Chapter Four Charlotte
Chapter Four
Charlotte
Imani returns ten minutes later, finding me mostly as she left me. Only, now I’m up to speed and prepared to tackle what we’re facing. I can see why today of all days would be like jumping into the company shark tank with both feet. Even in a rag mag, a headline like that will go viral and no doubt create a media shitstorm, one that’s unlikely to blow over anytime soon. Not without some serious reframing. Thankfully, with all the accusations constantly surrounding my father’s congregation, I’ve gotten rather good at that.
Burying.
Maybe I’m not so unqualified for this, after all.
Imani summons me with the curl of one manicured finger.
I snatch an iPad and the stylus I found inside the desk and hurry after her. As we stride down the hall, someone’s desk phone rings nearby, and I hear the rhythmic whirr of a copy machine.
“Do we ... have to help the cops figure out who did it?” I ask as I struggle to keep up with her.
I’m breathing hard. This woman walks faster in heels than I can jog in sneakers.
Imani doesn’t look at me. “Girl, who do you think you are, Nancy Drew?”
I shake my head, but she stops abruptly, her dark eyes turning as sharp as a hawk’s. “You did sign the NDA agreement already, didn’t you?”
I nod. No way could I forget that.
It was absolute hell getting through a document of that length. Let alone buying enough ink for my cheap at-home printer. Typical NDAs are only a few pages long, but Apollyon Inc.’s was a nearly one-hundred-page monster I would have needed a never-ending supply of espresso and a law degree to fully comprehend.
I might have skimmed it a little.
“Good.” She turns away, and we’re walking again. “Then you might as well know that Lust did it. Lucifer wasn’t involved, of course.”
I force an exaggerated smile in agreement. Of course.
“Lust?” I lift a brow.
“You know, Az. Azmodeus? Lucifer’s brother. Try to keep up.”
An elevator dings, and someone’s fingers tap across their keyboard.
When I don’t respond, Imani stops again, causing me to nearly crash into her. “You do know who Az is, don’t you?”
I sputter, uncertain what to say without making myself look naive. “I ... knew the other Originals existed, but I guess I didn’t realize they were all his siblings?”
I smile apologetically.
Imani looks at me as if I’ve grown a second head, one that’s not nearly as flattering as the first. “Did you live under a rock out in Kansas, or something?”
I shrug, eyes downcast. “Something like that.”
She shakes her head like she can’t believe me before waving a dismissive hand like she doesn’t have time for this little education session. Considering the PR nightmare waiting for us, I know she doesn’t. Creating a narrative is one thing. Controlling a narrative that’s spinning like a tornado is another. It’s one of the few things growing up in the shadow of my father’s pulpit taught me. Refocus. Reframe. Redirect.
Until the truth becomes muddy.
“By tomorrow I expect you to have memorized all of NYC’s major power players, A-list celebrities, and billionaires, particularly the ones who have any relationship to Lucifer.”
“Yes, Imani.”
“Good.” She brushes herself off. “Now try not to gape at him or, God forbid, say anything while we’re in there.”
“You mean, he’s actually going to be in the meeting?”
Imani sighs, rubbing her index finger and thumb over her temple like I’ve already put her at her wit’s end before she’s even had her coffee. “Don’t tell me you thought you’d come work for the devil and never have to be in the same room as him. I don’t tolerate that kind of nonsense.”
I shut my mouth, stopping myself just short of admitting I had thought exactly that. When she says it that way, it does sound ridiculous, but I expected to be an intern, not the temporary assistant to the director of public relations for company headquarters.
She places her hand on the handle, pausing just outside the boardroom door. Glancing down at me, her eyes soften for a moment, like for the first time she’s seeing exactly how young and green I am. “Look, at the company-sponsored parties, he’s the one who smokes like a chimney. You can’t miss him.”
“He smokes? Like regular cigarettes?”
It’s a surprisingly human habit for a man who, for all his faults, is a fallen angel.
“I’ve told him he should quit. It’s better for the image. No one in luxury smokes these days.” She shrugs dismissively. “He says it reminds him of the brimstone in Hell.”
