The Sexorcist (2 page)

Chapter Two—Hello, I Love You

Karma eyed the latest secretary the temp agency had sent over and wondered how long this one would last. A whole day? Two?

She glanced down at the name on the resume. Brittany Hylton-VanDeere. The hyphenated last name fit. She looked like she belonged at an afternoon tea at the DAR rather than a job placement.

She wore a yellow sundress, a gauzy turquoise scarf and strappy sandals with daisies on them. And unless Karma was mistaken, the designer tags on those items meant the new secretary’s ensemble cost more than the position paid in a month. Brown curls were piled on top of her head in an artful tumble and wide, guileless brown eyes stared back at Karma. Wide, guileless
blank
brown eyes.

Brittany Hylton-VanDeere looked like she didn’t have two brain cells to rub together.

Really scraping the bottom of the barrel with this one
.
The temp agency must be getting desperate.

Karma scanned the resume as Brittany sat quietly like a good little girl. Educated at one of the finest—and most expensive—prep schools in the country. Undergrad at an Ivy, majoring in Communications. Master’s at another Ivy. Liberal Studies. Karma had no idea what the hell an arts degree in liberal studies was.

Then came the work experience section. Dog walker. Cupcake icer. Volunteer
zookeeper
, for crying out loud. But not a single listing for anything that might be considered business or secretarial work.

The resume had to be a joke. The temp agency was having a little fun with one of their most difficult to place clients. The designer dimwit, Brittany Hylton-VanDeere, couldn’t be for real.

“Ms. Hylton, did the agency—”

“Hylton-VanDeere,” the brunette chirped cheerfully. “But, please, just call me Brittany.”

“Brittany. Fine. Did the agency brief you at all about what would be required of you here at Karmic Consultants?”

“Secretarial work. Answering phones and scheduling appointments!” Brittany gushed, in the same way a young girl might exclaim, “Lollipops and candy canes!”

“You will also greet clients and provide basic administrative support to me as needed. Do you have any secretarial experience that isn’t listed on your resume?”
Any secretarial experience at all
…

Brittany beamed and shook her head. Karma listened closely for the sound of her brains rattling around in there.

“I like phones though,” she enthused. “And I’m good with people.”

Well, that was better than if she’d been a misanthrope with a deathly fear of phones.

Karma braced herself for the next part of the conversation—the part few candidates made it past.

“Are you aware of what we do here at Karmic Consultants?”

Brittany’s smile grew even wider—a feat Karma hadn’t thought possible. “Oh yes! Witches and mediums and exorcists! The other temps at the agency warned me about you. They said you were insane. Completely bonkers. Isn’t that funny? And that your clients were madder still. That they believed in haunted houses, possessed people and cursed…well, cursed just about everything.”

Karma resisted the urge to grind her molars. “We
do
deal in haunted houses and possessions,” she said flatly. “Those are the realities of business here at Karmic.”

Brittany laughed, the sweet chirping roll of sound innocent and endearing. Karma was having a hard time disliking Brittany, even though she had a feeling the little ditz was messing with her. There was just something so wholesome about her; she was impossible to detest.

“Of course they are,” the wholesome twit twittered. “That’s why this job is just perfect for me.”

Perfect, huh? Karma wasn’t sure which one of them was confused, but she was willing to place money on the girl who might as well have had a vacancy sign flashing on her forehead. “Ms. Hylto—”

“Brittany.”

“
Brittany
.” Karma took a deep breath, striving for patience. “I cannot have a secretary who is unwilling to take this business seriously. The clients are often under a great deal of stress when they call us and I cannot have their first contact with Karmic be with someone who will mock their needs out of ignorance or superstition.”

The words couldn’t be more true. The rotating cast of secretaries had been amusing at first, but now it was bordering on unprofessional and Karma
would not
allow Karmic Consultants to be viewed as an unprofessional organization. Their services might be unconventional, but they would not be mocked. Legitimacy was tenuous at best when you provided occult services, but she was determined that Karmic
would
be legitimate.

Brittany nodded solemnly. “I completely understand.”

