“That’s why I’ve come. I believe some things should be done face-to-face.”
“So you’ve listened to my demo?”
“Yes, I have.” She took a step forward.
“And?”
As she took another step toward him, he stayed put and let her close the distance. He was aware that there was plenty down the darkened hall that he couldn’t have her or anyone else see, and so he needed her out of here—fast.
“I love it.”
“Do you?” He deliberately let his eyes drift down to her spectacular breasts. “That means a lot.”
An A & R Vice President at RCA loved his demo? Shit, the fact that she was smoking hot was for once secondary. “Let’s go upstairs and talk—”
The woman cut him off. “I like it down here. It’s gritty and raw.”
The light above the sink flickered.
“I find that surprising,” he demurred. “Given the way you dress.”
Last time he’d seen the kind of stuff she was wearing, he’d been in a taxi heading down Madison Avenue, looking at window displays.
She licked those cherry-red lips of hers. “I believe in sampling—the work, that is.”
“Do you.” Shit. Bad timing. “Well, you’ve heard my—”
“You are your own product. You write and perform your own songs. Very unusual these days.” Leaning in, she smoothed his bare chest. “Very special.”
Not the time or place.
G.B. took her wrist gently and removed her palm. “I’m flattered.”
Her left eye twitched a little. But then she smiled in a sharp way. “You should be. It’s not every singer that I show an interest in.”
“Are you looking to sign me?”
“Maybe.” There was a silence. “I have to sample the goods first.”
Gone was the seduction—now it was a demand, and the math was very clear: Either he banged her here, or any conversation about his future was going right into the shitter. And she was legit. He’d gone to the Internet and looked her up.
Devina D’Angelo.
If timing was everything, he couldn’t figure out what his destiny was supposed to be. The opportunity he’d waited his whole adult life for had shown up—at exactly the perfectly wrong moment.
“I like to sample the goods,” she said for a third time, putting her hand back on his pec. “And afterward, maybe we can find you a clean shirt.”
Again, there seemed to be some kind of knowledge behind her black eyes. But he was probably just being paranoid.
After a moment, he felt his head nod. “Okay … yeah. Sounds good.”
Chapter
Thirty-three
“These are all for me?”
As Sissy leaned into the huge white-and-red Target bag, she was astounded. It was like a bathtub full of yoga pants, and shirts, and sweatshirts—even bras and underwear and socks. And there was another load, this one with books, magazines, bath towels, toothbrushes, and toothpaste.
She sat back in the kitchen chair. “Thank you—this is incredible.”
Adrian, Jim’s roommate, colleague, fellow angel, whatever, looked over as he shut the refrigerator. “And I brought a couple of dinners home with me. Some loaded potato skins or something—and ribs. Also a steak.”
Across the way, she sensed Jim looking at her and she glanced over. He was leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest, eyes heavy-lidded.
For a moment, she pictured him on the floor of that bathroom, weeping. Difficult to ever imagine that had happened—right now, between his hard body and impregnable expression, he seemed bulletproof.
After leaving the warehouse, they had driven out to the quarry because she’d had to see if anything came to her. No luck. But they had spent a long time out there, just sitting side by side, waiting for the sun to go down. The cloud cover had been spotty to the west, and as the rays had broken through, the peaches and pinks in the horizon had nearly been too bright to look at.
She had stared into them until her eyes had run with tears from the burning.
In a lot of ways, that was the end of her journey. There were no more places to go, no other veins of memory to mine, nothing left to investigate.
As Jim checked his watch for the second time, she said, “You’re leaving, aren’t you.”
One of his dark blond brows lifted like he was surprised to have been called out. “I have to go.”
Adrian eased down into a chair with a grunt and nodded at her. “You and I are going to stay here.”
So the pair of them had had a talk while she’d been in the ladies’ room.
“How long will you be gone?” she asked.
“Just going to chat with the boss.” Jim shrugged. “Depends on how it goes.”
“I am tired.” At least, she thought she was. Shouldn’t she be?
There was a long, awkward pause, as if Jim didn’t want to take off to wherever he was going. To fill the time, she glanced back and forth between the two men, realizing only Jim had a halo: No glow around Adrian’s head.
“Take care of her,” Jim said gruffly before he turned and walked off.
Closing her eyes, she listened to his footfalls fade, and wondered if it wasn’t a lie … if instead, he wasn’t walking off into the horizon, just as the sun had.
For some reason, that panicked her.
“Tell me there’s a TV in this place,” she said roughly. “And cable.”
The man, angel, whatever, shook his head. “Sorry. No dice. Jim’s got a laptop, but there’s no hot spot here, no modem.”
Great.
“Can I ask you something,” she blurted, not expecting any kind of—
“Yeah, sure.”
Well, that was a change of pace. Unless he assumed she just wanted to inquire about the weather? “You were injured in a fight, right?”
“Nah, the limp and the cane are an artistic choice.”
Shoot. She didn’t want to offend him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
He pointed to his chest. “Asshole. You gotta know that about me. When I’m in a good mood, it’s fun for me, when I’m like this, it’s more of a reflex. So yeah, ask whatever you want—just don’t take my answers all that seriously.”
“Well, are you an angel?”
“Most of the time, yeah.”
“So why don’t you have a halo? Is Jim something special and that’s why he can heal himself and you can’t?”
“Halo?” Adrian frowned. “I don’t know about that one, but yup, Jim was chosen by both sides to do this final war. Both the good guys and that bad bitch had to agree on him. And as for my shit? Long story—but these things aren’t ever ‘healable.’”
“I’m so sorry.” She shifted in her chair. “What do you mean, final war?”
“Evidently the Creator is as bored of life as the rest of us are. He set this thing up—seven souls, seven rounds. Jim’s job is on the field, trying to make the people choose the right path. And if he doesn’t prevail? It’s gonna get really fucking hot around here.”
Sissy wrapped her arms about herself. “Hell’s actually not all that warm…”
Adrian winced. “Sorry. I’d forgotten that you … yeah, sorry.”
As a shiver laddered up her spine and settled in her nape, she knew she had to change the subject. “It’s okay … so, ah, what did Jim do before this?”
“Carpentry. Before that, he killed people for a living.” As her eyes bulged, Adrian shrugged. “Look, if you want sugar-coating, you’d better read one of those mags I bought you. I’m not good at it.”
“Killed people as in how?”
He leveled a stare at her. “Put a bullet in their brains. Poisoned them. Threw them off buildings—do you need a picture book?”
When she stuttered, he rubbed his face. “Sorry, I’m really not good at this, am I?”
“No, it’s all right, I just—”