I blink. “I ... guess even the devil gets homesick?”
At that, Imani laughs like what I’ve said is hilariously funny before she pushes open the door, leading me into the meeting.
The conference room looks like every executive-level boardroom in every megachurch I’ve ever been in. Neutral colors, modern fixtures, electrical outlets for technical equipment, and a rectangular wooden conference table with plush leather executive seats and employees in professional business attire. Their company-branded leather portfolios line the table, and the smell of coffee and lemon-scented cleaning supplies hangs in the air.
I try not to let my eyes wander as I follow Imani to two open chairs midway down the table. A pair of steaming disposable coffee cups from the Starbucks down the street wait for us, but my gaze stays glued to Imani’s back. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s following directions, doing exactly as I’ve been told.
My father worked hard to cultivate that particular skill in me. Much to my own detriment.
Silently, I start to take my seat against the wall with the other interns, but Imani soon waves me to the big table. As I take the seat beside her, the fine hairs on my arms prickle into an array of goose bumps that’s all too familiar. I don’t need to look up to know Lucifer’s here. To feel him. The awareness hits me like some long-lost instinct.
But the sensation isn’t new to me. It’s familiar and not in a good way.
Slowly, my gaze creeps upward, just enough to sneak a peek, part of me knowing and fearing what I’ll find there.
The man from the club. The one whose sinful lips haunt my dreams.
I stiffen, my pulse racing.
Casting my eyes low, I try not to look at him, just as Imani told me.
Though calling him a man isn’t exactly a fair description. True, he looks like a man, without a doubt, but “man” implies something normal, something mortal and human, and while Lucifer may look like a man, he’s no doubt something other.
I feel that otherness combing over me.
Touching. Caressing.
Like he can see right through me.
I keep my eyes down, letting the strands of my hair fall forward a little in hopes of covering my face. It’s a pathetic attempt to make sure he doesn’t notice me, though I doubt he’d remember me, even if he did. Why would he? I look worlds different from how I was dressed the other night, and the hallway he caught me in was ridiculously dark, blessedly so—the only light that either of us could see by was the passing neon of the club’s strobes and the ethereal orange glow of that damned cigarette. Our interaction was nothing special, meaningless, really.
And yet . . .
I wasn’t exactly wrong about him. My first impression held true. He is a danger to me, and I have no doubt that it’s more than his mouth that’s sinned. Except now that I know he’s my boss, the full danger he poses is even clearer.
Lucifer owns me.
My gaze drifts up, and I steal another glance, my palms sweating before I force myself to sip my coffee and prepare my iPad to take notes. The coffee is so hot it nearly scalds me, but I don’t dare show my discomfort or glance up again, even though I’m tempted to. He’s just as droolworthy as I expected he’d be, even more so than I realized when we were alone in the dark, with dark hair and even darker eyes that cut through me.
He’s stunning.
It seems like an odd thing to think about the devil, that he’s beautiful, but it’s not really, at least not when you consider it biblically. Lucifer once stood at God’s side, his most cherished angel, and there’s a freaking reason he tempted Eve. I’m all too familiar with the story. Only now, he represents everything I’ve ever been tempted by.
Everything that’s forbidden to me.
Or was . Until recently.
I’m not sure why that thought makes my pulse race even harder as I grip my company stylus. We only shared a handful of words, but those words left an impression on me. He left an impression on me. One I haven’t been able to escape since.
Someone clears their throat, cuing the meeting to start, and I open my note app. I keep my head down, though my heart is still racing. Even here in a room full of people, it feels as if his dark laugh is still chasing me, though he hasn’t so much as glanced in my direction.
Quiet falls over the boardroom as the smart lights lower. Lucifer sits at the head of the table, one long leg propped over the other, as a person to his right, who going by their gender-nonconforming look might be nonbinary, activates the soundbar’s voice recognition and fires up the interactive smartboard.
A video clip waits.
I instantly recognize the man on the screen from the magazine Imani gave me. Unlike Lucifer, his face is all over the internet and on every television screen these days. Azmodeus “Az” Apollyon. Prince of Ruin. Lust himself, if you follow his frequent sexual exploits in the media—which Jax and every other normal twentysomething certainly does—and, according to Imani, the Original responsible for this morning’s gruesome headline.
