Chapter 3 #2
Nope, nope. Pippa shook the images from her mind before they could fully unfurl.
She was stressed after the conversation with her mother, exhausted from last night, and hadn’t yet had her lunch, which were the only reasons the concepts of “hard riding” and “Maxim Sheppard” in the same sentence made her pulse quicken.
Jules appeared lost in thought. “I mean, I’m not one to speak on male attractiveness, but if you were to see him on the street, you’d have to admit he’s nice to look at. Symmetrical.”
“Not his nose,” Pippa said. It had a bump along the bridge and was tipped slightly to the left.
“Yeah, but it’s kind of rugged. Maybe he broke it saving a puppy.”
Pippa had built a backstory that included a childhood accident of someone defending themselves from his bullying, which she liked a lot better than Jules’s idea.
“What about his resting bitch face?” she said. “You have a positive spin on that?”
“It’s mysterious.” Jules arced her fingers through the air. “He’s like an oyster you gotta crack open to get to the meat.”
“Ew.”
“What? It’s a good metaphor.”
“Because he attaches himself to any large moving objects, sucks out their joy, and smells like dead fish?”
The unamused irritation in Jules’s face could have leveled buildings.
“You’re thinking of barnacles. Anyway.” She flapped her hand, caught a chip on one painted nail, cursed, then flapped it again.
“I’m surprised you’re not trying to get in good with Mr. Oyster.
If he ever makes senior associate and sees you as a, I don’t know, a pal, it’ll open up so many more opportunities for you.
No more assistant. You could move up. Become an attorney yourself. ”
Pippa gave a noncommittal grunt.
“That doesn’t appeal to you? Protecting the unfortunate, defending the helpless?” Jules arched one perfect black brow, then chuckled as she scooted back to her desk. “Wow. It’s almost like you don’t want to keep the city safe or something.”
Pippa forced a laugh.
An incoming email chimed, and Pippa navigated to her inbox.
Burton Case is Missing a Page. Please Remedy.
She wrangled her groan into a heavy sigh.
Her ribs didn’t approve. There wasn’t a missing page; she’d gone over it twice to check before collating it into a pile with everything else he’d asked for.
It would be easier to reply to the email that he was incorrect, but much more satisfying to go the passive-aggressive route and print out another set, this time with numbered pages.
Sorry, trees, she was doing it for petty revenge.
Pippa looked over at Jules when the other woman gave a frustrated grunt and tapped her delete key in a forceful staccato. Jules spun in her chair and, using her high heels as traction assistance once more, scooted over to Pippa.
Jules leaned in. “Okay, so what’s another word for ‘cock’?”
If the day had been perfect, Pippa would have left work on time.
She would have checked the clock hanging above the door to the break room, logged out of her computer, and taken the stairs, because it was only five o’clock and she needed to be at the restaurant at six, so why not get her legs moving?
Jules would drive them over together and they’d laugh about all the genital euphemisms Pippa discovered on her phone.
The Ash Coven had a certain strictness about close interactions between members and the common public; mainly that they didn’t allow it. Once Pippa was accepted (if she was ever accepted), she’d unfortunately need to prune some friendships.
So it would have been nice to have another drive, one more conversation, just a little extra laughter, that she would keep as a memory.
But alas, it was not to be a perfect day.
The clock above the break room read 5:45 by the time Pippa gathered up her belongings to leave. “One more email” had turned into a long rabbit hole of mismanaged documents and PDF viewer updates. By the time she shut down her computer, the rest of the office had already left.
Pippa stabbed the button to close the elevator doors behind her.
The red numbers ticked down. At least the building wasn’t very tall; at least the elevator ride was short.
She eyed the sun as she left the building.
Not for the first time today, she sent a few foul thoughts toward the person who decided to schedule what was essentially a well-catered meeting after work.
Autumn was fast approaching and with each passing day, the darkness grew a little more demanding.
Demons weren’t very considerate of workplace social obligations.
If she left the dinner early, maybe she could have enough time for a hunt or two while still being able to get more than six hours of sleep.
Ah, that was the dream.
She unlocked her car and slid over the hot upholstery, imagining how nice it would be to take off her awful, unsupportive flats, and her restricting pencil skirt, and the cardigan that, no matter the temperature, was either too hot or not warm enough, and collapse into her bed.
