"Enter," I commanded, shuffling the ledgers into a neat stack.
Silas pushed the door open with unnecessary force, a habit that spoke of his demonic heritage despite his slight frame. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his flour-dusted black apron, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"You wanted to see me?" he asked, voice flat with barely disguised hostility.
"Performance check-in," I replied smoothly, gesturing to the chair opposite my desk. "I'm evaluating all staff before the holiday party."
Silas's tail twitched once but he entered fully, though he ignored the offered seat. The chains on his horns jingled softly as he took up position directly across from me, feet planted in astance that suggested he was prepared for confrontation rather than conversation.
"Fine," he said, lifting his chin. "Check in on my performance. I'm an excellent baker. My pastries sell out daily. I've increased our goth clientele by forty percent. My skull-shaped scones are social media famous. Anything else?"
I steepled my claws under my chin, studying him. The demon's hostility was professional suicide in most contexts, but his confidence suggested he knew exactly how valuable his skills were. More interesting was his obvious protectiveness toward Simone, which had been on full display during his outburst in the café.
"Tell me about Simone," I said, abandoning pretense.
His eyes flashed. "Iknewit. This isn't about me at all."
"Consider it part of her evaluation," I replied. "I want honest assessments from those who work with her daily."
Silas scoffed. "As if you don't have your own assessment after bending her over every flat surface in the café."
I kept my expression neutral, though I allowed a hint of power to darken the air between us, just enough to remind him who he was addressing. "Your opinion of my personal interactions with your manager is irrelevant. I want your professional assessment."
He rolled his eyes but seemed to sense he'd reached the limit of my patience.
"Fine. Professionally speaking, she's the reason this place hasn't burned down. She works herself stupid, fourteen-hour days sometimes. Comes in early, stays late, covers shifts when the others quit without notice." He uncrossed his arms, flour drifting to the floor as he gestured emphatically. "She cares too much about everyone and everything. Doesn't ask for help even when she's drowning. Puts herself last every fucking time."
His assessment aligned precisely with what I'd observed, but hearing it confirmed by someone who'd witnessed it daily only strengthened my resolve.
"And personally?" I prompted.
Silas narrowed his eyes. "Personally, she deserves everything and expects nothing. She thinks she has to earn basic kindness. She pretends everything's fine even when it's clearly not because she doesn't want to burden anyone." His voice dropped slightly. "She's lonely but won't admit it."
The picture he painted matched the woman I'd glimpsed in those unguarded moments.
"Why?" Silas demanded suddenly, his tail lashing behind him. "You planning to take her away or string her along? Because I swear on my demonic heritage, if you're just playing with her—"
"Neither," I interrupted, my voice dropping to the rumble that made most creatures instinctively back down. Silas, to his credit, held his ground. "I'm planning to give her the life she doesn't believe she can have."
The declaration hung between us, more revealing than I'd intended. Silas blinked, clearly surprised by both my answer and the sincerity behind it. Before he could respond, the door swung open again. Bramble zipped in, her wings folded slightly to accommodate the cramped office space. "If this is about Simone, I'm here to weigh in," she announced without preamble.
I raised an eyebrow but gestured for her to continue. The pixie didn't waste time.
"Everyone adores her because she makes them feel seen." Bramble crossed her arms. "Don't fuck with her. There is a whole supernatural community behind that human. We protect our own."
My claws tapped rhythmically against the wooden desk as I absorbed their fierce loyalty. Such devotion couldn't be commanded or purchased, it had to be earned throughconsistent care and genuine connection. That Simone had cultivated such loyalty from creatures not known for their attachments spoke volumes.
"Noted," I said simply, though inwardly, my resolve hardened. Friday's party would be more than an announcement about the café's management. It would be the beginning of showing Simone exactly what she'd earned, what she deserved, not just professionally, but personally.
And I intended to be extremely thorough with that lesson.
The mid-day rush transformed the café into an exercise in controlled chaos through it all moved Simone, a splash of cheer amid the supernatural throng, her curls piled messily atop her head, stray wisps escaping to frame her face. She hadn't noticed me watching from the back hallway, too absorbed in her endless tasks. Perfect. The element of surprise would work to my advantage, especially for what I had planned.
When she finally retreated behind the counter to restock syrup pumps, I made my move. She didn't notice my approach, focused as she was on arranging peppermint bottles in a straight line. I positioned myself directly beside her, close enough that my shadow fell across the bottles, announcing my presence. She startled, nearly dropping the peppermint syrup in her hands.
"You're leaving early today," I announced without preamble.
She blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing like a confused fish. "I—what? But we're in the middle of the lunch rush, and I still need to—"
