Charlie nodded, even though he found it hard to believe his new job was that significant. It was just pushing a cart around, handing out mail and picking up mail. But he would pay a lot of attention while up there. To who might really advance his career.
Charlie forced an earnest expression. “I will take it very seriously.”
Dave still looked unimpressed. But he didn’t say anything more, because Eugene had joined them.
Eugene was a bit less intense and strange than Dave, even with his eerie blue eyes and cryptic advice.
“I’ve been impressed with you, Charlie.”
Charlie nodded, trying to look pleased by his boss’s words.
“I’ve been watching you and I think Dave was right; you are going to be a great asset to our team. Just remember, you are our eyes and ears in this company. You have to be aware of what is happening around you and be ready to report back to us.”
Charlie frowned. Okay, he had considered Eugene less odd—until now. What could they possibly expect him to report?
But he simply nodded. The sooner he got his portfolio out there, the better.
About half an hour later, Charlie had his cart loaded and he boarded the elevator. Elton, a small, elderly black man with a gravelly voice and gnarled hands, stood beside him.
“Now remember, your assignment will be to oversee the fifteenth floor,” said Elton.
Assignment? Oversee? Why did Charlie get the feeling he was in some spy movie? A bad one at that.
He almost commented on that fact, but decided Elton wouldn’t appreciate his sense of humor. Weirdness abounded in the mailroom. Senses of humor, not so much.
Instead he asked, “How long have you worked for Finola White Enterprises?”
Elton turned, regarding him with rheumy, but intelligent eyes. His voice was raspy and fervent, reminding Charlie of some zealous preacher. “We do not work for Finola White. We work for Eugene Edwards. Remember that.”
Charlie couldn’t quite suppress his amazed smile, but he wasn’t going to argue with the elderly man and point out it was Finola White who signed their paychecks—not Eugene.
He shook his head slightly. Ah well, he should have known normal conversation with one of his coworkers was going to be a long shot anyway.
The elevator dinged, signaling they’d made it to the fifteenth floor. The stainless steel door slid open, and Charlie wasn’t pondering Elton’s strange wording and odd loyalty any longer. Because he’d not only found the end of the rainbow, he’d made it over it. He truly understood how Dorothy had felt when she’d stepped out into Oz.
The HOT! lobby greeted him as though he had left a black and white world and stepped into Technicolor. Bright, beautiful colors and lines. A magical, exciting world even more incredible than he’d imagined.
The main greeting area was ultra-modern and expensive. Glass and chrome and recessed lighting cast red light down the walls. Fiery, red velvet furniture with high backs and angular styling surrounded an asymmetrical, glass sofa table. Dramatic and fabulous cover shots from HOT! lined the walls. The place reflected the magazine’s title. A sort of chic, trendy, sexy version of Dante’s Inferno.
At the front desk, a stunningly gorgeous woman with a pageboy shag, in vogue because of Heidi Klum, talked on a sleek chrome-plated phone. Her voice was smooth and efficient. She only vaguely acknowledged Charlie and Elton as they stepped out of the elevator.
Charlie pushed the mail cart as Elton followed along, just a few steps behind. Charlie picked up the first bundle of letters, most of which he knew was junk mail, which was why it was being delegated to the receptionist. She could sort through the unimportant stuff.
Charlie placed the bundle on the edge of the large glass desk that reflected the red lighting so that it appeared to almost shimmer and move like a pool of molten lava.
Amazing.
The woman didn’t register him right away, but finally she glanced at him and nodded. But Charlie found he couldn’t move, or tear his gaze from her face. For just a moment, something about her features seemed to change like a disturbing, unattractive mask falling over—or away from—her beautiful features.
But then, as suddenly as he’d seen the strange transformation, it was gone. The woman was as lovely as he’d first thought.
Charlie quickly shoved the mail cart away from her desk.
“Everything all right?” Elton asked, regarding him closely with those hazy eyes of his.
