Chapter 15
Models. We could break into New York Fashion Week.”
Gisele shook her head. “Next Fashion Week is in September.”
With Luke’s influence, Ravenfell had been amenable to setting a meeting date for the following week. But Lucareoth’s bracelet had continued to buzz angrily all Friday night and Saturday morning, until Morgan wanted to grab it off his wrist and throw it into the harbor.
“That’s too late,” said Luke. He kept fiddling with his bracelet, endlessly tense about whether it or the phone would go off next. “What about musicians? The Paganini Deal is legendary on our side.”
For a day or two after Brad had signed, Morgan had felt optimistic. Convincing him to sign had been easier than she’d feared. Surely the second contract would be just around the corner?
She’d been ignoring exactly how few people she actually knew.
“I guess we could try hanging around Juilliard? I feel like I’m a drug dealer out of one of those old public service commercials.
‘Hey kid, how about some damnation? First taste is free.’” She wasn’t actually sure how drug dealers worked.
She was pretty sure she’d be bad at it. But she guessed most of their clients came from word of mouth, not lurking on street corners trying to tempt random people.
“He’s set us up to fail,” Luke said suddenly. He threw his phone, which had just buzzed yet again, against the futon pillow. “This isn’t how this works.”
“Human mythology is full of the Devil tempting people,” Gisele said, cautious in the face of his sudden anger.
“Yeah, mythology,” Luke snapped. “But usually it’s humans reaching out to us. You’re the ones who start it. You just want to blame us for tempting you into what you already intended to do.”
“You’re saying we deserve damnation?” Gisele crossed her arms.
“You’re saying humans deserve credit card debt?”
Morgan regretted complaining to him about that. “It’s not the same thing.”
“From what you said, humans start getting marketing for credit cards when they’re children,” he said defensively. “We’re not the ones making the initial offer. Are you saying that your plane would just turn down the power to keep your lights on?”
Gisele’s mouth was a straight line. “Do you think Morgan got a fair Deal?”
“I—” Sweat broke out on his brow. “I think it’s not fair that she got sucked into my plane when she was just trying to help me.”
“But you think Bel’aliol had the right to demand her soul to send her home.”
He couldn’t lie. He shut his mouth.
“You do! I can’t believe you!” Gisele started to stand.
“No.” Morgan held up a hand. “He’s not wrong.”
“You can’t be serious.”
She’d been thinking about this a lot, though.
“If I’d been transported to Japan, the airline wouldn’t have been obligated to give me a free ride home.
It’s not like we’re any better. If my mother had found Lucareoth that first night, she might have just killed him.
” Life wasn’t fair. Just because she hated it didn’t mean it wasn’t true.
“Bel’aliol used coercive terms to get me to sign that contract, but if there’s anyone to blame for me needing it in the first place, it’s me. ”
Gisele subsided.
“We need greedy people who are already looking for a shortcut,” Morgan said firmly.
Gisele raised her eyebrows. “Well, it’s Saturday night.”
Morgan sighed. “Tech and finance bros?”
Gisele nodded. “Tech and finance bros.”
* * *
“What if I can’t do this?” Luke said as they approached the bar. Reddit had assured her it was popular with the finance crowd; it wasn’t like she usually went fishing for wealthy men.
Morgan cast an envious look at Luke’s finery—the fitted black button-down nearly clung to him, and had appeared in a blink.
Her black bodycon dress kept riding up, the skin around her eye itched from all the concealer hiding the bruise, and her feet were already aching from the heels, which was going to make tomorrow’s shoe-shopping expedition even worse.
“You signed Brad,” she reminded him.
“You lined him up,” he said. “I’m terrible at the close.”
“We’ll do it together,” she said, offering a fist bump. “Teamwork.”
He looked at her fist, confused, then realized she wanted him to bump it. He gave her a wan smile. Then, as his eyes skimmed down her dress, it warmed to something more real.
“You look amazing,” he said.
Her face heated. As did parts of her that she didn’t want to respond to him. “I feel like a fraud.”
“Well, we are trying to fool them,” he pointed out. “But they’d be lucky if you hit on them for real. No one in there deserves you.”
She didn’t know what to say to that.
The bouncer waved them in with a glow of Luke’s eyes, and they slipped inside.
“We can do this,” she said, trying to convince them both.
“We can do this,” he repeated back to her, and squeezed her hand before they separated.
She stepped up to the bar, made of mahogany and polished brass. It probably weighed a ton and cost a mint.
A white man a few years older than her slid in next to her. She willed Luke to let it happen and felt him glide away.
“What’s your poison?” the new guy asked. He had a completely unnecessary Patagonia vest over his button-down and his watch was probably worth a couple months’ rent.
She blanked out for a moment and then forced a smile. “Manhattan.”
“You got it.” He signaled the bartender. “Come here often?”
“First time,” she said. “I work up near Union Square.”
“Tech?” he asked. It could have been one of the many doctors’ offices, or publishing, or heaven forbid, a non-white-collar job. But those things didn’t exist to people like him.
“Tech,” she confirmed. She leaned against the bar as she sipped her Manhattan and tried not to make a face.
She had no idea what was in it, just that it sounded like the kind of thing you’d order at a place like this.
She usually stuck to the cheapest white wine on the menu—but then she didn’t usually come to places like this.
Across the room, Luke laughed at something another guy with a nearly identical vest said.
She hoped he was doing better than she was. “What brings you out tonight?”
“Celebrating,” he said smugly. “Just closed a big M the evidence pressed against her pleasantly.
But bodies weren’t minds. And he was trapped, trapped on her plane, trapped sleeping on her couch, trapped in this glamour hiding from her people’s police.
In all cases, trapped with her desire whether or not it was welcome.
She forced herself to think instead about the roughness of the brick against her back.
And forced herself not to yearn after him when the cops passed out of sight and he pulled away.
He let her keep her dignity, only asking, “What’s the next bar on the list?”
* * *