A Demonic Bundle

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Authors: Lexi George Kathy Love,Angie Fox

BOOK: A Demonic Bundle
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So I Married A Demon Slayer
Demon Can’t Help It
Demon Hunting In Dixie
Fox, Angie; Love, Kathy; George, Lexi

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

So I Married a Demon Slayer
Kathy Love
Angie Fox
Lexi George
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Hot!
Kathy Love
Chapter One
“Y
ou
cannot
keep making your staff disappear.”
Finola White smoothed back her stylish chignon, then looked away from the mirror toward her head editor.
Tristan’s brows crowded together in a full grimace, his lips in a hard line—not a good look at all. The expression distracted from his polished grooming and designer suit.
One’s looks should never be marred by unattractive emotions. Tristan needed to learn to school his features to show his feelings in a more appealing manner. Like she did.
His lack of control irritated her. Both with his features and with his words.
“You forget who you are,” she said, her voice soft, melodious, but leaving no doubt what would happen if he didn’t remember who was the boss. “You also forget this problem actually originated with you.”
Tristan didn’t speak. Wise boy.
She returned her attention to her own reflection. Yes, he should learn to be more like her. She was upset, but she didn’t let that show on her face. She certainly wouldn’t let some silly,
and nosy
, human employee, who worked in . . .
“Where did that wretched woman work again?”
Tristan released a slow breath before answering, “The mailroom.”
Finola dropped her Guerlain KissKiss Gold and Diamond’s Lipstick onto her desk. She supposed at $62,000 a tube, she should be more careful with the cosmetic, but really? Tristan could be so wearing. He was actually upset about an employee from—
the mailroom
?
“You cannot be serious. You are getting worked up about this”—she shuddered—“human for what reason?”
She tilted her head, not bothering to hide her confusion. Although
she
could make confusion look quite endearing, so why would she hide it?
“This is the twelfth employee since February.”
Finola couldn’t manage to keep the frown from creasing her brow. Just briefly.
“Well, it’s October now.” Surely, that wasn’t such a horrible track record.
“We’re not in Hell, Finola,” Tristan said, his voice beseeching. “Humans notice when other humans just disappear.”
She considered that, then shrugged. “Fine.”
She smoothed a smoky grey shadow over her lid. She didn’t have time to argue with Tristan tonight. She had to get ready for her romantic dinner at Jean Georges with . . . now what was his name?
Oh well, that didn’t matter. She knew he would be stunningly handsome and would photograph well beside her. Men were as important an accessory as jewelry and shoes.
And one must always consider what the paparazzi might catch.
A romantic dinner with
the
Finola White. That was a photo op no savvy member of the paparazzi would consider missing.
She couldn’t let silly stress over an unimportant human taint her enjoyment of the evening—or affect her perfect smile.
She stood, smoothing down her form-fitting Halston gown, in her signature color, white.
She reached for her white cashmere wrap and her Swarovski crystal-encrusted clutch. She paused in the doorway of her glass-walled office. “But you do understand why this one had to go?”
Tristan hesitated, then nodded.
She offered him a small sympathetic smile that didn’t quite reach her pale, pale grey eyes. She didn’t feel sympathy, but she knew she wore it well. It gave her features an ethereal quality like some altruistic soul pleading for monies for starving children or something.
“This disappearance is your fault.” No sympathy laced her voice.
“Yes.” He nodded again, having the good sense to look contrite. After all, he was her right-hand man for a reason.
“Send a memo to the mailroom to hire a person to replace . . .” She fumbled to think of the human’s name, then shrugged. She waved her clutch dismissively. “Have them hire someone new.”
She started out the door, then paused again. “And tell them a male this time. An attractive one. My magazine is about beauty; I shouldn’t have to look at ugly staff.”
“Of course, Finola.”
She strode through the maze of her inner offices toward the elevators, pleased her new Jimmy Choo sandals were exceedingly comfortable. Then she sighed about her head editor’s concerns.
Tristan might be upset with her, but she was right. The human woman needed to go. The woman had not only seen that Tristan wasn’t exactly human, but she’d had dreadful fashion sense too.
 