Charlie nodded. “Yeah, fine.”
It must have been the lighting playing tricks with his eyes. That was the only explanation.
They left the reception area, stepping through floor-to-ceiling, frosted glass double doors. The décor here was similar to the waiting area. More angles—both hard and soft. Red recessed lighting. Glass. Chrome. But unlike the quiet of the front office, this area was abuzz with people at work, creating the most popular fashion magazine in the industry. Artists, fashion consultants, designers, writers, editorial directors, assistants . . . and of course, photographers. They were all here.
Quickly, Charlie’s weird vision was forgotten as he became inspired by the creative vibe snapping in the air. Yes, this was exactly where he belonged. Working with these—
“Minions of Satan.”
Charlie looked away from the bustling business people to peer at the little man beside him.
“What?” Had Charlie heard the old man correctly?
Elton pursed his lips, disgust clear in his eyes, but then he damped it down. “Nothing. Just don’t like this place. Too . . . soulless.”
Charlie regarded the old man for a moment, then couldn’t resist smiling. “Well, it’s not the mailroom, I grant you.”
Yeah, there was a hotbed of warmth and emotion.
Elton’s gaze held his, and for a moment Charlie had the strangest feeling of being pinned in place by that dark, hazy stare.
“You will find out your place, soon enough. Until then don’t be charmed and seduced by what these people want you to see. In fact, you of all people should be able to see past that.”
Charlie didn’t have any idea what the old man was talking about. What did Elton know about what he could see and couldn’t see? And what did he mean anyway?
He had no idea how to respond, so he refocused on the job at hand, deciding that was the best course of action. But again, he wondered if being crazy was a requirement for working in the mailroom, and if so, was he doomed to be nuts too?
Charlie pushed the cart along, delivering to one desk, one office, after another. And even with Elton following disdainfully behind, Charlie allowed himself to bask in the creativity around him.
Even though the atmosphere was so much more appealing than where he’d been working, he couldn’t say that any of the HOT! employees were any warmer or kinder than the mailroom staff. In fact, Charlie could have been invisible. But the air of excitement and creativity made up for the cool atmosphere.
Finally Charlie came to the heart of HOT!—the inner sanctum. Finola White’s offices. Charlie hated to reference The Wizard of Oz again, but he did feel like he was approaching the great and powerful Oz. He glanced at Elton, who lingered even farther behind him, his hazy gaze guarded, his stance rigid.
He was tempted to hum the tune of “If I Only Had a Brain,” substituting the words, “If I only had a personality.”
Then Charlie dismissed his coworker’s behavior. Being on this floor was too incredible to focus on Elton.
Finola’s wing—and that was really what it was—was huge. The walls were made of glass, giving this section of the offices a strange endless feeling, like a mind-boggling maze. A labyrinth, stylish and elaborate, that clearly separated the company’s owner from the rest of her staff. He could see a large meeting room with a circular white table surrounded by high-back red velvet chairs that still managed to look minimalistic despite their oversized design and luxurious fabric.
Next to that was another office with more glass and shiny metal and beyond
that, lost in a sea of glass walls and chrome, he caught flashes of what must be Ms. White’s office. He could make out gleaming white—white furniture, wispy white drapes, white carpeting.
Finola was known for her affinity for white. It had become part of her image . . . to match her name and her fair, almost albino, coloring. All an image designed to make an impact.
But as he approached those glass rooms, it became clear he wasn’t going to set foot in her private lair. Instead he was stopped by a woman seated behind a huge glass desk that matched the receptionist’s desk back in the main lobby.
“You are not allowed back there. I’ll take the mail,” she said, standing as she spoke.
Charlie frowned, focusing on the woman, who was more than likely Ms. White’s secretary or personal assistant. He blinked, his eyes not seeming to adjust—as if he’d been looking at the sun and now was trying to see details in the shadows.
