Chapter 6
Harper
Now don’t get me wrong—I liked having my guts turned into a contemporary art piece as much as the next person. But when it’s done by my own unmedicated anxiety rather than a man with as many abs as I have fingers? Hard pass.
My phone lit up in my hands as I stared down at After Hours. More specifically, at the gold message notification that has been left on delivered pretty much the entire day. I had even waited until I got into my car before I had dared to open my phone.
Scentless.
The username stood out, sure. But what stood out more was the silver mass of sculpted muscles that, apparently, people could have beyond the book covers that were still piled in my suitcase in the back of my car.
My fingers hovered over the message bar like they were possessed. Though likening anxiety to possession while staring at a demon’s abs might not be the most correct thing to say, it was true.
My eyes lifted from my screen to look around the mostly abandoned parking lot of my work, save for the nighttime security and a few janitors that were only just starting to leave.
Come on Harper.
A groan slipped past my lips as I looked back down at the message.
It seems we are a match.
Well, fuck.
Say something cute. Something flirty. Normal. Except this wasn’t normal. I shouldn’t be doing this.
You say that like it’s a problem…
The reply hit almost instantly. Like he was just waiting on the other side of the screen with claws poised over the keys.
Not at all. Have you done something like this before?
Straight to the point. No hesitation.
Getting right to it, are we?
I am sorry if this feels rushed. I am… eager. To get off these blockers. And it’s important we respect boundaries. These things can be… intense.
Oh good. Totally fine. Nothing to worry about. Just your run-of-the-mill match with a demon on a dating app that was very likely illegal, meant to manage sex-hormones, talking about boundaries and blockers like we were summoning something ancient with a hard-on.
It’s okay Harper.
You can flirt. You can be sexy.
I get that. Well, I am here to please ;) as long as we both respect each other, I don’t have any boundaries written in stone. You name a time and place. You saw my prices I listed?
Okay, maybe that was too much. Maybe it screamed “just trying to pay my rent” more than “seductive mystery woman.”
The typing bubbles bounced around the screen before a blue message finally popped up.
They are more than agreeable. If you can agree to six sessions, I will pay you the full amount up-front, with an additional for travel costs. It is important that this is done at my home. It would be safer.
Six sessions?
That much money could get a half decent apartment. Maybe finally fix my brakes. Hell, I could take a trip. Paris. Spain. Italy. Anywhere with flaky pastries, no reception, and all the most beautiful smells I could make perfumes of.
Still—and not to look a gift horse in the mouth—I had to be safe about this.
What if you are some sort of serial killer?
Is that something you are into or something you are worried about?
And I laughed—like, actual out-loud laughed—in my car like a crazy person. It felt good. Terrifying. But good. I couldn’t remember the last time Chad made me laugh. Or tried to.
Well, I mean, I think I would like to get through the night with a pulse if you don’t mind.
I think I can manage that.
Okay. Deep breath.
So, Mr. Possibly a Serial Killer, when did you have in mind?
Tonight.
Oh god… tonight.
I twisted the rear-view mirror towards myself. Well, the makeup wasn’t much, but at least my eyes weren’t puffy anymore.
“You got this, Harper,” I whispered. “Be a man-eater. Be a femme fatale like in those spy movies. Be—at the very least—hydrated.”
Send me the address. I’ll head over now.
So, this was what old money looked like.
The driveway alone was longer than my last apartment lease. I wound my way up; past towering trees and neat hedges trimmed into copy-paste squares.
And then I saw it.
Not a house.
A fucking fortress.
Black stone, sharp peaks like a Gothic castle ripped out of Time Piece Magazine, and a heavy arched doorway that looked like it needed a battering ram to open.
I parked in the circle drive, already feeling like I was committing a crime just breathing here.
This was happening.
This was real.
And I was either about to have the best night of my life…or get turned into a cautionary tale.
I wrapped my hands around the steering wheel hard enough for my knuckles to turn white, releasing a steadying breath.
Easing my grip, I opened the door, stepping out onto the cobblestone driveway. Step after step, I walked up to the door.
“Now or never,” I mumbled as I wrap my hand around the gold ring that was held in the golden lion’s head doorknocker.
I gave it three steady slams against the wood, the sound echoing through his front yard.
My phone pinged.
Glancing down, I looked at the message.
Come in. My staff are gone for the night. There’s a seating area straight ahead. Wait there.
Alright, so maybe I would be a cautionary tale.
I twisted the knob, pushing the door open with a loud creaking sound.
As I walked in past a winding staircase, my heels clicking on his marble floors, my jaw dropped. The inside of this castle made the outside look like a warm-up act. Tall ceilings. Dark forest greens and gold that whispered old magic and even older secrets.
“Okay then,” I said under my breath.
Walking down the hall, I couldn’t help but stare at all the golden-framed portraits that decorated the walls.
Women with large horns and a range of silver skin shaking hands with prime ministers, congressmen, and even a few celebrities I’ve had crushes on over the years. The deeper I went, the more intimate the photos became—family shots, sports trophies, baby demons with glittery horn ribbons.
I stopped in place as my eyes widened.
“Oh… oh no. Oh no, no, no,” my voice came out panicked. As I started for the door, steps began to descend the stairs.
My heart suddenly decided it was running a marathon as it pounded in my chest while my feet were frozen in place.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whispered.
I spun around fast, feet already moving, when footsteps echoed from the stairs in front of me.
This cannot be real.
I turned around frantically, looking for a quick escape from the impeding nightmare, settling on making a beeline for the nearest door and slamming it shut behind me.
The sound of my heart was so loud I almost worried he might hear it.
And when a knock came from the other side of the door, my stomach dropped about a thousand feet.
“Is everything okay?” His voice sounded from the other side, soft—concerned. Nothing like I was used to hearing.
Ambrose.
My fucking boss.
The man who didn’t even crack a smile when people tried to flirt with him. Who enforced office policy like it was divine scripture.
“I am so fired,” I whispered, searching the room for any window, or hell, I would even have taken a creepy trap door. But nothing. Not a single thing. Just an empty room with a piano. Great.
Okay, think Harper.
If I left, I probably wouldn’t have a job come Monday morning. If I stayed… well, I’d probably also be out of a job.
My hands quickly searched my pockets, fishing out my phone as I opened the app.
Conditions.
I have conditions.
A blindfold. And I won’t speak. I want to keep my privacy.
A moment passed.
Then the soft chime of a phone echoed from the hallway.
One second.
Then another.
As you wish, Flower.