I was stunned, almost embarrassed at the gut-punch sweetness of it. I dropped my bag on the counter, hopped up to sit next to it, and just looked at him. “You’re ridiculous,” I said, but what I meant was:You’re perfect. You’re dangerous.
“Do you want to see your office?”
I blinked. "My what?"
He grinned and gestured for me to follow. Down the hall, past the kitchen, past the living room full of sunlight and the cat sprawled on her back like a dead possum, he opened a door I hadn't noticed before. The hinges didn't even squeak. Inside was a room with two enormous windows, both overlooking the rim of the valley and the lake, the light so bright it was like stepping into another state. There was a desk—black steel, glass top, wide enough for two people to work shoulder to shoulder without ever touching. Two monitors, one a massive, curved gaming beast, the other a vertical number I recognized from every productivity blog I'd ever hate-read. To the side was a rolling rack of office supplies and, next to that, a single, battered Aeron chair that looked like it had survived a decade of boardroom battles.
On the desk was a set of new notebooks, still shrink-wrapped, my laptop, already plugged in, and a jar of pens, half of them the expensive kind that bled like a paper cut.
I walked to the window and stared out at the impossible blue of the lake, then back at him. "How did you get this?" I asked. I remembered telling him about my job, but not that I would need two monitors—or a chair that wouldn't make my spine give up before lunch.
He shrugged, almost embarrassed. "You said you worked from home. I thought you'd want a space that felt like yours." His eyes slid away; I could see the nerves behind the bravado.
I ran my hand over the glass. “Did you… build this?"
He shook his head, but the pride was there anyway. “I had Mara find you something when you mentioned working from home. I am pretty sure this is from an abandoned casino.” He grinned, sheepish. "Demons are resourceful. And I wanted you to have everything you need."
The silence stretched out. I could see myself tomorrow, sitting here with coffee and the cat, the sun burning in throughthe glass, a version of myself I didn't quite recognize but desperately wanted to meet.
I turned, hugged myself, then blurted, "You don't have a job, do you?"
Samiel cocked his head, as if considering. "Not… like this," he said, gesturing to the monitors. "I don't need one. But if it makes you happy, I could get one. I could bartend, or work at the lake. I could sell timeshares to the other side.”
The image of Samiel in a cheap suit, hawking desert condos to infernal retirees, made me snort so hard I almost lost my balance. “You’d be terrifying at sales,” I said. “Nobody would dare call customer service if you messed up their contract.”
He leaned in the doorway, wings loose, gaze fixed on me with an intensity that should've felt claustrophobic, but didn’t. “If you want me to work, I’ll work,” he said, honest-to-god earnest. “But you don’t have to, either.” I didn’t realize I was smiling until he smiled back, slow and tentative. “I’m serious,” he said, and he was. “The money just… happens. I’ve been here a long time. Investments are easier for us.” He said it with offhand confidence. “You could write a book. Or raise a goat. Or just make art. You never have to work again if you don’t want to.”
It was so blunt, so honest in its disregard for the whole human nightmare of hustle-and-grind, that it stunned me. No performance. No apology. Just the quiet, terrifying certainty.
I sat in the desk chair, spinning it once, twice, then fixing him with a look. “So I could quit my job right now and you’d just… let me be a kept woman?”
He tilted his head. “If you wanted. Or you could run the town, or open a bakery, or start fires for fun.” He grinned wolfishly. “Whatever you want, Annie. I don’t care. You’re not here to pay my bills.”
For a second, I forgot how to breathe. I thought about every boyfriend who’d ever made me feel like I had to justify myexistence—what I brought to the table, how pretty or useful or resourceful I was, always competing for a seat at the smallest table in the world. And now here was this monster, this literal hellbeast, offering me the one thing I’d never even thought to ask for: unconditional permission to just be.
I spun again, head swimming with the possibilities. “I might actually quit,” I said, half-joking, but the words felt so good I almost moaned. “I could spend my days baking, or reading, or I don’t know, terrorizing the HOA board for all eternity.”
He looked at me like I’d just solved an equation he’d been working on for decades. “If you want that, I’ll make it happen,” he said. “But if you want to keep working, I’ll build you a better office. I’ll wire the whole canyon for internet, if you want. I’ll?—”
I cut him off with a laugh, losing my grip on the chair and nearly launching myself into the bookshelf. “You’re out of your mind,” I said, but it was the best thing I’d ever heard.
He crossed the room, caught me before I could tip over, and set me back on my feet. His hands were gentle, steadying me with no more effort than it would take to hold a feather. “I’m just trying to prove you made the right choice,” he said.
I reached for him, hooked two fingers in his back belt loop, and gave a tug. “If you really want to prove it, you could take me upstairs and fuck me in our bed.”
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Samiel
My body tensed at her suggestion, heat coiling low in my stomach. But I had one more surprise I needed her to see first—something that would make what came after even better. I took her hand, my thumb brushing over her pulse point, and led her through the kitchen. The cat slipped between her bare legs as we stepped onto the sun-warmed patio stones. Annie's hair caught the light, and I fought the urge to bury my face in the curve of her neck.
"You want to fuck in the yard?" she asked, voice husky and teasing. Her eyes flicked to the expanse of privacy beyond the patio, teeth catching her bottom lip in a way that made my wings twitch.
I took her hand, my thumb brushing over her pulse. "I want to show you something." The yard unfolded before us, black rock and crushed granite sloping away in terraces that caught the light like obsidian. No tidy lawn or fragile flowers—just wild sage and wiry grass that bent and straightened in the wind, resilient as desire.
At the far edge, black pines stood sentinel, beyond them nothing but the lake's silver shimmer. But here, I'd carved something else. Her eyes traced the perimeter, lingering on the half-hidden alcoves I'd built—private nooks nestled between boulders, soft depressions lined with blankets, a hammock strung low between two ancient timbers. A path wound through it all, connecting each secret space.
