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Dorinda and the Demon
A Nether-Netherland Story
When Dorinda Lockhart sprinted up the walkway to the rental home she'd converted into her mayoral campaign headquarters, several things tilted off-kilter all at once.
The first, and most obvious, was her hair.
No matter how tight a ponytail she started with each morning, halfway through her two-mile jog, more recalcitrant curls slipped out of the elastic band than stayed in place. She could never seem to keep a hairstyle on-kilter for more than a few hours.
On-kilter? Was that even a word? Dorinda yanked the band out of her hair with one hand and twisted the doorknob with the other. Unlike bad hair, opening the rental door was a strange occurrence.
Not that she was one of those annoying helpless women who couldn't do things for herself. In fact, Dorinda's whole platform hinged on equality-equality for the sexes, equality for the races, equality for everyone-which meant she was willing to open her own doors.
Her campaign manager, however, was one of those always-sweating people who insisted on open doors, open windows, and a brisk breeze through the office. Even in a Midwestern October.
Ramón also was the sort of guy to arrive early, start a pot of coffee, and then wander off, leaving the carafe to boil on the burner.
Not today.
Dorinda shouldered open the worn, squeaky door, and was not greeted with the smoky scent of long forgotten coffee. The living room-turned-lobby was stuffy and dark. In fact, the only light present spilled out into the hallway from one of the bedrooms she'd converted into an office for her staff.
"Ramón?" Dorinda called down the hall, flipping on light switches as she headed toward the kitchen.
She thrust the coffeepot into the sink and turned on the faucet as footsteps and murmuring voices grew closer. She had the pot on the burner and the paper in the filter before her Fundraising Department head Tina Ricci strode around the corner with a jangle of chunky bracelets and clicking ankle boots.
"Oh," Tina said, flipping a strand of dark hair from her eyes. "It is you."
"Yes," Dorinda agreed, toggling the power button before putting away the coffee. "It's me. Where's Ramón?"
"Well, that's the thing." Tina stepped to one side as Kennedy Rothschild, the Communications Department head, swept through the doorway.
"Ramón's not here," Kennedy said with a disgruntled moue. "He's in jail."
Dorinda froze, her fingers clutched around an empty coffee mug. "What?"
"Drunk driving. Drove a bus into a library." Tina turned to Kennedy. "Or was it an RV?"
His dark eyes squinted. "I think bus."
Tina nodded. "Definitely bus."
"What?" Dorinda said again, wishing for some of that fresh air. "When? How?"
"Last night." Kennedy checked his Blackberry. "Around midnight."
Dorinda shook her head, staggering against the counter. The one time she left her Blackberry charger in the office... "This is Elkhart. We don't even have buses that run at midnight."
Tina shook her head. "Not here. Tijuana."
"Tijuana." Kennedy shuddered, his lower lip pouting slightly. He gestured toward Dorinda. "Sorry to start your day with such horrible news. Is the coffee ready? You look like you could use some caffeine."
Dorinda set her empty cup on the cracked Formica. "I could use a new campaign manager. Preferably one without a drinking problem. Where's Ramón's folder? What are we doing for damage control?"
"He was arrested in Tijuana," Tina pointed out. "No highlights on the morning news-yet. We could call the station and ask… but you'd better do your interview first."
"Interview?" Dorinda glanced around the kitchen. Maybe she did need that coffee. "What interview?"
Tina rolled her dark brown eyes. "For your new campaign manager."
"Ramón's gone," Kennedy put in helpfully, straightening his powder blue using the reflection on the microwave. "He's behind bars in Tijuana. Silver lining is that you get a new campaign manager. You need better numbers fast if you plan to win this thing."
Dorinda turned, placed both shaking hands on the countertop, and tried to think. When that proved impossible, she poured a cup of coffee, held the warm mug to her lips, inhaled the calming aroma, and tried not to think.
That didn't work, either.
She sipped at the hot liquid, scalded her top lip, yelped, and put the mug back on the counter.
"Not to sound cranky," she said finally, "but where would I find a replacement campaign manager at seven a.m. on a Monday morning?"
