Destined to Reap (Reaping Fate Book 3)

by Kinsley Burke

  Desiree leaned forward. “No, we’re not. This is a hell of a lot more interesting than learning how to communicate for the hundredth time to put the damn toilet seat down.”

  Ooookay, then. So far, Operation Get Desiree Hurst Back On Men had not launched at all. Progress was required. Pronto. I glowered at the woman I’d charged with fixing only one of the many screwups in my life at that moment, except…

  Trust me. Words I kept hearing uttered from Trashae’s mouth. The same seven letters of the alphabet arranged in a particular order that was mucking up my life royally. Demanding that Trashae got Maude’s number two back on track with the Fated Match contract had included Trashae’s choice of this evening’s topic during the negotiations. And while I hadn’t a clue how communication in a relationship was supposed to make Desiree realize what all she was missing in life by excluding men, I trusted and went with it.

  Had trusted. Had been going with it. Except now…

  “Fine, we’ve got a situation.” I shot a glance toward Anna. “A hostile one. Let’s leave it for later.”

  As in: Shut up while speaking in front of the client who can’t see ghosts but is showing way too much unhealthy interest by this change of events. Maude was going to kill me. For someone hired to protect me, Trashae seemed really intent on achieving my demise.

  “You might not have a later,” HG said before turning to face the sullen-looking spirit who still had the Die, Bitch death glare directed at me. “New around here? I know this great dive bar over on Fifth—”

  “Why are you speaking to her?” Miss Prim asked.

  “Why are you not?”

  “You hit on every dead female who walks through the door, don’t you?”

  “No, only the ones with their drawers in a wad.”

  Miss Prim gasped. Then turned red. HG appeared satisfied. I had a headache, despite often having the exact same thought about one prim and proper ghost. Her panties, knickers, drawers in a wad, that was.

  “Well,” Miss Prim said. “She isn’t speaking with you, so you’ll have to flirt with…”

  “Who? You?” HG grinned.

  “She doesn’t speak to anyone.” Lifting my hands, I rubbed at my aching temples and froze. Ahhh… crap.

  Maybe she didn’t hear me… maybe she didn’t—

  “Who isn’t speaking with anyone?” Desiree asked. “Are you talking to a spirit?”

  Shit. The silent pleas into the great beyond weren’t doing me a lick of good tonight. Brain scrambled. Finally, I gave up and went with…

  “There’s a dead woman who’s joined our meeting this evening.”

  Truth. Well, to get factual, two dead women and one dead man. But who’s counting?

  Desiree jumped to her feet with so much enthusiasm, the only explanation I could conjure was that a double cheeseburger with the calorie content of a no-dressing green salad was invented and introduced to the modeling world. The woman’s laser-sharp focus zeroed in on me. “It’s you.”

  Me? Yeah, that would be a no—regardless with whichever direction she was going with this ominous sounding topic starter.

  “Maude Taggart’s a fraud, but you can actually communicate with the dead.”

  Shit. Nothing could be defined as good when the clients came to that realization. Miss Prim needed to step in with the proper ways for concluding meetings because I was done. Finished. Resumes were at home waiting to be written. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Ms. Hurst. Ms. Taggart is the person with psychic abilities, and you really should give her matchmaking services another chance instead of joining this Off Men group.”

  “No.” Desiree’s head shook. “If you want me to keep my contract with Fated Match, then I want you.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t—”

  “You communicate with the dead, and the spirits know all. Have me matched by next week.” Desiree gathered her purse. “I’m sick of the paparazzi selling photos to the tabloids showing me alone. I’m being mocked for not having an active dating life. Do you know how humiliating that is? Either find me a long-term man whose company I enjoy and can keep by my side in public, or I want in on this Off Men movement. Something to spark a singleness revolution and make it trendy for highly publicized women to be seen eating solo on a Saturday night.

  “But Ms. Taggart is—”

  “No, you. Only you.”

  “Sorry,” Trashae mouthed. Now she got the this isn’t the time bit? Or it wasn’t, or… Hell. I’d been wrong. It hadn’t been Miss Prim’s mouth I had needed the packing tape for, but Trashae’s.