She was not at all what Charlie would have imagined of Finola’s personal assistant. Though dressed in clearly expensive clothes, she appeared mousy in her simple black turtleneck and pencil skirt. He blinked, realizing a strange, hazy halo of pale yellowish light seemed to outline her whole form. But when he focused on her again, it was gone.
Yeah, the lighting in here was really messing with his eyes.
But what dazed Charlie more than the optical illusions was the woman’s warm tone as she spoke to Elton. “How are you today, Elton?”
“Not too bad, Annie. Not bad,” he answered, his voice almost friendly.
“Your gout is better?”
“Oh, much better.”
“That’s good, Elton.” Annie smiled, but then her expression grew serious. “Any word from Sheila?”
Elton shook his head, his near smile fading. “No. I’m afraid we’re all thinking the worst.”
Who was Sheila?
The woman, whose desk plaque read Annie Riddle, shook her head too, clearly distressed. “I just don’t see how she could have disappeared without a trace.”
Elton didn’t respond, except to purse his lips, but Charlie got the impression he wanted to say more.
Who on earth were they talking about? Was it one of Elton’s family members? It was clearly someone they both knew. Had this Sheila worked here?
But before Charlie could inquire, the glass double doors burst open, followed by two women, their voices raised in anger.
“I made you. And I can just as easily get rid . . . end your career.”
“This isn’t what I wanted! I never agreed to this!”
“Oh yes, you did. You wanted it more than your very soul.”
Charlie gaped at the two women, first stunned by their sudden, raucous appearance, then stunned literally by who they were.
The woman telling the other that she could make and break her was Finola White. And he couldn’t help but stare.
She was even more striking in real life than in the photos and television interviews he’d seen. Nearly six feet tall with long, blond hair that was so pale it was almost white. Her skin was so pale it looked almost translucent, as if made of perfectly constructed rice paper. No freckles or moles or even a hint of rosiness to her cheeks—nothing to mar the perfect alabaster. Her eyes were gray, the color of an overcast sky at midday. And her lips, the only vibrant color in her features, were ruby red, the exact color of the velvet of her furniture.
She looked almost . . . unreal . . . fantastical. Like a creature from a fairy tale.
“Do you hear me?” Her voice was unbelievably sexy and utterly cold at the same time.
Charlie’s attention shifted from Finola to the person who was receiving her harsh diatribe.
Instantly he recognized that woman too. And while Finola amazed and wowed him, this woman made his whole body react, and hum to life.
Ava Wells, the most famous and sought after model in the industry today. The absolute definition of supermodel. Just as Finola was more striking in real life than in photos, Ava was also a surprise. She was as lovely as in her photographs, but much more accessible than he would have imagined.
As tall as Finola, Ava didn’t have the icy beauty of her boss. Instead her skin shone like warm honey and her lush dark hair glittered with hints of ginger and mahogany. Her lips were full and her eyes dark and soulful. She was hot, raw emotion, while Finola was cold, untouchable restraint.
He had always considered Ava Wells stunning and amazingly photogenic, but he’d never considered her his type. Not until this moment. Very clearly his body thought otherwise. Every one of his nerve endings tingled with awareness of her.
The women glared at each other, but finally Ava broke their challenging stare, looking away.
“Yes, Finola,” she said, all the anger fading from her voice as if Finola’s ice had doused her fire.
“Good,” Finola said, her lips twisting—smug and petulant at the same time. She then glanced at her assistant. “Do you plan to just stand there staring, or are you going to do some work?”
Annie scrambled to gather up a clipboard and pen. Then she hurried out from behind the desk. On her way past him, she snatched the stack of envelopes he still held, forgotten, in his hands. He noticed that she barely looked at him as she did so. Then she followed her clearly demanding boss back into the glass maze.
All three watched them leave as if too stunned by the events of the last few minutes to react.
After long seconds, Ava gathered herself and turned to leave. For the first time, she seemed to realize that Charlie and Elton stood there.
Her dark eyes flicked over Elton first, then shifted to Charlie, and to his surprise, lingered.