"That's easy." Kennedy opened the refrigerator and pulled out a yogurt smoothie. "In the back office with Isabel."
Tina nodded. "She's entering his data into the system."
"Not anymore," came Isabel's voice from down the hallway. "Gabe's all squared away and ready for his interview."
"He's hot," Tina mouthed at Dorinda.
"Super foxy hot," Kennedy added under his breath. He winked.
Before Dorinda could remind them that hotness was never a factor in equal opportunity employment, Isabel Fuentes ambled into the kitchen, a few steps in front of the timely managerial candidate. Dorinda swallowed.
They were right. He was hot.
Long brown lashes curled above intense, hooded eyes. The irises were a startlingly clear light blue, with a darker band around the perimeter. He met her gaze without blinking. Dorinda pushed away from the counter.
He looked good. He looked charming. He looked professional.
Unlike her ex-campaign manager Ramón, the blue-eyed man before her wasn't clad in Dockers and sneakers. In fact, the fine lines of his suit gave him a dashing, James Bond edge. And his shiny black leather shoes might've been purchased that morning, they looked so new.
Expensive black dress slacks encased long, muscular legs. Maybe he was one of those guys who spent more time at the gym than anywhere else. Maybe he was a runner, just like she was. Or maybe she should stop staring at his legs, hypothesizing about the origin of those strong, taut muscles.
His neatly pressed suit jacket covered his flat stomach and long arms and broad shoulders. Not a hint of his chest was exposed. Not that she wanted his chest to be exposed. She was perfectly happy not to have any clue whether his chest was athlete-bare or covered with a mass of springy hair. Maybe even dark blond, like the thick waves atop his head… Dorinda gulped and forced the image from her mind.
Above the tie and collar, his skin was smooth and tanned, his chin strong, his jaw line freshly shaven. His cheekbones were angled just enough to be almost pretty, but his heated gaze broadcast pure, sensual danger. And the edges of his eyes were… crinkling? Not that she was complaining, but why were those delectable lips curling into a slow, sexy smile?
Good Lord, could it be because she was staring?
"Um, hi," she stammered belatedly, thrusting out a hand. "I'm Dorinda."
"Enchanted," he murmured, his voice a low, deep bass. "I'm Gabe."
And then his skin touched hers.
Dorinda's fingers tightened convulsively around his hand as though she were dangling from a precipice, hanging on for dear life.
His palm was warm. Dry. Smooth. She wasn't sure when or why he'd stepped closer, but he had, and now his body heat invaded her pores and his masculine scent flambéed her blood.
No way in hell could she hire this man as campaign manager.
Besides the fact that his scorching gaze curled her toes for the first time in forever, he-he-well, why couldn't that be a good enough reason to say no thanks? She needed to win the election, not get sidetracked sleeping with the staff.
Not that she was any sort of wanton, considering her entire sexual history consisted of her short-lived marriage followed by the battery operated boyfriend under her bed. But she had to stay focused. On something other than the sun-streaked highlights glinting in his hair and the spicy tang of his aftershave.
This guy personified temptation.
Dorinda had enough problems fighting off the unwanted advances of the myriad men who cozied up to female candidates. She'd even had to beat back Ramón on his first day, when he'd thought window-opening and coffee-burning earned him a desktop wiggle with the boss. If there'd been any job seeking campaign managers floating around northern Indiana, she'd've traded up long ago. To someone without sex on the brain. Who didn't put thoughts of sex in her brain.
She forced a smile. Usually it was easy to stay aloof. Responsible. Professional.
For one, no man had tripped her trigger in the two years since her husband's death. At first she'd retaliated on the inequality of the "man's world" by hiring as many talented women as she could find. Not that lesbians couldn't make passes too, but if any worked for Dorinda, they'd managed to keep their hands to themselves. And that was the important thing. Well, one of the important things.
But being fair was the most important thing. Which was why she had to make hiring decisions based on merit alone. After all, wasn't her whole platform "equality for all"? No discrimination based on race, color, ethnicity, religion, language, gender, or sexiness?
