So I Married A Demon Slayer

by Love, Kathy; Fox, Angie; George, Lexi

  Carrie Hall, Room 1520.

  Charlie knew exactly who Carrie Hall was. The head of HOT!’s art department and his second choice to sneak his portfolio to. After Finola, of course.

  But then again, after meeting—okay, seeing the great Finola White today—maybe he should go with Ms. Hall. She hadn’t been in her office earlier when he’d dropped off her mail, but there was no way she could be any more intimidating than Ms. White.

  He looked down at the envelope again. He wondered who had sent it, and why via the mailroom. He didn’t know for sure, but he imagined that all intercompany correspondence was handled by secretaries and assistants.

  The elevator shuddered to a stop, and he stepped back into the amazing splendor of HOT! A different receptionist sat at the lobby desk. She was not as gorgeous as the first, more a pretty girl-next-door type, and unlike the daytime receptionist, she acknowledged him.

  “Sorry, we are closed for the day.”

  Charlie glanced down at himself, realizing he no longer wore his awful, royal blue, mailroom smock. Nor did he have his ID.

  Crap.

  So instead he held up the manila envelope. “I’m from the mailroom. I’m supposed to deliver this to Carrie Hall.”

  The receptionist frowned, and for a moment, she was clearly unsure what to do. Maybe she was new. He watched her as she debated, squinting slightly as the same kind of hazy, yellow aura appeared around her as he’d seen around Finola’s assistant. He narrowed his eyes more; it had to be some strange effect of the lighting in the lobby areas. It was the only thing that made sense.

  Then Elton’s voice echoed in his head. He definitely saw things.

  Had he been talking about this strange optical hallucination? But how would Elton even know what he’d seen? Charlie hadn’t mentioned anything. He hadn’t even commented on the lighting.

  Just then, the phone rang, startling both him and the new receptionist.

  After a few moments and several “yeses” and “of courses,” she hung up the phone.

  “That was Ms. Hall. She is expecting you. Please go on back.” The receptionist tilted her head toward the door.

  Charlie didn’t hesitate, figuring he’d better take the entrance while it was offered. But as he stepped through the frosted glass double doors, he wondered how Ms. Hall had known he was there.

  Then he chuckled to himself. She’d obviously known he was on his way up because either she’d requested the materials in the envelope or Eugene had contacted her to tell her Charlie was coming.

  Yeah, time to cool it with the crazy suspicions. He was reading way too much into everything, making even the simplest happenings seem somehow a weird conspiracy. Too much time down in the underworld of the mailroom, obviously.

  He made his way through the red hallways to Ms. Hall’s office and knocked.

  “Come in.”

  Charlie carefully turned the doorknob and poked his head inside the office. Ms. Hall leaned over a light table, peering through a magnifying loupe at several sheets of negatives spread out in front of her.

  “Ms. Hall, I’m here with an envelope for you.”

  She stood immediately, the loupe forgotten in her hand. Instead of reaching for the envelope, or showing any interest in it whatsoever, she studied him from behind a pair of stylish dark-rimmed glasses.

  In fact, she regarded him for such a long time, he actually shifted from one foot to the other, feeling like a misbehaving schoolboy called to the principal’s office. Of course, how he’d misbehaved was a mystery to him. He was again reminded of the conversation he’d overheard between Eugene and Elton.

  Finally, Carrie offered him a slight smile, as if somehow he’d passed the same criteria for approval that he had with Eugene.

  “Thanks, Charlie,” she said, accepting the eight-by-ten manila envelope. “It is Charlie, right?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded, her thick auburn curls bouncing around her pixyish face. Intelligence crackled in her eyes and Charlie got the feeling not much slipped past her. Which was why, of course, she was the art director. Attention to detail.

  Charlie nodded his good-bye, then headed back through the desks and cubicles toward the main lobby. Many employees were still working even though it was well past the time he’d normally leave for the day. But of course the people up here worked to meet deadlines, not to punch a time clock. And the magazine had to be ready and perfect, no matter how long the hours.