  Because sorry did me no good when Maude’s number two marched out of the suite after giving me a damn ultimatum. I slumped into my chair feeling drained and cast a glance in the corner of the room… an area I’d only now realized had gone silent.

  The good news was that Anna no longer clenched her fists as if considering wrapping them tightly around my neck. Nope, while her back remained rigid, she now appeared to be shrinking away from the two unwavering faces flanking either side of her.

  “You ruined tonight’s meeting.” Miss Prim pointed another determined finger. This time at the only male seated inside the room. “Off Men means no men. You’re a man.”

  “Thanks for noticing.”

  “That’s it?” Miss Prim’s arms flung high into the air. “You’re not even sorry you ran off our only member?”

  “You had two members here tonight, and the other one seems perfectly content sitting right here. Don’t blame me for your dismal failure at running off half the guests.”

  Miss Prim gestured to the sullen ghost. “She was not invited. She is not a member of my club, nor a guest. This ghost is trespassing.”

  “She ain’t trespassing if she’s here as my date.” HG turned to Anna. “What do you say? Go get dolled up, and I’ll take you to that place over on Fifth.”

  Anna turned her head upon hearing the words, staring at HG with widened eyes. Before I could determine if her shock was due to the night’s agenda not being what she’d had in mind upon arrival, or the two squabbling ghosts who drove anyone within earshot absolutely nuts, or the unexpected date request, Anna poofed.

  “No wonder you can’t find a woman if that’s how you ask one out,” Miss Prim said to HG.

  “Jealous?” HG winked. “Go change into something a little less prudish. How about I take you?”

  Miss Prim’s mouth gaped before her energy revved to frigid. With a glare that should have frozen HG solid, her focus then turned to me. “I don’t think that ghost likes you.”

  Despite it being HG’s words that had probably sent Anna running, and not mine… Well, yeah, I’d received the message loud and clear. The only question was…

  Why?

  Chapter 13

  The cup of hot brew in front of me, sitting on the table where I was seated, was missing something. A feature that felt as if it should be vitally important to my morning sustenance. If only my caffeine-deprived mind could recall what that something was, I could determine its exact level of significance.

  Oh, well. Taking another sip, I mentally waded through the muddle inside my head to focus on the reason for my pre-dawn clandestine meeting with the world outside my bed. That reason was a book. A particular book… one explaining Celtic mythology, and it was destined to be found. Now if only someone could enlighten the heavy sought-after tome of information to that very fact.

  Since no one apparently had, my day had begun with retracing my steps. Irrelevant was it that I was seated inside Cozy Cup, sipping one of their strongest brews, when the coffee shop had been a pre-book discovery destination. Start from the beginning was a good motto to follow, however, and that Thursday morning had begun inside the coffee shop. Chatting with Hadley.

  Hadley…

  “Rum,” I said, glancing at the employee behind the counter with my hand raised high for attention. Finally, did I recall what the missing something in my coffee was. Who cared if it was too-early o’clock? Life was fast-tracking in the dire
ction of suck, and a little motivational boost was in certain order at that precise moment. “Excuse me, please?”

  Or, rather, would be a certain order… a moment occurring whenever the one and only clerk in the facility finally decided to acknowledge my existence instead of keeping her nose buried in Snapchat on her cell. Or perhaps it was Instagram with scrolling pictures that held her undivided attention? Images of coffee…topped with whipped cream… spiked with… “Uh, hello? Do you guys carry any rum?”

  Eyes flicked up to bore a hole through my forehead. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m asking if you have rum.” Collapsing back into my chair, I nibbled on my lower lip. “Baileys then? I like Baileys…”

  “We don’t have alcohol here,” the young woman said. “This is a coffee shop.”

  “Well, you should,” I muttered. To myself. Intentionally to myself. The tightening of Miss No-Alcohol’s jaw as she shot me one last bothered look before her eyes drifted back down to her cell phone screen informed me that my Lucille Ball stage whisper probably hadn’t been all that quiet.