This man, this Gabe-Gabe-cripes, she didn't even know his last name. What she did know, however, was that he exuded one hundred percent masculinity. Potent masculinity. Dangerous masculinity. The kind where he didn't have to come on to ladies because they tossed themselves in his lap with alarming regularity.
Dorinda had never been a lap-tosser herself, and didn't want to start now.
Some other female mayoral candidate might back away slowly. Show him to the door. Hire someone ugly.
Except she wasn't like that. Couldn't be like that.
She nibbled her lower lip and peeked at him through trembling lashes. Good Lord, he was hot. As long as she kept her runaway libido to herself, perhaps they could have a respectable, mutually beneficial, professional relationship.
"So," Kennedy said from his position by the refrigerator. "I guess we get to keep him?"
"Yeah," Tina put in, not bothering to hide her knowing smile. "Were you going to interview him first?"
Dorinda's horrified gaze lighted on her fingers, which were still clutching Gabe's palm to hers in a humiliating, hormone-induced death grip.
She jerked her hand free and ran her now-damp palm down the side of her jogging pants. Jogging pants? She was still wearing jogging pants? Couldn't they have let her change into her power suit before unleashing Mr. Irresistible on her?
"Right," Dorinda said, hoping everyone would chalk up the quiver in her voice to lack of caffeine. "Give me fifteen minutes."
Leaving her lonely coffee cup on the counter behind her, Dorinda smiled at Gabe, scowled at her other three employees, and dashed for her office.
Fifteen minutes was enough time for mascara and a cold shower, right?
###
"She's ready to see you now," said the tall dark-haired man named Kennedy. His clean-shaven face creased into an apologetic smile. "Sorry about the wait."
Gabe followed him out of the kitchen. "No bother."
Of course it wasn't a bother. He glanced at the wall clock. Forty-five minutes wasn't a long wait when you got hourly compensation. He'd've waited for Dorinda until Hell froze over. He grinned at the thought. The Hades Soul Management building was never cold. Not with the demon contractors' Local Union 669 in charge. They kept the facility at a nice, toasty 95° F.
Kennedy ushered Gabe through an open doorway and then scampered down the hall.
The eyeshadowed, suited woman seated behind the big maple desk looked nothing like the fresh faced girl from earlier. She'd traded the curve-displaying jogging ensemble for a burgundy polyester monstrosity with shoulder pads. The sexy mop of chestnut curls had been shellacked into a ridiculous schoolmarm bun. And she wasn't really reading the sheaf of papers clutched in her hand-she was faking.
Gabe knew she was faking because the Soul-O-Meter in his right front pocket vibrated against his thigh.
"Oh," she said, glancing up as if she'd just caught sight of him. The cold, round meter gave another quick shiver. "I appreciate you coming in today. As it happens, your application couldn't have been better timed." The orb remained quiet as she stood and rounded her desk, arm outstretched. "Let's start again. I'm Dorinda Lockhart."
He took her hand in his and pretended he couldn't feel the small tremor in her fingers.
"Gabriel Nash," he murmured. Probably the last true words he'd speak all morning. Thank goodness no Soul-O-Meter tuned into his frequency-the damn thing would probably never shut off. "I'm sorry you lost a valuable employee." Another lie. He'd been assigned to this project last night, and the sudden vacancy spurred him to get a head start.
She smiled, disengaged her hand, and leaned against the edge of her desk. If she'd still been wearing those thin cotton jogging pants, he'd've been able to see the line of her thigh, the curve of her ass. In that shapeless, knee-length skirt, however, all he could see was merlot-colored polyester. A shame.
"So tell me," she said, her chin tilting up as if she were quite aware of what a crime it was to stuff a figure like hers into such unflattering clothing. "Why do you want to work for me?"
Well, because as soon as he finished this particular assignment, he'd be promoted to a more powerful position and get to control a few demonic lackeys of his own. But that probably wasn't what she wanted to hear.
