Chapter 13: A Deal With The Devil: Chapter 13

During the one year I was with Matt after he got really famous, there was a specific role I was supposed to play at events—the sexy-yet-sweet girlfriend. I was subtly informed that any sign of my brain or personality would be considered a turn-off to the general public. I went along with it, trying to be supportive. It was only after our relationship ended that I admitted how deeply I’d resented it, how sexist I found it and how much it hurt that Matt never objected on my behalf.

If bonfires were legal on the beach, I’d probably have burned the entire hot, dumb girlfriend wardrobe from those events by now. Instead, I’ve shoved it all to the back of my closet, buried like a shameful secret…until today. I can’t keep cycling through the same four outfits every week.

I throw all the clothes on the bed, desperate to wear something different, and choose a cream-colored dress, crafted of a stretchy fabric that skims my figure without clinging to it, hinting at curves I normally keep hidden. It’s sexier than I’d like, but beggars can’t be choosers.

I tell myself, as I wait for Hayes to come downstairs, that I don’t care what he thinks. But anticipation whispers over my skin as I hear him approach, and he doesn’t fail me. It only lasts a second, but I see it: the way he comes to a momentary stop in the middle of the kitchen, his gaze predatory before he blinks it away.

I like it far more than I should.

He picks up the small, clear pill I’ve placed beside his coffee, and he holds it to the light, frowning. “You realize if you successfully poison me, you no longer get paid, yes?”

“There are things in this world more satisfying than money,” I reply. “It’s Vitamin D.”

He eyes it with suspicion a bit longer, then swallows it. “What did you do this weekend?”

I turn from the Vitamix to him. “This feels like a trick. Was I supposed to have done something for you and forgot?”

His mouth curves. His eyes are the color of autumn leaves in sunlight. “Is it that astonishing when I ask a friendly question?”

My answer is to stay silent and continue staring at him. Because yes, yes it is.

“And your reluctance to answer leads me to believe it was something illegal or controversial,” he continues. “If you have a sex webcam, I’d like to be made aware of it posthaste.” His tone is entirely too casual for someone who practically asked to see me naked.

“No, I do not have a webcam. I was, uh, working on something.”

Something I do not want to discuss with him. Saying you’re writing a book is like saying you want to be a rock star. You can plainly see the other person’s desire to pat you on the head and tell you not to quit your day job. I turn on the blender, grateful the noise prevents meaningful conversation.

“It’s worse than a webcam?” he asks the moment I turn off the blender. I should have known he wouldn’t let it go. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone winds up getting fisted on Pornhub eventually.”

“Everyone? Your dating history may have skewed your ideas of normal sexual behavior.”

“Ah,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “God, it’s even worse, isn’t it? Was it sex with a family member?”

I give up, at last, because Hayes clearly doesn’t intend to—though I’m not sure how much lower he can drag this conversation. “It’s a book,” I reply. My face feels too warm. “I’m writing a book.”

I set the smoothie in front of him, but he barely notices. He’s too fascinated by my humiliating admission. “If it’s a tell-all about a devastatingly handsome doctor, let me remind you of the NDA you signed. Although if he’s bringing all your sexual urges to the surface, I’d still like to read it.”

If he were anyone else, I’d almost think he was flirting with me. I fight the urge to encourage him, though my ego could do with a little stroking. “Any tell-all about you would focus on why I decided to quit men altogether.”

“My Life as a Lesbian by Natalia Bell. I’d definitely read that one.” He flashes me his filthiest smile. It’s absolutely pathetic how that smile works on me, worming its way through my blood, replicating in every cell like a virus. I want to forget every principle I hold and start undressing when he looks at me that way. He tilts his head. “I’m not sure why you’re acting like writing a book is a mortal sin, however.”

I begin shoving fruit back into the freezer with unnecessary force. “Because I signed a contract and spent the advance, and now I can’t seem to finish it. And I’m not good at anything else, so I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t pull this off.”

“I’m sure you’re good at plenty of other things. Consider the webcam, for instance. You’d be your own boss, at least.”

I snicker, grateful he hasn’t asked the obvious question—how could you have been so irresponsible? “I’ll take it under advisement.”

I cross the kitchen to the printer. The clipclipclip of my heels is all business, signaling a close to the conversation.

“Tell me about your book,” he says, as I reach for his schedule, and my shoulders sag. Yep, by the end of the morning he’s going to know every unfortunate fact about me. Shall I go ahead and tell him now about the time I wet my pants in kindergarten, or wait for him to ask?

“No.” I turn, leaning against the printer cabinet, my arms folded across my chest. “Because you’ll laugh, and then I’ll be forced to poison you. Which I’m more than happy to do, but as I have both unlimited opportunity and motive, I’ll be the first person the cops look at.”

He gives me his most winning smile. Dimples popping and white teeth gleaming. “Lots of people want me dead. You’d be third or fourth on any list of suspects, I promise.”

I look down at my necklaces, nervously wrapping one chain around my index finger. “It’s a fantasy,” I tell him, imagining the looks I’d get revealing this to my peers in grad school. A whole room full of twitching mouths and sidelong glances. “This young couple enters a fae kingdom, and the queen decides Ewan, the boy, is the answer to this prophecy and traps him in the castle, so the girl, Aisling, has to save him.”

He isn’t laughing yet. Maybe he’s holding it until the end, like applause, but, you know…bad. “Through the power of her blossoming sexuality?”

I laugh and a little of my tension eases away. “No. It’s not that kind of book. She saves him by learning enough magic to take on the queen.”

“Which she pays for on her back?”

“Again,” I say with an exasperated laugh, “not that kind of book.” I glance at the clock—he should have left five minutes ago but he’s acting as if he has nowhere to be.

“No offense, but that sounds extremely dull,” he replies. “A good sex scene is essential to any meaningful work of fiction.”

“Ah, yes. I remember the blow job in Pride and Prejudice. Very tastefully done.”

Suddenly something seems to shift in him. His gaze lands on my mouth for one long moment, his stare so intense that my body reacts as if his hands are on me—nipples tightening, a shiver grazing my skin.

“Fuck, but I didn’t expect to hear you use that word at eight in the morning,” he says. His voice is hoarse. I wonder if that’s the tone he’d use in bed, braced above me and that’s all it takes to leave me weak-legged. To make me feel as if he could have me on my back with a single word. It’s something I never felt once, in all my years with Matt, and it terrifies me. I carry the Vitamix to the sink, wondering what the hell is happening here.

I’m relieved he’s gone by the time I’m done.

That night, when I get home, I decide to write about Julian. I already finished the revisions Sam suggested over the weekend—Ewan’s personality change will be the result of some kind of dark magic, and the hole will be related to a mysterious prophecy—but this is the part that actually excites me.

I’d meant for Julian to be uniformly evil—the embodiment of sin. But what if he was more nuanced than that? What if his flirtatious, mildly belligerent relationship with Aisling changed him? Perhaps he even catches Aisling and Ewan escaping at the end, and instead of stopping them, he helps her through the wall himself.

It feels as if I’m turning this into another story entirely, one in which Ewan matters less, and Julian matters more. I’m not sure why that feels so dangerous, but it hardly matters.

The change thrills me, and makes me remember what I’ve always loved about writing in the first place…it’s these moments of sheer delight, when a story starts to come together in ways that are better and more exciting than anything you ever anticipated.

I just never would have imagined a character like Julian would make it happen.