. The scale of security makes my stomach swirl with unease, though the coffee probably isn’t helping, either.

  When Jax and I are alone, it’s easy to forget just how critical this job can be. So far, he’s made it light and even entertaining at times. It allows me to push aside the knowledge of how dangerous my position here is, but I can’t do that. Not here.

  Jackson introduces me to Dex, Leigh, and Eva—members of his security team that work primarily here at the facility.

  “These guys have been with me forever. We grew up together causing trouble, so it’s only natural they’re here to keep me out of it now.”

  Dex snickers at that.

  I’m again reminded how odd it is that Jax’s file made no mention of a social life. Sure, walking around in public has its risks, but he seems too outgoing not to have friends. Though, the more people I meet here, the more I understand. Jackson does have friends, people he trusts; only, they work for him.

  “They rotate the perimeter shift,” Jax goes on to explain, nodding at the one with brassy brown hair. “Leigh is the one you saw outside earlier.”

  Leigh spins around in his chair and waves.

  I smile and shake everyone’s hand before we step back into the hallway.

  “You doing okay?” Jackson asks after closing the door to the security room.

  Pressing my lips together, I nod.

  “It’s a lot,” he offers.

  “Yeah,” I finally say. “It’s fine. I’ll adjust.” At least that’s something I’ve always been good at. I’m a bit overwhelmed now, but give me another day or so, and I’ll adapt just fine. So long as I can get everyone’s names straight. “What time is your meeting?”

  Jackson glances at his watch and purses his lips. “We’ve still got twenty minutes. Do you want to continue the tour, or take a break and we can pick it back up after lunch?”

  We’ve made it through the office space, which leaves the meeting rooms and treatment rooms left.

  “I could use a breather, if you don’t mind.”

  He shakes his head. “Let’s pop into my office. I have to grab my notes for the meeting, anyway.”

  Turns out, meetings about project management for a project you’re not involv
ed in are super boring. I spend the better half of an hour staring out the window, watching the flurries fall from the sky and stick to the grass outside.

  Jackson is on a conference call with the guy who’s designing the new facility. They’re going over room requirements and dimensions, and I’m trying my hardest to stay awake. No one ever said this assignment would be interesting all the time.

  I take a few minutes to flip through the emails on my phone, refreshing my inbox and even checking my spam folder to see if there’s any word from Seth. My stomach sinks when it comes back empty. I should be used to it by now, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to missing my best friend.

  After lunch, Jackson and I finish our tour of the facility. He shows me where he meets with clients: the two rooms closest to reception with a table and four chairs in each. They’re carpeted where the rest of the facility is hardwood; or, in the case of the two procedure rooms, sterile white tile. These rooms are windowless and the same taupe as every other room in this place.

  The procedure rooms look like something out of a hospital drama. There’s a bed on wheels in the middle of both rooms, and metal cabinets lining the far wall of either room. The only difference between the rooms is that one has a viewing gallery above it. Otherwise, everything is uniform and fits with the clean, simple style of the place as a whole. Based on Jackson’s meeting this morning, it will be interesting to see what the new facility looks like and how it will differ from this one.

  You won’t be around to see it, I remind myself.

  Jackson ends the tour back at his office and tells me he’s ready to head home for the day.

  On the way out of the facility, Bethany stops us and hands me a keycard.

  “Welcome to the team,” she says with a friendly smile. “Trust me, the rest of us are a million times cooler than Jax. Sorry you’re stuck with him after hours.”

  Jackson sucks in a breath from beside me, slapping a hand against his chest, over his heart. “Bethany, you wound me.”

  “As if,” she retorts, throwing her hair over her shoulder. “He’ll try to have you thinking we’re mean to him.” She grins at me. “Don’t let him convince you.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, right. That’s not likely to happen.”

  “I don’t understand what’s happening here,” Jackson mutters, shaking his head.

  “We’re bonding,” Bethany explains. “At your expense, of course.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Everything is at my expense, sweetness.”

  I groan, secretly enjoying being able to tease Jackson with someone else. “Don’t get him started. I can’t listen to him talk about who signs our paychecks again.”

  Bethany laughs. “Fair enough. I’ll let you get home. See you tomorrow, guys.”

  Jackson walks ahead of me to open the door, and I smile at Bethany, waving at her on my way outside.

  Once we’re in the car, I sit and stare out the windshield, processing the day. Everyone I met was great and very welcoming. Seeing Jackson with other people—his friends, at that—was nice. He walked around that place completely in his element. It was like watching Nikolai and Skylar in battle.

  Jackson shoots me a curious look, and I shake my head from the passenger seat and say, “That was . . . different.”

  “Which part? My employees harassing me, or the experience of meeting people who actually don’t mind spending time with me?”

  “Well, you are paying them to spend time with you. Technically,” I remind him.

  He narrows those gorgeous golden eyes at me. “You’re mean.”

  “I’m also the one who’s going to keep you alive.”

  He opens his mouth like he might object, but then thinks better of it and closes it, smirking. He faces forward and starts the car, pulling out of the parking lot without a word.