"Who wouldn't want to work for you?" he asked instead. "You're sincere, you're a good person, and you fight for important environmental causes. You're well-known for both your honesty and your passion for equality."
She straightened the stack of papers next to her hip. "I have to admit, your résumé is impressive." The edge of her tongue peeked from below her teeth just long enough to wet her lower lip before disappearing back inside her mouth. "If I hired you today, what would be the first thing you'd recommend I do?"
After seeing that tongue? Plenty.
Gabe rolled back his shoulders and reminded himself to stay on task. "The first step would be to craft a press release concerning your previous manager's unfortunate accident, being clear he's no longer part of your campaign. The next would be another press release regarding his replacement. You don't want your supporters to think the campaign has been derailed." His fingers curled around the circular Soul-O-Meter. "We might also consider a press conference with the local news media, which would serve both purposes as well as provide you with a little more face time for the viewing public."
Dorinda nodded throughout his speech, long black lashes blinking slowly over wide brown eyes. No matter what she did to uglify herself, those eyes gave her away. Dark. Pretty. Expressive.
"Not to be aggressive," he added when she didn't respond, "but with the election three weeks away, you need a campaign manager and the position is clearly vacant. You could hire me now, and change your mind later if a more-qualified applicant should appear."
Of course, he'd make dead certain none ever would.
She slid a doubtful glance toward the printouts on her desk. "From the looks of your employment history, I can't imagine coming across a better choice. I'm amazed you're here and not in a big city helping someone become president." Her brow creased. "What brings you to a mid-size Indiana town like Elkhart?"
Rather than launch into a bunch of demon contract legalese, Gabe just said, "I hear Elkhart's great. One of the top 50 most livable cities. Isn't this the band instrument capital of the world? Home to the Recreational Vehicle and Manufactured Housing Hall of Fame?"
"Yeah," she said slowly. "'City with a heart' and all that. But I can't imagine you came here just to be closer to the town where saxophones get gold plating."
True. He was here to make sure Ethan Caldwell won the mayorship, as contractually agreed. But now wasn't the time to mention conflicts of interest. He couldn't force her to hire him-her soul was still too pure to allow demon magic to work.
"Let me ask you something," Gabe said. "Why are you here?"
Her eyebrows arched. "Well, because I live here. I've always lived here. Sure, some people call it Hellkart and complain that it's tough to get out, but I never want to leave. We're ninety miles from Chicago and home to Michiana University, making us part big city, part college town-a great mix with great people. Elkhartians are friendly, fun-loving, hard-working… What's not to love? This place is fabulous. I just want to keep it that way."
"Exactly," he said, nodding as though he'd been about to say the same things. "You're passionate about ensuring this city stays great. That's why you're running for mayor. I want to help you win. That's why I'm applying for campaign manager."
She took a deep breath and dipped her head in a sharp nod. "Okay. Welcome aboard."
He smiled. Excellent. He'd been worried she'd say no for a second there, and then what would he have done? Burn the place down?
"Come this way, please." She crossed to the doorway. "I'd like to give you a more formal introduction to the staff."
Dorinda pivoted away, giving him an eyeful of square suit jacket, thick pantyhose, and clunky flats.
Gabe shook his head. What he wouldn't give to have the jogging pants and little tank top back. Too bad demon magic didn't work on clean souls. He'd conjure her into something transparent and lacy. Or into nothing at all.
Wonder what the buttoned-up politician would think of the clothing-optional Hades Recreational Center food court, where naked succubae and incubi socialized with the demon contractors over cigarettes and strawberry banana smoothies?
Dorinda peeked in one of the open hallway doors. "Gang, may I interrupt you for a second?" Some positive signal must've been given on the other side, because her fingers bent in a come-here motion before she slipped through the doorway.
The sunny, multi-window room smelled like clean laundry. Likely due to the small white candle burning on Kennedy's desk, next to his laptop and colored paperclip collection.
"You met Kennedy in the kitchen," Dorinda said. "He's the Communications Department head, which means he handles public relations and advertising. You'll be working with him on those press releases you mentioned. And I do agree that the press conference is a good idea."