Karma wasn’t sure whether Brittany was being sincere or facetious, but she couldn’t take the chance that one of her valued clients would presume it was the latter and take offense. Brittany wouldn’t do. Karma would personally start the search for a real,
permanent
secretary. Immediately.

She opened her mouth, fully intending to thank Brittany for her time and send her on her way, when the door to her office burst open.

Her best exorcist stormed through the doorway.

“I have had
enough
,” Rodriguez snarled, his slight accent more pronounced in his agitation. “I am not a fucking
gigolo
.”

Brittany Hylton-VanDeere believed in Love at First Sight the same way born-agains believed in their Savior—with a fervor that was awe-inspiring and, at times, downright frightening.

Her instant adorations were not limited to people. Oh no. She was just as likely to fall suddenly, madly in love with a car, a pair of shoes, a skinny-half-caf-no-foam latte, or a new job.

Especially a new job.

When she first walked through the door to Karmic Consultants, she
knew
, with a passion that was as sincere as it was irrational, this was The One. This was where she belonged.

Karmic Consultants was a place where people
believed.
Where the outside-the-everyday happened every single day. And where one slightly-off-kilter, cockeyed optimist such as herself could fit right in.

No two ways about it. Brittany was in love.

And then she saw
him
.

The man who stomped into Karma’s office was unlike anyone in Brittany’s—admittedly limited—experience of men.

For one thing, he was swearing. And calling himself a gigolo. Or rather,
not
a gigolo, which really only seemed like the kind of protest a gigolo would feel the need to make. So, clearly a gigolo. A swearing gigolo. And a hot one.

Hot
was not a word Brittany often had cause to use regarding the men of her acquaintance—the men her family approved of. Proper, yes. Distinguished, absolutely. Respectable? Heck yes, with a side of darn straight.

But
hot
? Sizzling, smoking, white-hot-sex-on-a-tropical-beach-in-front-of-God-and-everyone
hot
? That was another matter.

He had tattoos. Tribal, lay-me-naked-on-the-altar-as-an-offering-to-the-gods-of-sex tattoos that slashed and spiraled their way up his deliciously muscled arms to disappear beneath the short sleeves of his snug black T-shirt. Brittany’s eyes traced those heavy black markings and she imagined she could hear the sound of distant drums. Aboriginal. Primal. Oh yeah, Mr. I’m-Not-A-Gigolo was primal, all right.

Hair so black it had blue highlights tumbled over his brow in a disarray so carelessly sexy it would have taken the average mortal two hours and seventeen different greasy hair products to reproduce it. Big Sexy here probably rolled out of bed looking that good.

He was tall-ish, but not grotesquely so, which Brittany appreciated, being a bit on the petite side herself. She’d have to tip her head back for a kiss, but he wasn’t so huge he could tuck her under his arm like a football.

He strode into the room and toward Karma’s desk without glancing a single time in Brittany’s direction—so she could only speculate on the color of his eyes.

Emerald, perhaps? Or maybe a deep, mossy hue?

Green was Brittany’s favorite color, and if he was going to be her dream man, he could at least be so considerate as to have her favorite color eyes. She’d let him pick the shade.

He folded his tattooed, muscled forearms across his chest and glowered at the cool, composed, and utterly unfazed woman behind the desk.

Karma rose from her chair. “Rodriguez, if you could wait outside for just a moment…” She waved an elegant hand in Brittany’s direction.

Rodriguez’s gaze tracked the movement to where Brittany sat. He grimaced and turned back to Karma. Brittany internally flinched at being so summarily dismissed.

“Sorry,” he grunted. “Didn’t realize you had a client in here.”

Brittany bounced out of her chair. She was not a client. And she would not be brushed aside. She hadn’t even gotten a good look at his eyes yet.

“I’m not a client. I’m the secretary.” She tried to sound definitive. Professional. But she hadn’t had much experience with professionalism and she had a feeling she sounded more like a cheerleader. She’d never been a cheerleader, but people tended to express outright shock when she told them that. Apparently cheerleader was more a type than an occupation. She hoped secretaries were just occupations. If it was a type, she might be in trouble.

She really wanted this job. They
believed
here.

In everything, except her, apparently.