  The next day follows the same routine. Jackson and I leave the house together in the morning, spend the entire day together at the facility, and go home together at the end of the day. That’s a lot of togetherness. Borderline too much.

  Though, after my third day at the facility, I’ve adjusted to being there, have gotten to know the team a bit better, and am confident I’m familiar enough with the surroundings to protect Jackson.

  He, on the other hand, hasn’t gotten a total grip on the whole bodyguard and charge relationship. He doesn’t comprehend why I need to walk ahead of him or why I need to do a quick sweep of any room before we go in. That, or he’s been ignoring my instructions for days just to get under my skin. My money’s on the latter, and damn him, it’s working. As much as my job revolves around considering him first at all times, I can’t stop thinking about him even when I don’t have to.

  I don’t want to look at him and see anything more than a job, but the way I’ve caught him glancing at me continues to heat my skin and make my pulse tick faster. I may be a professional and working a job, but I still have eyes. And hormones. Under different circumstances, Jackson’s attention would be . . . nice. Addictive, even.

  Which is exactly why I can’t allow it to get to me.

  Sitting down for meals with Jackson has quickly started to feel normal over the course of the week I’ve been here. As normal as it can be, considering my reason for being here is because people want Jackson dead

  The way he stares at me from across the dining room table, it’s as if he’s waiting for me to take back what I said the other day and agree to sleep with him.

  “Can I help you?” I toss at him, shoving a piece of roasted chicken into my mouth.

  The corners of his mouth curl upward. “I’m certain of it.”

  “Jackson,” I warn, chewing and swallowing my food.

  “Kelsey,” he levels mockingly. “We’re both adults.”

  I glare at the green beans on my plate because I can’t look at Jackson right now. “I have a job to do.”

  “I’m the job,” he points out.

  I can’t help but grin at that. “Was that seriously a poor excuse for a pick-up line?”

  He laughs deeply. “No. I’m far more eloquent than that.”

  I finally lift my eyes to look at him. “Really?” My voice is doubtful.

  Jackson is charming, I’ll give him that, but from what I’ve gathered of his personality, lousy pick-up lines don’t seem all that unlikely. Not that he really needs them. He’s got the type of face that attracts women effortlessly. Even I’ve been caught up in it a few times, and I’m desperately trying to figure out how to build up immunity to it. As much as I’d love to deny it, when he looks at me with hooded eyes and that wicked smirk of his, it tests my resolve. That smirk holds promise of many things—likely complicated, but definitely enjoyable.

  “I’m just saying. The other night? Nothing compared to what it could have been had we been in the same bed.”

  I inhale slowly. Breathe, Kelsey. “Awesome. Isn’t there another woman you could offer your . . . generosity to?”

  “I’m offering it to you,” he says without missing a beat.

  My eyes narrow. “Why?”

  “Because you’re fiery and incredibly stunning. I’m not hesitant to admit my attraction to you.”

  I press my lips together for a moment while my heart beats at a quicker pace than I’m used to. “You don’t know me.”

  “Not yet. Not as much as I’d like to.”

  My fork halts halfway to my mouth. It’s takes me a beat to recover and set it down before saying, “Do you always try to woo the women you want to sleep with?”

  His eyes glimmer with amusement. “Would you like me to call you special, Red?”

  I level my gaze on him, trying to ignore the way my pulse is ticking faster. “Not particularly. Like I said, I’m here to do a job. To keep you alive while you make buckets of money off fae who no longer want to be fae. I suggest we keep our personal lives separate from our shared professional lives.”

  He seems to consider that before he says, “That doesn’t sound as fun as what I was envisioning for the two
of us.”

  “I’m not here to sleep with you, Jackson.” How else can I phrase it? I’m confident he understands what I’ve said; he’s simply choosing to disregard it. He believes he’s going to convince me, but he’s wrong. My resolve is far stronger than the tiny part of me that’s attracted to him. The same part that wonders what it might be like to get all hot and heavy with the fae across from me.

  “You’re here to protect me,” he says. “Maybe I’m in danger. I could die of loneliness.”

  I almost choke on the water I’m drinking. His one-liners may kill me before my three months are up. “There isn’t a chance in hell I would ever believe that.” I set my glass on the table and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

  He leans back in his chair, sighing heavily. “Fine. You feel free to let me know when your hand gets tired. I’ll be happy to give it a rest for a night.”

  My eyes go wide as heat floods my cheeks. Dear god. “I’m good, thanks,” I force out.

  “Hmm. I have no doubt about that.” He takes a sip of his red wine, his eyes locked on me over the rim of his glass. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to change your mind.”

  “You’ll be waiting a long time,” I tell him, ignoring the way my palms are clamming up. I wipe them on my pants under the table and take another drink of water.

  He shrugs. “Oh, I doubt that.”

  I arch a brow at him. “Come again?”

  “You will.” He smirks. “Plenty.”

  I’m mortified at my poor choice of words. “Jackson—”

  “You seem so sure that we won’t end up in bed together at some point.”

  My throat is bone dry no matter how much water I drink, so I nod instead of attempting to verbalize a response.

  Jackson cocks his head to the side. “Care to make a bet?”

  “Probably not,” I force out as the room seems to increase in temperature.