Kennedy wiggled his fingers and grinned.
"Isabel Fuentes is the Technology Department head. She handles the phone system, web site, emails, blog, all that good stuff. She was just telling me about viral marketing opportunities. If you have any ideas about that, please don't hesitate to discuss them with her."
Isabel's CDRom-laden desk staggered against the far wall. For some reason, more computer towers huddled under the desk than monitors gathered on top. All of them were blinking or whirring or otherwise appearing important. Gabe didn't know much about technology and was perfectly happy to leave viral marketing in Isabel's capable hands. Unless, of course, it could somehow be used to derail Dorinda's campaign…
He smiled at Isabel, who didn't bother looking up from the various screens long enough to smile back. No problem. He'd chat with her later.
No sense waiting around for the ability to use demon magic if earthbound technology could expedite matters. He was here to ensure Ethan Caldwell won the race, by fair means or foul. Okay, mostly by foul means. Nobody ever said demons played fair.
Gabe returned his focus to Dorinda.
"Tina Ricci," she was saying, "is the Fundraising Department head. Her ingenuity and salesmanship keeps this boat afloat. If you need money to pay for campaign expenses, or if you have suggestions for future fundraising plans, please come directly to Tina."
He didn't want to come directly to Tina. He wanted to come directly to Dorinda. Too bad that wasn't in the cards, at least until after she lost the election. He needed to focus. And intimate interaction with human targets was expressly forbidden in about eight different places in the Demon Contractor Handbook.
Dorinda stared at him from the corner of her eye. "That's everyone." She nibbled that plump lower lip and gazed at him from under dark lashes. "Can you think of anything else you might need?"
Gabe smiled. Why, yes. Yes, he could.
But it'd be hands-off until he'd completed the mission. No matter how attractive he might find a human, he couldn't risk losing his job for indulging in an inter-dimensional fling.
Besides, with oversize shoulder pads like those, how hard could she be to resist?
###
As she stood on the front steps of the Elkhart County courthouse waiting for her press conference, Dorinda stared at the people swarming over the lawn and wished for some comfort food. Graham cracker crust. Four inches of creamy cheesecake filling. Chunky, sweet raspberry topping. She'd rather pack on the pounds than explain why she'd had to change campaign managers.
Not because she had stage fright. She'd headed her high school debate team and later argued for the fair treatment of migrant workers in front of a judge. Plus, it was hard to drum up a good case of stage fright if nobody bothered to come to her press conference.
Counting Gabe, Kennedy, and the media crew, the male portion of the crowd weighed in at less than a dozen people. And a disheartening proportion was in strollers. The other thirty or so onlookers were women of varying ages.
Granted, her equality platform had a healthy dose of feminism sprinkled throughout. But without votes from both genders, she'd never win the election.
The skin on the back of her neck tingled as Gabe's body heat inched a little closer. His clear blue eyes scanned the sparse audience one last time before making contact with Dorinda's resigned gaze.
"How long have you been campaigning?" he asked softly, while Tina and Kennedy fumbled with the cordless microphone.
"Two years," she mumbled, and turned her face from his so she wouldn't see a no wonder you're not winning expression in his eyes. And she couldn't blame her lackluster support on her ex-campaign manager Ramón.
She should've run for interim mayor when her husband died.
Everyone loved Hank. He'd been a great mayor. And she could be a great mayor, too. Except for the years she'd spent pursuing her law degree, she'd lived in this community her entire life. She loved everything about Elkhart.
But while she'd been mourning her husband, that moron Ethan Caldwell had gained the mayorship, going from frat bar playboy to elected official in a period of months.
He'd had one hell of a campaign. Railroad bypasses. Lower taxes. More vacation days for all. Of course, he hadn't followed through on his promises. Seeing how little he'd regarded the trust and intelligence of the population made Dorinda more determined to win than ever.
The people of Elkhart deserved a mayor who put their needs first.
With any luck, her new campaign manager would be just the thing she needed to prove to the smarmy incumbent it wasn't a man's world after all.