  Not my fault. Difficult was it to not be overheard when I was only one of two people inside the establishment—the other being the barista herself. The college-aged kids most definitely weren’t the early morning sort of crowd. This joint was probably the only coffee shop in the city where the ghost town vibe switch wasn’t thrown off until half past nine.

  Deserted. Except for me. I sat in half-awake misery and took another drag from my cup. To be fair, the Hadleys of the world would probably make their presence known in the not so distant future. Hadley… who would, no doubt, swing by closer to the eight o’clock hour. Which was still more than an hour away. Except her early classes this semester were on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and today was Monday…

  My half-formulated plans to accidentally bump into my bestie, who didn’t realize she was my bestie, would be going a lot smoother if only I’d gotten the timing right. Wrong freakin’ day.

  “Ryan, you’re late.”

  And then there were three. People standing inside the coffee shop, that was, and someone—who wasn’t me—had apparently understood the importance of a good night’s rest.

  Not that Miss No-Alcohol-Who-Needed-A-Drink appreciated the bodily slumber required for a healthy lifestyle. Her scolding voice admonishing the late-to-work arrival was sharper than my next planned cup of coffee. And there would be a second cup… should the questions be answered regarding the number of cents to resurface from the deep dark corners of my purse for purchase. Questions such as, could my bag cough up enough coins to cover payment? Would the barista go back to glowering if I handed over two hundred and nine pennies? The important questions was all.

  “Back off,” a low voice said. A tall head belonging to a lanky body moved into view. The man had yet to face me, but from head to toe all I saw was black. Irritation flung off him in waves. “You’re not the boss, so piss off.”

  “What’s up with you?” Miss No-Alcohol asked. “You’ve been an ass lately.”

  My eyebrows rose at the riveting exchange because… Uh, hello? Patron was still sitting inside the establishment.

  Maude’s collagen injected face would go into spasms were she to ever walk into the Fated Match lobby and find me having it out with Miss Prim while a client debated about whether to call the psych ward and report a nutcase, or flee the office in terror.

  “What, not talking?” Miss No-Alcohol egged on. “It’s the latest girl, isn’t it? She’s found out about all the other women and got pissy.”

  “What the hell do you know?”

  “You bring every one of your dates to Kaffee Nuevo. Jacob works there.” The barista wadded up a napkin and tossed it at Mr. Grumpy’s head. “Word to the wise, dork. Don’t show up to the same place with a different woman every other week. People talk.”

  “Stay the hell out of…”

  Bells jingled as the entrance door pushed open. The distraction bringing to a halt the heated discussion. Thank God. This conversation was going in the direction of soap opera. Except the cheesy background music, with its crescendo climbing to a dramatic peak, as Mr. Grumpy declared his undying love for each and every woman he’d wooed inside a cheap bistro, was missing in action. Which left a gaping void for the upcoming part where the down-on-his-luck—but well rested— misunderstood hero had to confess to the deadly, incurable disease in which he suffered, preventing him from bestowing his adoration on only one true love. Lotharioism was a serious illness indeed.

  I spit out the lukewarm coffee I’d taken a sip of.

  Not because of Romeo behind the counter, but because of Hadley. My Hadley. My BFF of twenty years had walked through the door. An hour earlier than Hadley-time to be inside a coffee shop, and Hadley always stuck to a schedule. Yet here she stood on her not-early class day wearing a trim black business suit and heels. And she was with a man. A Mr. Tall and Dark that I’d never before met stood beside her as she approached the counter.

  “Good morning, Ryan,” Hadley greeted. “My usual, please. Todd will have the same.”

  Mr. Grumpy turned around to face the counter, and my lungs mimicked an ice cube stuck inside a tray. Not moving no matter how hard I banged the shit out of it. Brain absorbed three things in less than a second. One, Mr. Grumpy had a goofy, relaxed grin that was in sharp contrast to the menacing voice that’d come out of his mouth only seconds before. Two, it was the guy I’d teased Hadley about during our last Thursday morning meet-up inside this very establishment. Three, Ryan was also the same ghost-watching man I’d spotted hitting up a potential twenty-something Irish woman at the charity event Saturday night.

