Chapter Three Charlotte
Chapter Three
Charlotte
“You picked a hell of a day to start.”
I struggle to keep pace, thanks to the cheap heels I’m wearing, as I follow Imani, my new supervisor, through the lavishly decorated high-rise. She’s a fiercely dressed Black woman, who stands nearly a full head taller than me, and she’s wearing a blazer with a sleek, pin-striped romper that complements her model-like figure perfectly. Her outfit, along with her designer heels, likely costs more than my rent, and as the director of public relations for Apollyon Inc., Lucifer’s multinational holding and conglomerate specializing in luxury goods, she’s as intimidating as she is posh.
Striding down the hall ahead of me, she commands her designer Jimmy Choos with the kind of runway-worthy stride I can only dream of.
“You’ll be responsible for some of our smaller online and social media communications, which coordinate with a lot of our affiliate branding.” She glances over her shoulder toward me as I stumble. I glance down at my knockoff heels, my face heating at how uncomfortably underdressed I am.
She shakes her head a little, smiling like I’m amusing—a child playing dress-up in Mommy’s clothes—before her brows lower and her expression turns serious. “And the devil wears Versace. Not Prada. Make a note of it.”
Versace, not Prada , I type into the note app on my phone before pausing.
“Why not Prada?” I lift a brow.
Imani comes to a stop in front of a corner office before she rolls her eyes. “Girl, don’t ask.” She pushes open the glass door and leads me inside.
The office is filled with natural lighting from the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. The Upper East Side, if I’m getting my NYC geography right, considering we’re standing on the sixteenth floor. In the early morning hours, with Central Park in the distance, it’s a generous view. Breathtaking, really. A brand-new iMac embellished with Apollyon’s logo—a serpent, of course—waits on a glass desk. A seriously plush desk chair and a few potted plants complete the room. It’s big, unexpectedly private, and has a view any intern would envy. Must be her office.
“You’ll work here,” Imani says.
I step further inside, gaping a little. “Are you ... are you sure?”
She places a hand on her hip. “You don’t like it?”
“No, no, of course I like it. It’s just ... I’m only an intern, so I expected less. That’s all.”
Imani frowns like I’ve offended her. “Lucifer takes care of his own.”
I nod, understanding quickly.
As the director of public relations, Imani’s solely responsible for Lucifer’s image, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised she’s defensive of him, especially since I’m a newbie. She has a reputation to uphold, and she’s good at her job. Damn good. Only a true PR genius could somehow turn the devil from a fallen angel feared by the masses to an A-list billionaire celebrity in under a decade, and I’ve done enough research to know Imani’s been working for Lucifer from the start.
Ever since he came topside.
“I’m sorry.” I lower my gaze before I peek around the office some more. “I didn’t mean that he wouldn’t. This is just ... all so new to me.”
Imani nods, like she somehow gets it. “Well, you better get used to it real fast, because we have a meeting in”—she checks her watch—“fifteen minutes.”
My eyes widen. “We?”
I’d thought it was generous she offered to give me an office tour, especially since she’s an executive-level hotshot. She no doubt has at least a hundred employees working under her who could have onboarded me, and to be honest, I figured I’d be fetching coffee orders and making copies. Isn’t that what an intern is supposed to do?
I never expected I’d get to work with her directly, and the idea leaves me more than a little starstruck. I’ve seen Imani on the news plenty of times before, speaking at Lucifer’s press conferences in his place. She’s always seemed competent and confident. Beautiful, worldly. The kind of woman I’ve always wished I could be.
“My assistant just went on maternity leave, and I’m not sure she’s coming back.” She waves a hand. “I don’t have time to search for a replacement, but I need someone to fill the role while she’s gone, and your résumé’s as good as any. I’ll put in a request to HR to bump up your salary, of course. You good with that?”
“Yes! Yes, of course.”
She smiles.
From the glint in her eye, she knows I’m getting the better end of this deal. She’s giving me a major career glow-up, but I can’t help but wonder if I deserve her kindness.
Or if I can even do the job well. I’d better make sure to earn every penny.
“It’s just . . .”
I turn away from her then, trying to hide my growing concern as I glance around the office. The sky outside is a bright cerulean blue, and Central Park is full of lush summer trees. Glittering high-rises pepper the Manhattan skyline, and yet with each passing moment, my heart drops a little.
In the window’s reflection, Imani quirks her head.
“Why me?” I ask as I turn to face her. “Why me when you have dozens of other employees who would kill for this opportunity?”
Imani’s smile widens, showing off influencer-white teeth as she shakes her head. From her designer heels to her perfect smile and flawless complexion, she’s pure New York City, and it shows. If Jax were here, she’d be screaming at me to shut my mouth and accept what the universe has given me, but all of this is happening so fast—my move to NYC, the internship, and now what is essentially a huge promotion, and on my first day, no less.
I can’t possibly be this lucky.
Imani shrugs. “I’d rather train someone new to meet my needs than have to break in someone who’s already set in their ways. And my help ain’t free.” She looks me over, sizing up my worth. “You’ll have to work hard to keep up. Be available. Long hours. Weekends.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
She scowls. “Call me ma’am again and you’ll have a one-way ticket back to Podunkville. I’m not old enough for that.” She fluffs the natural curls of her hair a little before her gaze rakes over me. From the grin on her lips, she’s teasing, but I know better than to dismiss even a subtle warning.
Imani’s the boss here, the one calling the shots, and if I expect this to last, I’ll need to work my ass off to impress her at every opportunity.
“Where you from, anyway?” Her gaze flits over me.
I’m wearing my best business casual, a white blouse and navy-blue pencil skirt you could find at any Middle America Target. My cheeks flush pink.
I don’t belong here, and that’s as obvious to her as it is to me.
“Kansas,” I answer. “Topeka.”
She laughs like I’ve just said something hilarious. “Well, child, you ain’t in Kansas anymore.”
“Yes, Imani,” I say, correcting my earlier mistake.
I want to show her I can learn quickly.
She smiles. “Better. We’ll work on it.” She glances at her watch again, then back to me. “I’ll give you a few minutes to settle in, then I’ll be back to get you for the meeting. Be prepared to take notes.” She turns to leave.
She’s almost to the doorway when a nervous thought grips me. “Imani?”
“Hmm?” She turns back to me, one sculpted brow lifted.
“You said I picked a hell of a day to start, but ... I’m not sure what you mean.”
Imani scoffs, shaking her head again. “Lesson number one of working in publicity.” She reaches for a glossy magazine tucked into a hanging mail folder outside the door and tosses it onto my desk. “Read the damn papers.” She grins before taking her leave.
For a long moment, I just stand there, still awestruck. This is an amazing opportunity. One that feels too good to be true. Finally, I inhale a deep breath, fortifying myself a little. I can do this. I’m a hard worker. It’s one of the few good things my upbringing taught me.
I make my way over to my desk, smiling at the idea of any part of this glittering building being my anything. Releasing a happy sigh, I grab the magazine. I didn’t even know people still read physical magazines anymore, and the idea amuses me. But my grin quickly fades as I scan the bold lettering. My stomach drops instantly.
Murder investigation: influencer shot dead when Lucifer attends famed nightclub.
My eyes widen.
What exactly have I gotten myself into?