Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
I wake gradually, drifting up from the warm arms of sleep with the slow, rested feeling of having gotten a full night’s sleep with only delightful dreams. The bird that lives in the tree outside my bedroom window is singing away happily, and I smile drowsily at the sound.
How nice it is to wake up so lazily, with nothing to do and nothing to—
Hold on.
What the fuck?
I open my eyes. I’m in my bed, in my own bedroom, but the window blinds are open, which they shouldn’t be. I always close them before I go to sleep, because the window looks out on a busy-ish road and the thought of people being able to watch me while I sleep is yech.
And I can hear someone moving around in the other room.
With my shifter colleagues, that’s not exactly unusual, but they don’t usually come into my bedroom and open the blinds while I’m sleeping.
Also, why can I not remember coming home and going to bed?
What did I do yesterday?
I had that meeting… that turned out to be a job interview with the lucifer himself. Talk about freaky. Then I went to lunc—
Oh. Yeah, now it’s coming back. Lunch, where I somehow managed to order the one thing on the menu that got me drunk as a skunk.
I skim through the memories, wincing several times.
There goes my reputation as a professional…
and any chance I had of joining the team.
Fuck, did I actually call my formidable ex-fuck Gideon, who barely spoke and clearly didn’t want me there, “cutie”?
And shorten his name to Gid? And tell them all that we would rally to keep David’s “secret”? What the hell is wrong with me?
Although, it is interesting to learn that not all sorcerers can do the same things.
Previously, I’d just assumed it had something to do with level of sorcery strength, rather than actual ability.
Maybe I’d better do some in-depth research—and stop being afraid to ask questions.
Fear of being rude has apparently hobbled me, and that’s not okay.
But before I can get stuck into any of that, I need to find out who’s in my kitchen, send an apology to the lucifer and his team, and then find out if I still have a job. Because if word of what happened gets around, it may be in jeopardy.
On the plus side, whatever the fuck that purple thing was, it worked . I not only don’t have a hangover, I feel generally amazing. That shit needs to be bottled and sold.
I throw back the covers—and shriek.
I’m naked.
Why the fuck am I naked?
Well, okay… I’m not actually naked. I’m still wearing my boxer briefs.
I guess whoever brought me home took my clothes off before putting me to bed.
I just wish I wasn’t wearing the briefs covered in little cartoon devils saying “You know you want to…” They were an impulse buy, an “inside” joke just for me. Nobody was ever meant to see them.
And isn’t that just an indictment of my sex life.
“It’s okay,” I mutter. “This is not that big a deal.” The voices in the other room went briefly silent when I made that manly sound of surprise, but they’re speaking softly again now.
I get up, grab a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt from the clothes chair, and yank them on.
There’s no point glancing in the mirror—I know what I’ll see.
Every day of my life has started with my hair standing straight up.
It doesn’t matter what I do before I go to bed or what position I sleep in—heck, I’ve tried all sorts of products, even.
I’m the only person I know who ever styled their hair to go to bed.
It’s all to no avail. I wake up with my hair standing on end.
Heading out of the bedroom—not going to bother showering and brushing my teeth until after I’ve kicked out the invaders—hey…
speaking of brushing teeth, that drink really is amazing.
My mouth doesn’t taste like three-day-old gym socks, and my breath is pretty decent!
I’ve gotta go back and talk to that chef.
If he hasn’t patented that recipe, I want in on the ground floor.
I make it to the kitchen and freeze. I was expecting to see Alistair and another of my team members. People who regularly waltz in through the door as though the locks don’t exist and help themselves to the contents of my fridge and pantry.
Instead, it’s Andrew and Gideon.
I don’t think I’m ready to deal with them, so I take a slooooow, sneaky step back—
“Do you honestly think we don’t know you’re there?” Andrew demands without turning around. “Vampire and demon, remember?”
Sighing, I change course and drag myself over to sit at the breakfast bar. “Why are you here?” Then what he said clicks. “How did you get in?” Neither of them are shifters.
Andrew holds up my keys. “How do you think we got in? We took these out of your pocket when we dragged you home.”
“Right, but…” why are you still here? I leave it unsaid. Especially since they would have suffered last night—the guest bed is just a double, and they’re both big men.
Then I stop fretting about why they’re here and take in what they’re doing. “Are you reorganizing my kitchen?” I mean… what the fuck?