  Well, shit. I’d found my demon. Now, what the hell was I supposed to do about it?

  “Kiara Blake?”

  “Hi, Hadley.” I forced a grin while sneaking a peek at my potentially next Hell-bound mark. I didn’t need a letter from Satan for this one. Ryan stared back. More precisely, he stared at the pendant draped around my neck. The one marking me as a Praedator. Come to think of it, he’d eyed the pendant when I’d last been inside the coffee shop as well. Except that time, I obviously hadn’t caught a troublesome leer in the depths of his eyes because then, I hadn’t thought much about his curiosity to my jewelry selections. But now… I faced Hadley. “Surprise seeing you here.”

  The comment had actually been directed at both, because a full account of the last decade was what I wanted out of Ryan and Hadley—for different reasons, of course. It was only Hadley’s brow that creased into a thin line. “Yes. How are you? I must admit, your phone call the other day was rather… odd. How did you get my number again?”

  Wow. And not in a good way. I was living in a world where I wasn’t even worthy of Hadley’s cell phone number. Wilcox only thought he knew me. Trashae would most certainly be seeing a flaming sword up close and personal. Just as soon as I figured out where she ended up going after I’d last ditched her. Because what Wilcox couldn’t get through his thick, mull-headed skull was that I didn’t want Trashae hanging around me. A bodyguard who did nothing but screw up my life was not following me around all day despite both detectives’ absurd expectations. My foot may not be very big, but when I put it down, I set it hard. Now if everyone else in my life would only take notice.

  “You gave it to me when we bumped into each other at that Italian restaurant,” I said.

  “Asian.”

  “Huh?”

  “It was Asian cuisine, not Italian.”

  “Oh, right.” Loved me some sweet and sour shrimp. “So what are you doing here this early? I didn’t think you had a Monday morning class.”

  Double fudge. The strongest verbal expression I’d ever dared to use around my mother as a child infiltrated my head because… blasted wrong words kept popping out of my mouth, as illustrated by the crossing of Hadley’s arms.

  “Why would you know my school schedule?” she asked.

  “Oh, are you still in school?”

  Hadley’s brow went ba
ck to furrowing. Never a good sign. “I mentioned law school when we caught up last month.”

  “Oh, really? That’s awesome. You must be crazy-busy.”

  “It’s not bad.” She shrugged. “Third year so it’s primarily elective classes and I only need to show up for the finals. I’m trying to nab a clerkship right now, though.”

  What. The. Hell? Where was my sleep-deprived Hadley? The one with her nose buried in textbooks so she could maintain her coveted first-in-class position? Her schedule had been… Well, I didn’t exactly know what her schedule was. Actually, I didn’t know the name of a single course she was taking, only the times for her early mornings. If Hadley wasn’t being run ragged due to a demanding school load, what was she doing?

  “I’m sorry,” I extended my hand out to the man hovering by Hadley’s side. “We haven’t met. I’m Kiara Blake. Hadley and I went to high school together.”

  The man didn’t shake. Rude. Instead, Hadley stepped forward. Her left cheek was slightly sucked in, and I knew she was nibbling on the inside. A tell. Hadley only did that when she lied. “This is my fiancé, Todd.”

  My hand dropped. “Well, so—” not “—nice to meet you, Todd. Funny, but I thought you looked like an Eric.”

  Hadley’s eyes flared. Only for a brief second, but I caught it. I had to wonder if in this reality Eric and Hadley were still dating. Or if Hadley had been the one with the gumption to dump the loser this time around before he could break things off with her. I felt certain there had still been an Eric at some point in her life.

  “It’s been nice seeing you again, Kiara, but we need to leave.” She turned back to the counter. Miss No-Alcohol stood on the other side with nose back to pointing in the direction of her cell phone screen. Hadley picked up the two cups of hot tea from the countertop and glanced around. “Where did Ryan go? I was going to say goodbye.”

  “The asshole said he was sick and then ditched me.” The barista shoved her phone into her pocket in disgust. “This place will be crawling in thirty minutes, and D’lynne won’t be here until nine.”