Lucifer’s brother.
A chill claws through me.
The employee to Lucifer’s right taps their tablet, and the clip starts to play. The sound of the paparazzi shouting Azmodeus’s name from where he walks on the red carpet fills the room.
“Az! Az! Azmodeus! Az!”
Their shouts war with one another until someone manages to shove a mini-microphone into his face. “Care to comment on the events at your brother’s club last night? On Lucifer’s unexpected appearance there?”
Azmodeus’s gaze rakes over the reporter, feeding the cameras exactly what they’re craving, the raw lust that he’s so aptly named for, and even knowing what I do now, I might be pregnant just from looking. He’s stunningly beautiful, so much so he’s almost painful to look at.
A fairer-haired version of the dark king that sits on his throne before me.
Even in the morning light of the boardroom, the shadows seem to bend toward Lucifer. Eagerly.
“A tragedy, really.” Az smiles a devious, playful grin. “Too bad Lucifer isn’t more of a lover than a fighter.”
For the cameras, he plays the comment as lighthearted teasing, but to anyone who knows the truth, it’s anything but.
He’s just deftly laid the blame at Lucifer’s feet.
Without further comment, Az steps away from the microphone, continuing down the carpet with some gorgeous woman on his arm as the paparazzi shout his name again. Someone pauses the clip, and the boardroom’s fluorescent lights brighten.
The smooth voice that follows chills me. Its deep velvet-and-sin cadence that had me hot in a few words the other night is now mixed with a cold, cutting rage. Lucifer doesn’t raise his voice, but the effect it has on the room is all the same.
“Does anyone want to tell me why the fuck my brother was interviewed before me?”
I feel myself stiffen as every gaze turns toward Imani. I shrink in my chair a little, but somehow, she manages to look calm, poised even. I can’t say the same as I fight the urge to squirm.
“We’ve been through this, Lucifer,” she says. “It takes time to set up a press room with no cameras in it. It’s the digital age. You want the first interview? Show your face. More than some hazy paparazzi-snagged profile. Until then ...” She shrugs, as if she said what she said, and she’s daring Lucifer to contradict her.
From the unsurprised looks in the room, I get the feeling it’s not all bravado. She’s earned Lucifer’s respect, enough of it to speak to him that way.
If I thought Imani was impressive before, I didn’t give her nearly enough credit. It takes more than a little bravery to be the woman who reins the devil in.
How the hell am I her assistant? Temporary or otherwise.
“And as I’ve made clear time and time again, Imani ...” He tents his fingers together, his elbows propped on the arms of his chair, and even when seated he appears tall, towering over most of the employees at the table. “I enjoy my anonymity too much to give it away.”
The moment the words leave his lips, I have to stop myself from scoffing a bit.
Do you, really?
What would the devil know about being a nobody?
I think the words silently, but still Lucifer’s gaze snaps toward me.
As if somehow, he managed to hear me.
Did I say that out loud? Or ... oh my god ... Maybe he really can see all the dark thoughts inside our heads.
Just like the papers say.
The idea causes me to blush instantly, my face burning with heat.
“You,” he says, those dark eyes piercing me, and I jump a little. “What do you think?”
Now every person in the room is watching me almost as intently as he is.
My eyes grow wide. “I ... I don’t know,” I manage to choke out. “I’m just an intern.” My response is barely more than a whisper, though I’ve likely already gotten myself fired on my first day.
Just my luck.
I can feel Imani’s gaze drilling holes in the side of my head as if to scream that if I know what’s good for me, I’ll shut up and shut up now. But if I really did know what was good for me, I wouldn’t be sitting here in the first place, and in truth, I find it way too freaking hard to control myself while I’m pinned beneath Lucifer’s gaze like a butterfly on a display board.
Something in him brings out the ... wickedness in me.
Imani leans forward, clearly prepared to save me. “I’m sorry, Lucifer. She’s my new assistant. She’s filling in for Rebekah, and—”
He lifts a hand, silencing her as he continues to stare at me. “No, by all means,” he says, speaking directly to me. “Enlighten us.”