  An employee carrying several bolts of fabric samples staggered past him. Dark purplish circles stood out under the man’s eyes, and his complexion was sallow, as if he hadn’t seen the sun or felt fresh air in weeks. And again Charlie got the impression of a yellow halo around him, but he ignored it.

  Maybe he should look into getting his eyes checked.

  Just then a tall, lithe figure with a mane of rich mahogany hair appeared in his peripheral vision, as if to prove to him that his eyesight was just fine. The person turned a corner to disappear down an adjoining hallway.

  Ava. There was no missing her lovely form and graceful walk.

  Charlie didn’t even consider whether he should follow or not; he simply moved in that direction as if she was the moon, mysterious and beautiful, drawing him to her like an ocean tide.

  As he turned the corner, he was surprised to find a set of utilitarian gray doors that looked almost startlingly stark and colorless when compared to the flash of the rest of the office.

  Would she really go down here?

  He placed a hand on one of the doors, trepidation giving him pause. Not because he didn’t feel that he should be following Ava, which would be a sane reason, but because he felt almost as if when he went through those doors he would see something forbidden.

  Shaking his head, he laughed slightly. When had he become so cloak and dagger himself? What could he possibly discover beyond these unmarked, gray doors? A stunningly gorgeous supermodel?

  Save me now.

  He pushed open one metal door and stepped into a hallway. He glanced behind him as the door clicked shut, the sound echoing down the glaringly white hallway with its harsh, fluorescent lighting.

  This was the janitorial section of the office, he realized as he walked farther into the austere corridor. More gray doors dotted the walls, some with signs revealing a trash room or janitor’s closet. Others were unmarked.

  What on earth would Ava Wells be doing back here?

  For a moment, Charlie even questioned whether she had really come down here. The hallway was empty. Silent. Where would she have gone?

  He glanced over his shoulder, debating leaving. But instead he wandered farther down the hallway, realizing a freight elevator was at the very end. Maybe she’d taken the elevator for some reason. But whatever her reason, she was gone now.

  He turned around, heading back to the offices, when he heard a noise. A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper. He paused. The hallway had fallen silent again. So silent he wondered if he’d just imagined the odd noise. He waited a moment longer, then decided he must have.

  Great, first his eyesight. Now his hearing.

  He took one step, and heard the noise again. This time closer. He looked around, realizing whatever the strange noise was, it was emanating from the gray door marked with a sign, George Ramirez, head janitor.

  Charlie moved over to the door, leaning forward to listen. Inside, he heard something that sounded almost like . . . crinkling plastic? Then that desperate whimpering moan.

  Without further thought, he grabbed the knob and shoved the door open. He gaped as he discovered exactly where Ava Wells was.

  She sat on the bare concrete floor, her already short skirt hiked even higher to reveal more of her beautiful, supple thighs. Scattered all around her was the evidence of her pleasure, and on her fingers were smears of something white and creamy.

  Neither spoke; they just stared at each other.

  Chapter Four

  Ava stared at the man standing inside the doo
rway, his hand still on the knob, his hazel eyes wide with . . . well, it had to be disgust, right?

  She looked down at her sprawled, unladylike pose, the sticky white cream on her fingers. What else could he think?

  She straightened up, tugging at her tiny Marc Jacobs skirt with her clean hand, wishing the silk had more give. As she moved, wrappers fell to the floor around her, the clear cellophane splotched with more thick cream.

  Oh God. Her cheeks burned with shame. What she’d been doing was revolting, mortifying, wicked in the most hedonistic way. This man had to be appalled.

  She looked up from the evidence of vice, expecting him to make a face of utter aversion and leave her there, sitting amid her sticky mess and mortification.

  But instead his eyes flicked from her flushed face to the hand coated in her guilty pleasure.

  He surprised her further by stepping fully into the room, and releasing the knob. The door slammed closed behind him.