Her cheeks grew rosy pink and her gaze dropped to the floor. She mumbled something that he could barely hear. An apology.
For what?
On long, shapely legs, she moved around them and disappeared back into the main offices of the fifteenth floor.
Charlie stood still, shocked by everything he’d seen in this little waiting area. But of all the things he’d seen and heard, it was the crushed look on Ava’s face as she hurried away that stuck in his mind.
Of course, it had to be a little embarrassing to get a dressing down from the Ms. White in front of the lowly mailroom staff—but she was Ava Wells and they were—well, the lowly mailroom staff. Everyone knew Finola White’s reputation of being very hard to please, so Ava hardly had reason to feel ashamed. Frustrated, irritated, riled maybe, but she’d clearly been humiliated. And Charlie had seen something else on her face . . . something deeper. A sort of hopelessness.
“Come on,” Elton said from beside him. “I can’t stomach all this depravity and ugliness.”
As Charlie followed him back to the elevators, he considered Elton’s word choices. He didn’t understand what had been so depraved—he supposed the fashion industry itself could be seen that way. Especially by someone like Elton, who clearly did not appreciate this world.
But ugliness? He supposed he had seen some of that too. Finola had been very harsh with Ava, but that wasn’t surprising, really. Everyone knew Finola had discovered Ava, at some restaurant the rumors said, and pulled her from obscurity to modeling stardom. Finola obviously thought Ava owed her.
As far as Charlie could see, that was the only ugliness they’d witnessed on the fifteenth floor. This was a world based on beauty. Ugliness just didn’t seem to fit.
But as they passed the front desk, he remembered how the receptionist’s features had seemed to morph and distort.
It’s just the lighting, he repeated to himself as he entered the elevator. This was a beautiful world and he wanted to be part of it.
Chapter Three
“Hey Charlie.”
Charlie looked over his shoulder as he hung his work smock in his locker to see Innocuous Dave in the break room doorway.
“Eugene wants to see you before you go.”
Charlie fought back an annoyed groan and nodded.
He grabbed his backpack and hoped this chat wouldn’t
be as long as one of Dave’s. He was ready to head home and go through his portfolio to make sure, when the time was right, it was ready to be presented.
He walked to Eugene’s office only to find that Elton was with him. Treading carefully, he moved closer to the door, interested in what Elton would say about Charlie’s work today.
Charlie smiled to himself again as he remembered the older man’s comments. He supposed the mailroom rivaled the HOT! staff for drama.
“He definitely saw things,” Elton said. “A few times I was certain of it.”
Charlie’s smile faded to a frown. Were they talking about him?
“So he can do that job?”
“Yes, I think he can. I think he’s more talented than Sheila was.”
Eugene snorted. “That’s a big statement.”
“I know.”
Charlie listened, still not sure they were talking about him. But who else? And they were mentioning this Sheila again.
“Charlie?” Eugene called, startling him. “Is that you?”
Charlie straightened, but stepped away from his spot just outside of Eugene’s office door.
“Yeah.” Charlie managed to keep his voice casual. “Dave said you wanted to talk to me.”
“Yes, I need you to bring this up to the fifteenth floor before you leave for the day.” Eugene held out a manila envelope.
Back to the fifteenth floor without Elton in tow—Charlie wasn’t going to turn that down. His curiosity about what the two men were discussing, even working on his portfolio, could wait.
“Sure.” Charlie accepted the missive without hesitation.
Oh yeah, he’d love to go back up to the fifteenth floor. Not to mention he might see Ava Wells again. A long shot, but it couldn’t hurt to hope.
He hadn’t been able to get her beautiful face out of his mind. Or the desperation in her eyes. She wouldn’t still be around, he was sure. But going up and looking around couldn’t hurt.
Once on the elevator, Charlie glanced at the envelope. It was handwritten with only the name of the recipient and the office number.
So I Married A Demon Slayer Page 2