“He’s the one?”
“Yes, I knew as soon as I saw him.”
Charlie’s gaze shifted back and forth between the two men, who peered at him like he was a creature from another universe. And even though Charlie wanted to shift—nervously, he wouldn’t lie—in his chair, he resisted the urge. Instead he remained perfectly still, the metal of the folding chair cold against his rigid spine.
The chair was the only piece of furniture in the small room. A nondescript cube with gray painted cinderblock walls and a concrete floor. All that was missing was a bare light bulb swinging overhead, and he’d believe he was in some interrogation chamber.
Okay, this was truly the weirdest job interview he’d ever experienced, and if he wasn’t so desperate to work for
HOT!
magazine in any capacity, he’d walk out. But he couldn’t. He’d tried every other way of breaking into the industry’s most successful magazine. Now, he was willing to take this route. The mailroom. Far, far from where he wanted to work as a staff photographer for
HOT!
, but it was a foot in the door.
The man with the name Eugene emblazoned on his blue work smock moved away from the other one. Slowly he walked around Charlie, rubbing his chin and nodding. His blue eyes were intense as he studied Charlie.
Eerie eyes, Charlie realized. So blue, the color appeared almost fake. But he didn’t seem like the type of guy to wear colored contacts. Maybe the lack of light from working in the basement made them all a little strange.
The guy disappeared behind him, and Charlie suppressed the cold shiver that snaked down his spine.
Yeah, this was weird. Very weird.
Finally the man reappeared and stopped in front of him. Then he nodded for the other man, the one innocuously named Dave, who’d been conducting the interview before it took this odd twist.
Both men stepped to the side, several feet away from Charlie. But not far enough that he couldn’t make out a few of the things they were saying. Things like “Are you sure?” “Even if he is the one, would his looks pass?” and “What about the red hair?”
Would his looks pass? How good looking did you need to be to work in a mailroom? Not that he considered himself ugly. He raised an eyebrow as he regarded the other two men. They were hardly hunks themselves. And his red hair . . . well, he’d heard about that his whole life, but it wasn’t a valid reason not to hire him.
Charlie paused, frowning. What the hell was he doing? This was nuts. The one? Needing the right look? His red hair? Yeah, this wasn’t a good idea.
He’d started to get up when the two men noticed and returned to stand in front of them.
Charlie told himself he wasn’t feeling intimidated as he settled back down, waiting.
Eugene regarded him, narrowing his eyes as if he was trying to see something beyond Charlie’s features, something deep inside.
Charlie shifted, deciding it was time to gracefully tell them maybe this job wasn’t exactly what he’d anticipated.
Before Charlie could find the right words, Eugene’s intense expression dissolved into a wide smile, revealing white teeth—almost perfect except for a slight gap between the front two. And just like that, the strange vibe in the room disappeared.
“Charlie Bowen, I think you could be perfect for the job. Just the guy we’ve been looking for.” Eugene held out a hand to him.
Charlie blinked, a little dazed at how quickly the atmosphere had changed. But after a moment, he accepted Eugene’s handshake, noting that the man’s grip was perfectly normal. No cold, clammy skin. No death grip. Just a customary welcome.
“I will let Dave show you around,” Eugene said, offering Charlie another warm smile. He nodded to Dave, his blue eyes intense again, and for a moment, Charlie got that feeling something was still not quite right here. As if the two men were having some silent exchange. But then Eugene was gone, opening the door to step out into the bustling workroom beyond.
“Ready?” Dave asked.
Charlie wasn’t sure, but he nodded. “Yes.”
As soon as he stepped out into the busy mailroom, his concerns faded. The room buzzed, people busily doing their jobs like diligent bees in a hive. The most prestigious hive in all the New York fashion industry. Maybe even the world.
This was a good thing. One step closer to his dream job. Maybe he was going in through the backdoor, but he wouldn’t be the first to get creative to land the job of his dreams.
Weird job interview or not, he was where he’d always wanted to be—working for Finola White Enterprises, and more specifically
HOT!
magazine. And soon, he would get his portfolio in front of the queen bee herself. The powerful, notorious and insanely successful Finola White.
Once Ms. White saw Charlie’s photographs, she would realize she had her next star photographer right here under her very nose.

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