  He regarded her a moment longer, then came over to crouch next to her. His gaze left her to focus on the box next to her left knee.

  “May I?” he asked, his voice, rich and deep, not quite matching his boyish good looks.

  She nodded, unable to speak. She still couldn’t believe she’d been caught, caught right in the middle of the act. And instead of leaving in disgust, he was going to join her.

  He reached into the box, pulling out one of her favorite indulgences. The plastic crackled under his touch as he opened the package.

  She watched in dazed confusion as he remained sitting on his heels and took a bite.

  “Devil Dogs are my favorite too,” he said after swallowing the bite of snack cake. He smiled with obvious enjoyment, the curve of his mouth lopsided, appealing like an adorably naughty boy sneaking a forbidden treat.

  Sneaking a forbidden treat. That was what she’d been doing, but she was pretty sure she didn’t look adorable. She looked . . . well, pathetic.

  She glanced down at the last bite of cake held forgotten in her hand. She stared at the chocolate and cream for a moment, trying to think of something to say. This wasn’t how she wanted this cute guy, with the kind eyes to see her, hiding in a janitor’s closet scarfing down snack cakes. The stereotype of a binge-eating supermodel.

  Of course she wasn’t really a supermodel. But she certainly couldn’t tell him that.

  “Pretty tough day, huh?”

  Ava met his gaze, surprised at his comment. How did he know? She studied him for a moment, realizing she’d seen him before. He’d been outside Finola’s office today. He’d seen the fight.

  Her cheeks flushed hotter.

  “Yes,” she managed.

  He nodded, his hazel eyes sympathetic. She stared at those eyes, light brown flecked with deep green. She was surprised as she felt tingles of awareness skip through her body.

  “Can I help?” he asked. She really did like his voice; it was deep and rich and nice, like strong coffee sweetened with dark chocolate. Smooth, sweet.

  Her gaze roamed his face, realizing he was more than cute, really quite handsome. Oh, how she wished he could help. But she simply shook her head.

  He studied her for a moment, then to her surprise, reached forward and ran his thumb along her lower lip. She remained still under his brief touch, even though her body rioted with sensations she didn’t understand.

  “Cream-filling,” he said, and she blinked, trying to understand what he was talking about. Then he held up his hand and she saw a smudge of frosting on his thumb. To her utter amazement, he lifted the pad of his thumb to his mouth and sucked the confection off.

  Her belly—and lower—constricted at the sight and she found herself squeezing her thighs together to alleviate the sensation. It didn’t work.

  The man popped the remainder of his own Devil Dog into his mouth, then licked his fingers again when he was done, heightening the unfamiliar tightness in her belly and between her thighs.

  “Well, you can’t stay here,” he said. “The floor is cold and hard. It’s going to ruin your skirt.”

  Ava couldn’t care less about her skirt, but he was right. She couldn’t hide in the janitorial wing indefinitely. She couldn’t hide at all.

  She found she admired the length of his legs, and the hint of powerful muscles in his thighs as he rose. Then she realized he was holding out his hand, offering to help her up.

  She hesitated, then slipped her hand into his, immediately aware of his strong, slightly work-roughened palm and long, tapered fingers curling around hers.

  He pulled her up, then dropped his hold to bend over and clean up her mess. Seven empty wrappers. He had to be thinking something about that. But when he straightened, she couldn’t distinguish any judgment on his attractive features.

  He wadded up the mess and tossed it into a gray trash can in the corner of the office. He placed the almost empty box of Devil Dogs on the janitor’s metal desk.

  “Thank you,” she said, offering him a tentative, self-conscious smile.

  He smiled back and again she was intrigued by how charming his lopsided grin was.

  He opened the door for her, and waited as she peeked out, not seeming surprised by her surreptitious behavior. She supposed he knew binge-eating snack cakes wasn’t an acceptable activity for a model. And she hoped he understood she couldn’t be caught, especially by Finola White herself. She also hoped he wouldn’t mention this to anyone else. She’d been in the gossip rags for much less. But overeating would particularly enrage Finola. That was not how her boss wanted her top model labeled.

