"I'd say based on the look on her face right now, that performance review is already being scheduled in his head," Bramble added, her voice sweet as poisoned honey.
I straightened, clutching the fallen spoon like a weapon. "There will be no... performance reviews. Or stock room... anything. He's just here to evaluate how I run the café."
"Oh, he's evaluating something alright," Silas smirked, painting a delicate red rose onto a skull's forehead. "Specifically, how you'd look sprawled across his desk with significantly less pink fabric between you."
"Silas!" I gasped, heat flooding my face.
"What? I'm a demon. I recognize lust when I see it, and honey, he's looking at you like you're the last soul at the apocalypse buffet."
Bramble jumped down from the refrigerator with fairy-light grace, her body shifting to her human sized form, her combat boots making a surprisingly heavy thud when they hit the floor. "The Ho-Ho-Horny overlord hasn't taken his eyes off your ass all morning. I thought those golden peepers were going to burn a hole through your dress when you bent to get the napkins."
I buried my face in my hands. "Stop it. Both of you. He's here to watch us work."
"Correction, he's here to watchyou," Silas said, switching frosting tips with practiced fingers. "We merely work here. You're the one he's... evaluating." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, the silver piercing above his left brow catching the light.
"He's not evaluating anything except my management skills," I insisted, though my voice lacked conviction even to my own ears.
Bramble hopped onto a stool, her feet swinging. "Please. That man reeks of dark power and big dick energy. I could smell it the moment he walked in."
"Bramble!" I squeaked.
"What?" She shrugged, unrepentant. "I'm just saying what we're all thinking. The man's magical aura is like standing next to a furnace. Bet his body temperature runs hot too." She fanned herself dramatically.
Silas nodded sagely. "Supernatural beings with hooves always run hot. It's a circulation thing."
I groaned, leaning against the counter for support. "Can we please talk about literally anything else? The weather. Tax season. The existential dread of being a tiny speck in an uncaring universe."
"Fine," Bramble said, her smile pure mischief. "Do you think calling Santa would help?"
Silas snorted so hard a puff of cinnamon-scented smoke escaped his nostrils. "Help us not only lose our jobs but also our lives! That jolly bastard is unhelpful 364 days of the year."
Despite my embarrassment, I found myself curious. "Aren't they step-brothers or something?"
Bramble nodded, her expression suddenly serious. "Or something. Step-anythings are always a pain in the ass, just ask Cinderella."
"Isn't she on baby number four?" I asked, grateful for the change in subject.
Silas shook his head, carefully placing a completed cupcake onto a serving tray. "Yeah, Prince Charming has got to stay off that poor woman. I saw her going into the pediatrician's office last month, she looked like she hadn't slept in gods know when."
"The price of fairy tale happiness," Bramble said sagely, sorting dried lavender into small bundles. "Better to find a monster who knows he's a monster than a prince pretending to be perfect."
"Speaking of monsters," Silas pivoted smoothly back to my personal humiliation, "our horned overlord seems particularly interested in your... management technique. Please tell me you plan on giving him a peek under that pink dress."
I groaned, sinking onto a stool. "Is it that obvious?"
"That he wants to devour you like a Christmas cookie? Or that you're equally interested despite pretending to be offended by his existence?" Bramble asked.
"Both," I admitted miserably.
Silas patted my hand with surprising gentleness, leaving a smudge of black frosting on my wrist. "Honey, the sexual tension between you two is so thick I could frost a wedding cake with it.The entire café can feel it. I think the pastries are getting hot and bothered. I know I am."
"I don't know what's wrong with me," I confessed, dropping my head onto the cool countertop. "He's arrogant, terrifying, and might fire me. I should hate him."
"But instead you want to climb him like a Christmas tree," Bramble finished for me.
I didn't deny it. Couldn't, really, when the evidence was written all over my face and in every trembling breath whenever he came near me.
"It's the horns," Silas said knowingly. "Horns do things to people. It's why I keep mine polished, even though mine are significantly less impressive."