Pippa turned her key in the ignition. Turned it again. Pulled the key out, checked she was in the correct car, but, no: this was hers. It had the same scrapes on the dashboard, the same neoprene steering wheel cover, the same musty smell of old fabric and plastic.
Having to fight evil every night didn’t leave much time for a college education, which, of course, most well-paying jobs in New Hawkshead required.
If she had been accepted by the Ash Coven, their wages would be more than enough to buy something nice and functional and maybe even a little bit comfortable.
Pippa swallowed her bitterness and turned the key one more time.
Nothing.
She glanced at her phone. If she didn’t leave in the next five minutes, she would miss the dinner. Which wouldn’t be horrible, really, and everyone would understand the “car troubles” excuse.
The building’s doors opened. Maxim Sheppard walked briskly out of them. He had a satchel slung across his torso and was digging in one of the pockets for his keys.
Of course he was the only other person from the firm still in the building. If she slumped down, maybe he wouldn’t see her..
Maxim glanced in her direction, paused, then headed over to her.
Pippa twisted the key in the ignition several more times just in case.
“Something wrong with your car?” he shouted through her closed window.
“It just has a tricky start sometimes.” Her smile was on the deranged side of overly cheery. “Thanks though!”
Maxim gave the front half of her car the same sort of look someone would give an old apple core. “I don’t think that sounds like a tricky start.”
“Nope! Got it! I’m good!” Pippa reached out to the magic floating about in the hot air.
Magic was on uncertain terms with anything mechanical or electronic, but she was desperate.
Her right hand was on the key and out of sight of Maxim, so she forced energy through the key, then through the starter, along wires and connection points until it reached the engine.
The car started. Pippa sagged into her seat. The only way her day could get worse was to have the universe substitute a laugh-filled drive in Jules’s car with the uncomfortable silence of being trapped in a vehicle with someone who saw her as little more than a paper-fetching peon.
The engine gave a roar so powerful she could feel it along her spine, then it belched, sputtered, and died. A lazy stream of smoke emerged from one corner of the hood.
“I’ll just take the bus,” Pippa said around her heavy despair.
“If you take the bus, you’ll be late. Come on. I’ll drive you.” He started walking to his car as if certain she’d follow.
Pippa took a deep breath and huffed it out through puffed cheeks. The door squealed when she opened it, as if the vehicle objected to being left behind.
“It’s your own damn fault,” she muttered before heading to Maxim’s sleek sedan. Of course it was sleek. Of course it was fancy, and new, and appeared to be the kind of car above which birds wholly avoided perching.
After she got inside, her first thought was that the car smelled like him. A little sharp, a little citrus-y. Woodsy, somehow. But a pleasant scent—nothing like the cloying body sprays or colognes present in the office. It was . . . good. Disarmingly good.
Her second through fifth thoughts all revolved around how clean the car was, and how comfortable, and how it lacked even the slightest trace of human habitation. Pippa glanced around to try and locate a crumpled-up receipt burrowed in some deep recess or an abandoned grocery tote. Nothing.
She sent a sideways glance to the man beside her.
He wasn’t a demon; she knew that for certain.
When he’d first transferred to the firm, she had pushed out with a dash of magic and groped around his aura for anything unnatural, but he was wholly human.
There hadn’t been a single magical speck in his body.
No power, no hidden secrets. Nothing. He did have a warm aura though—comforting somehow, and spicy, like a bowl of hearty soup with a sprinkle of chili pepper.
Which made it that much more jarring when he’d opened his mouth.
Pippa uncrossed and then recrossed her legs. There was too much legroom. She didn’t know what to do with it.
“Nice car,” she said as they merged onto the freeway, if only to fill the car with something beside the barely-audible dulcet tones of news radio. She rested her hands on her purse, too nervous to touch anything lest she leave smears.
Maxim shrugged. This close, she could hear the crinkle of his suit as he did so. “It works.”
His eyebrows drew together and a look eerily similar to discomfort crossed his face. “That’s— That sounded callous. I’m sorry about your car.”
“It’s lived long enough,” Pippa said. “If engines could talk, it would be letting out one shrill, sustained scream.”
A short huff jerked Pippa’s attention to Maxim.