Rodriguez didn’t even turn his head this time. He just slid her a look out of the corner of his eyes. “This week’s disaster?” he asked Karma with a wry twist to his mouth.

Brittany stiffened, balling her hands into fists. He may be sexy and primal and all, but that didn’t give him an excuse for being
rude
. Rudeness was never called for. “Excuse me,” Brittany clipped off the words, channeling her mother in disciplining-the-underlings mode. “I am an excellent secretary.” Or rather she was sure she would be, if she put her mind to it. She had yet to find an occupation she couldn’t master. She would master this one too. Provided being a secretary didn’t require being the secretary
type
. “I am going to be here far longer than a week and I am
not
a disaster.”

Rodriguez treated her as if she hadn’t spoken at all. He turned all of his attention to Karma as if Brittany weren’t standing right there being brilliantly secretarial.

“Mrs. Sullivan called up a demon to possess her own daughter just because she wanted me to come to her house to exorcise it,” he growled.

The subtle warmth of his accent wrapped around the words, sending little hubba-hubba chills down Brittany’s spine and distracting her from the words themselves—and from the fact that she was irritated with him. Really, who could be irritated with a man whose very voice licked words into submission?

Karma gave a low laugh. “Well, that’s one kind of job security. Far be it from me to question our clients’ needs to pay us to eradicate problems they cause themselves.”

“She wanted me to come to her house so she could fuck me,” Rodriguez snapped. “She might as well have opened the door bare-ass naked with a condom in one hand for all the subtlety she had about it.”

Brittany took a step toward where they were squared off across the desk, inserting herself back into the conversation. “At least she was thinking about safe sex. STDs are a real risk. Not to mention birth control. Did she really open the door naked?”

Rodriguez shot her a hot glare—his eyes too slitted for her to get a good look at the color—then turned back to Karma. Dismissed
again
.

“They’re taking bets,” he snarled at his boss. “This
putana
,” he spat the word like an epithet, so Brittany decided it must be, “she came right out and admitted that they are betting on which one of them can get me into the sack first. A bunch of goddamn bored homemakers with too much time on their hands have painted a goddamn target on my ass.”

Karma winced. “It’s a compliment, of sorts,” she said without conviction.

“It’s demeaning.”

Well, yes. It was that. But Brittany could definitely see the housewives’ side of it. She was tempted to paint a bull’s-eye of her own. The man was
hot
.

Not that she would ever wager on him. That did seem rather insulting. Although, she couldn’t say for sure. No one had ever bet on getting her into bed. Which was kind of sad really. What was wrong with her that men weren’t placing bets on her as a sex object? Not even frat boys! Weren’t they known for that kind of behavior? Wasn’t she sexy enough?

Rodriguez slapped his hands palm down on the wide black slab of marble that was Karma’s desk, jolting Brittany from her musings. “This has to stop. I’m not taking any more calls from desperate housewives. You can send another exorcist.”

Karma grimaced. “You’ll have to take over the holy site jobs then. And I’ll have to figure out some way to convince Edwin that it isn’t beneath him to do residential work. Are you sure you aren’t willing to just take a bonus? Hazard pay?”

A sound came out of Rodriguez’s throat that distinctly resembled a growl. Brittany shivered. He was so animalistic. If only he weren’t also ignoring her so completely.

“Do I look like I’m for sale? If you pay me extra every time some trophy wife gropes me, you might as well start advertising my goddamn stud fee as part of the exorcism package. I will not be paid to be molested.”

Karma sighed and dropped back into her chair. “I’ll work something out with Edwin. And we’ll screen the new clients more carefully in the future. You won’t have to go back there again.”

“I better not,” Rodriguez grumbled, shoving himself away from the desk and striding back toward the door. “A goddamn pit of vipers would be preferable.”

He was leaving? So soon? She didn’t even know what color his eyes were! And how had it ended? He couldn’t leave off the good parts of the story. Had he been successful? Had he exorcised the demon? Brittany couldn’t stand cliffhangers.

“Rodriguez!” Brittany rushed after him. She was a little surprised when he actually paused at the door and looked back at her.
Black
. His eyes weren’t green at all. Darn it all. “What happened to the daughter?”