Gideon pulls his head out of the pantry and glowers at me. “It’s a disgrace. How can anyone live like this?” He goes back to stacking canned goods alphabetically, and I turn my bewildered gaze on Andrew, who shrugs and rolls his eyes.
“It makes him feel better. He’s done it to all our homes. And his system works really well.” He frowns. “What’s with your hair?”
“It’s always this way in the morning,” I mumble. I literally don’t know what else to say. Gideon Bailey, uber-demon, able to intimidate with a single glare, taciturn, grumpy… and super organized? Driven to rearrange other people’s homes?
What am I even supposed to do with that? It does make him seem a little more like the guy I met in the bar, though.
I watch for a few more moments as Gideon orders Andrew to hand him things and the centuries-old vampire does it, and then I mutter, “I’m going to shower,” and head toward the bathroom.
Where I find that Gideon has already worked his magic. “Hey!” I shout. “How am I supposed to find— Never mind.” Because yes, he’s moved everything around, but it’s all now located very conveniently for each task. Not that I’ll tell him that.
I run through my morning bathroom activities in record time, because it occurs to me that now I’m out of bed, Gideon might want to rearrange the bedroom, and there are some things in there I’d rather he not find, thank you very much.
And it’s just as well I hurried, because I emerge from the bathroom to literally run into him as he walks toward the bedroom.
“Whoa!” I grab him in a tackle-hug. Since he’s twice the size of me, it won’t actually stop him if he’s determined, but it’s a physical stop sign of sorts. It also lets me press up against him, and I almost whimper. “Where are you off to?”
He gives me an are-you-stupid look that’s so good, I actually feel a little stupid. “I need to rearrange your closet.”
“You really don’t.” The closet’s safe enough, but if he goes poking around in the nightstand… things could get embarrassing. I forcibly turn him back the way he came and give him a little push to get him started.
He doesn’t move.
And by that, I mean he doesn’t even sway with the pressure of my push. Like, I know demons have more strength than humans, but really.
I shove a little harder.
Still nothing. He looks over his shoulder at me, and is that amusement I see in his eyes? Way down deep, because heaven forbid Gideon Bailey have a non-dour facial expression, but I still see it. The jerk’s laughing at me.
I’ll show him.
I get behind him, brace myself, and shove with all my might. I’m still straining to move him when Andrew’s voice says, “What are you two doing?”
Gideon shifts his weight, my hand slips, and I crash face-first into his back. “Umph.”
“I’m not sure,” Gideon answers. “I was going to rearrange his closet, but he wanted me to stand here instead.”
Fuck my life.
I pull my face away from his spine, glare at his back, and then declare, “Well, it was great meeting you guys. Best of luck finding an administrator. Bye-bye now!”
Silence.
Gideon turns around slowly to stare at me incredulously. “Bye-bye now?”
“What do you mean, best of luck finding a new admin?” Andrew adds. “You’re our new admin. You can’t just quit before you’ve even officially started. Not after we gave you such an amazing welcome party!”
He’s talking about the drunken (on my part) lunch, right? I really hope so. If not, there’s some big gaps in my memory.
From the living room comes the sound of the front door opening, and both my supposed new teammates turn in that direction, suddenly no longer an anal-retentive cupboard organizer and self-proclaimed funny man. Now, they both look scary as fuck.
“Does anyone have a key?” Andrew whispers.
“No,” I whisper back, “but that’s never stopped a shifter before. Or you, apparently.” Taking them unawares, I shove between them and stride up the little hallway into the living room. “Oh, it’s you.”
Alistair is standing in front of the open fridge, staring at the contents.
“What happened here? It’s like one of those Tupperware ads, only without the Tupperware.
Fuck, is the vegetable bin arranged alphabetically?
” He shuts the fridge door and turns, a grim look on his face.
“I’ve heard about this. They got to you, didn’t they?
They’re trying to steal you! I never should have told Elinor how good you are!
” He stomps his foot. “I won’t have it! You’re our human.
They can go find their own.” Crossing his arms, he glares at me. It’s softened somewhat by his pout.
I don’t even know where to start. It seems like he’s come to the right conclusion, but how? And—oh, crap.
“It’s only Alistair,” I call somewhat frantically, in case the two highly trained operatives in my hallway are planning some kind of takedown.