  Finola owned her, and there would be a huge price to pay for defying her. Far beyond just being replaced as the face of HOT! magazine. Beyond being fired outright. She would gladly accept either or both punishments. In fact, she would happily go back to the days when she’d been simple Addy Wellmeyer, but that wasn’t going to happen. That girl was long gone—signed away, along with her immortal soul.

  She stepped out into the hallway, which was blessedly empty, not that she expected anyone of importance to be in this area.

  So who was this man? And why had he come down here? Maybe he was of importance. He had been waiting outside Finola’s office today.

  She peeked at him, taking in his clothing. A simple white button down and black pants. Basic black oxfords, scuffed, not very dressy. He looked like a waiter, but that didn’t make any sense here.

  She had a feeling he did work here though. In fact, she was sure of that, but where?

  She studied his handsome face, a friendly face, a sincere face. From her experience, that wasn’t the norm in this environment.

  For a moment, her chest tightened with apprehension. It was impossible to know whom to trust here. What if he was one of them? What if he was in the hallway spying for Finola? One of her lackeys.

  “Why don’t we take the freight elevator?” he said, startling her when she realized he’d caught her looking at him.

  He gestured to the metal elevator doors at the end of the hallway.

  She considered him for a second, then nodded. She had no idea why, but she trusted this man. Maybe it was the kindness in his hazel eyes. Maybe that kindness was a ruse, but right now, she needed to believe there was still someone in the world, at least in her world, who was exactly what he seemed.

  She followed him, trying not to look at him again. The door finally dinged and slid open. Again like a total gentleman, he waited for her to enter.

  Neither spoke as he hit one of the buttons, and the elevator started downward. For a brief moment, Ava realized she had no idea where this elevator went or where she was going. But before she could be too concerned, the door opened into another back hallway.

  “Uh, I wonder where we are.”

  Ava looked at him, then around. “I—I don’t know.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll find out.” He pointed to an unmarked door on their left. He strode over and pushed it open, just a bit, looking out. Then he glanced back at her, a smile making his face go from
handsome to beautiful.

  “We can go out this way.”

  She nodded, again finding it strange how readily she just accepted whatever he said. He pushed open the door, and Ava stepped into a large workroom with different stations set up here and there.

  “Welcome to my glamorous world.”

  This time as she looked at him, recognition hit. She remembered now. He had been standing with a mail cart. He’d been delivering mail when Finola had been yelling at her.

  She glanced around, curious. The place was relatively quiet now, only a few mailroom employees milling around, none of whom hid their surprise as she followed—she supposed she should have asked her conspirator’s name—through the large work area.

  “I just have to get some things from my locker. Then I will walk you out.”

  She nodded, leaning against the wall outside the little employees’ break room. As she waited, a few more people watched her, some trying to be subtle with their curiosity, others a little more blatant. Ava shifted, feeling awkward.

  “Okay, all set.”

  Ava knew her relief was clear on her face as she turned to her “new friend.” He smiled, something almost sympathetic in his eyes as if he saw and understood her discomfort.

  He gestured for her to head down another hallway. He fell into step beside her. She noticed, from the corner of her eye, that he’d donned a lightweight jacket and had a backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked like an average guy leaving work. A normal guy. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest and an almost crippling longing made it hard for her to breathe.

  “Here we are,” he said, the heavy metal door scraping loudly as he shoved it open. Cool evening air greeted her, and she pulled in a deep breath, trying to push away these strange feelings pulling at her.

  She knew it was false freedom, but she loved the moments when she stepped out of the HOT! building. She could pretend she was just normal. Well, sometimes.

  Normal like him.

  “Do you need me to hail you a cab or anything?”

  She shook her head.

  He waited for a moment, as if he expected her to say something, then he nodded. “Okay. Well, be careful.”