"Don't worry about the men," Gabe murmured, as if reading her mind. "It's late afternoon. Plenty of folks are working. The whole point is to get this taped, so the news can highlight clips all evening. Smile. Here comes Kennedy with the mic. He'll do the canned speech, and then we can answer any questions."
She nodded. Best to get the party started.
"Good evening, Elkhart." Kennedy's alto voice echoed calm and clear from the speakers. "As you may have heart, Ramón Ramirez is no longer part of our team. Despite this unfortunate occurrence, we're excited to welcome a new addition to our staff. Please meet Gabriel Nash, who will be taking Mr. Rodriguez's place as Campaign Manager."
Gabe inclined his head and smiled.
The women in the audience clutched their stroller handles with white-knuckled desperation, gaping at him as if heavenly angels accompanied his appearance.
Dorinda forced herself not to roll her eyes. No question, Gabe was a lot more fun to look at than Ramón had been, but the voters were supposed to be focusing on her. The mayoral candidate. Uh, hello?
Kennedy nodded to Gabe. "We welcome Mr. Nash to our community. And now, I'll turn the microphone over to Dorinda Lockhart, the future mayor of Elkhart. Don't forget to catch her tomorrow morning on the Good Morning Elkhart show."
Once the smooth metal touched her palm, Dorinda's posture straightened even further and her public speaking persona took over.
"I'll take questions in a moment," she began, making eye contact with both the audience members and the television cameras. "But first I'd like to remind everyone that drinking and driving is both dangerous and-"
"Mr. Nash?" called out one of the women. "Are you new to Elkhart? Where are you from?"
Dorinda gritted her teeth behind a practiced smile and tilted the microphone toward Gabe.
"My hometown is hell compared to Elkhart," he answered, the deep bass of his voice thrumming through the air and no doubt increasing the heart rate of the questioner. "I can't think of a better place to be than by Ms. Lockhart's side during her campaign. Please give her your attention."
He leaned away and Dorinda turned the microphone's foam head back toward her mouth.
"We are excited to have Mr. Nash join our campaign." She turned another smile toward the cameras. "We'd also like to remind you of several upcoming events. I want to personally welcome all of you to the campaign dinner held tomorrow night at the-"
"Mr. Nash?" called out a different voice. "Did you and your, uh, wife move to Elkhart together?"
Dorinda's jaw clenched as Gabe leaned toward the microphone.
"I'm afraid I came here by myself," he said softly. She was pretty sure the women swooned in unison. "I'm single, just like Ms. Lockhart here. And she's the single most valuable person for you right now. She argues for your causes, fights for your city, and believes in every one of you. Please give her your support."
"Thank you." Dorinda's fingers clutched the microphone. "Wonderful citizens, as soon as the debate schedule is finalized, you'll be updated on the first date you can watch Mayor Caldwell and I discuss important issues like-"
"Mr. Nash?" came a third voice. Dorinda sighed and handed Gabe the microphone without even bothering to look at him. "Will you be on the morning show, too? Will you be on T.V.?"
"I don't know yet," Gabe answered smoothly, the elbow of his suit jacket brushing against Dorinda's arm as if to say, Sorry, I can't help being hotter than the average campaign manager. Cripes. She should've held out for someone ugly. "You'll have to tune in and find out. Ms. Lockhart will be discussing several issues pertinent to the future of this fine city."
"Will you be at the debates?" called out another. "How about the campaign dinners?"
"I will probably be present at those," he admitted. "I hope all of you are, too. Invite everyone who cares about the town to join us. It's important that we work together to support Ms. Lockhart and her vision for a better tomorrow."
A better tomorrow? That was the best he could do? She should grab the mic and brain him with it for being cheesy in public. Dorinda glanced at the audience and gagged down a sharp response. They all looked like they planned to run out and get "a better tomorrow" tattooed on their heinies.
She slid her gaze toward Gabe as he continued to answer personal, off-topic questions with quick-witted turns of phrase that focused the conversation back on the race.