He smiles then, the sharp tips of his canines showing, and even that normally pleasant expression appears dangerous, violent even.
My pulse races, and I try hard not to swallow, but the lump that’s formed inside my throat makes it nearly impossible to speak. If my hands weren’t thoroughly planted in my lap, I’m pretty certain they’d be shaking, but I didn’t come this far to back down at the first sign of a challenge, and I’ve already drawn Lucifer’s attention.
What’s one risk more?
“Well ... do you ... do you really enjoy anonymity?” I ask, daring to lift my gaze toward him. “I mean, you’re you . It’s not like you can be all that anonymous. The paparazzi stalk you constantly. Your side-profile alone gets nearly as much media attention as your sibling’s faces, so you don’t truly know what it’s like to be a nobody. Not really. And if your brother being interviewed first pisses you off, then is that dubious anonymity honestly worth the effort?”
I mean for it to appeal to his pride, his desire for attention, but the moment the words leave my lips, I realize it’s done the exact opposite.
I’ve pointed out a flaw in his system. A weakness. In my very first meeting.
God help me.
He tilts his head to the side, examining me curiously. His dark gaze spears through me, causing my breath to hitch and reminding me of every desire that’s ever plagued me, all the ways that I’ve sinned. As if his singular talent isn’t simply being the worst among us, it’s bringing out the worst in us, in me.
“I guess I’m just saying a little self-reflection goes a long way, that’s all.” I glance down at my iPad again.
The room is still for a long beat. Painfully still.
Finally, Lucifer moves, one hand falling from where it lingered near his lips, before he breaks into a deliberately slow clap. The blatant humiliation is so embarrassing that I can’t help but wince.
My face turns crimson.
“Well done, Imani,” he says viciously. “Where exactly did you find this one?”
“Like I said, she’s filling in for Rebekah. It’s temporary.” Imani casts a frustrated glance toward me. If I still have a job, I’ll be paying for my honesty in spades later.
Fuck. My. Life.
Lucifer cocks his head to the side, still watching me. “Make it permanent.”
My stomach drops.
A few murmurs break throughout the room.
Imani sputters, which I’m fairly certain is a first for her. “I’m sorry. What?”
His gaze swings toward her then. “If she has the balls to speak to me that way on her first day, maybe someday she’ll be nearly as useful as you.”
I know I shouldn’t look at him, that I should keep my eyes glued to the table, but somehow, I can’t seem to stop myself from staring.
Even as I read the words for the major insult that they are.
I am nothing. A no one. Barely useful.
And Lucifer has the power to make or break me.
He doesn’t need to think twice about my bratty behavior, no matter how he coerced it from me, because to him, I’m not even worthy of the brief attention he’s gifted me.
Not yet, anyway.
He makes a point to stare directly at me, those dark eyes never leaving me as he speaks. “Malachi, do whatever you can to be cooperative with the police. We want to show them we’re being particularly transparent throughout their investigation. So transparent we’ll parade them through the office if we must. And Imani, draft up a press plan to deal with this hellscape, along with a strategy presentation for your little suggestion that I debut to the press, and make sure your new assistant takes the lead.” He finally glances toward Imani, and suddenly I can breathe again. “We’ll see if she warrants the attention she’s so desperately seeking.”
I can’t help it as another embarrassed flush flames through my face, but it’s not his humiliation that stills me. It’s the words he chooses, coupled with the way he looks at me, that dangerous grin twisting into a devilish smirk. That single look stops my breath short, sending the memory of that dark velvet voice in the club echoing through me.
Will you find what you’re seeking?
Temptation grips me.
I shake my head a little, watching as he rises from his seat, causing everyone else in the room to stand and begin to leave. It’s only once Lucifer is well and truly gone, and Imani summons me, that I realize I’m the only one still sitting, and worse, he’s just confirmed my greatest fear. He did recognize me, right from the very start, and the next thought that occurs to me is the most dangerous of all.
Perhaps that’s not as terrifying as it should be.