It'd be self-defeating-and, let's admit it, stupid-to fire someone with such a clear knack for influencing the population. Even if his primary weapon was his looks. California surfer hair, calendar-model features, form-fitting designer suit.
Except… she hated the unfairness of it all.
Why was it that the general public considered attractive men "magnetic" and "charismatic", while female candidates who played up their looks were either labeled "ditzy", "tacky", or "slutty"?
Dorinda didn't wear shoulder pads and burgundy polyester for fun, people. Playing down her figure was for her own good. A woman had to look as unwomanly as possible in order to be taken seriously in a man's world.
Hadn't Ethan Caldwell been quick to comment on her curves at the start of the campaign, when she'd been naïve enough wear a flattering, decent quality suit in public? Somehow he'd decided that she'd prettied herself up just to attract his attention. Cripes.
She wouldn't walk into a trap like that again.
In fact… She slanted another quick glance back at Gabe. Her lips twitched as he fielded another ridiculous question. If his charisma affected the male population half as much as the female, maybe he could pack the house at her promotional events just by existing. She could double her potential voters within a week. Ramón, bless his drunken heart, had never had such a magnetic effect.
Dorinda smiled. For the first time, she felt really good about her new hire, as well as her chances of winning.
No doubt about it, Gabe was sure to impact the outcome.
###
When Gabe materialized in the Demon Resources Center to punch his timecard, thousands of bustling demon bodies filled the adjoining auditorium, brandishing poster board slogans and shouting in each other's faces.
Bo Malphas, Gabe's boss, emerged from the chaos and loped over to the far wall where the time clock hung. His raven-tattooed biceps bulged from underneath his short-sleeved crimson jumpsuit. He ran swarthy hands through his spiky black hair and waited for Gabe to return his timecard to the mounted metal receptacle.
"Well?" Bo demanded when Gabe didn't immediately blurt out a play-by-play description of his interaction with the human. "You made contact, right? Did you infiltrate the target's inner circle?"
"Yes and yes." Gabe lounged against the wall, Hades' insistent heat making his suit stick to his skin. "What's the ruckus all about?"
Bo rolled his eyes. "Stupid succubae trying to unionize again. I'd advise you to stay out of demon politics if you want to earn your promotion."
"No worries. I'll stay impartial." There was nothing Gabe wanted more than this promotion. Punching a time clock was all well and good when he was a newbie demon contractor, but real power came with the salaried managerial positions.
"You sure?" Bo's dark eyes narrowed. "You're not still seeing that succubus, are you?"
"Never really was," Gabe said, which wasn't strictly the truth. They hadn't gotten as far as most succubae get with their male companions, but yeah, they'd come close. "Let's talk promotion. You sure I'll get your job?"
Bo's thick black brows rose. "Only if you follow through with this assignment. I'm one soul away from making Contract Enforcement Coordinator. Once this soul is a lock and I get my new title, I'll have to recommend someone to take my place. You're not the only demon in town. Don't screw this up."
"I won't." Gabe adjusted his shoulders against the wall. "But this assignment seems a little bogus. Back a politician and make sure his rival loses? Give me a break. The contracts for political souls are usually signed within weeks of running for their first office. Are you sure this isn't busywork?"
"I don't make the assignments," Bo drawled with a grin. "I just manage the talent. Not that it's any of your business, but the client's soul hangs on a two-term election. In order to complete the terms and receive the payment, he's got to win and she's got to lose. It's as simple as that."
"If it were simple," Gabe said with a raised brow, "couldn't we just magic him up a decent campaign?"
"We did that last time. The humans practically trampled each other in their haste to vote for him."
"What happened?"
"He won." Bo scratched at one of his tattoos. "We devised his initial platform, but have no control on whether or not he adheres to it. The humans came down with a case of buyer's remorse. As soon as he got elected, he started spouting off about male superiority and legalizing kickbacks. I happen to be for both of those things, but the female humans got all up in arms. If we don't do something drastic, the target could actually win this time, and we'll both be looking for new jobs."
"Drastic like what?" Gabe's eyes narrowed. "Sending some lackey to kill her?"
###
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