“Clever girl. As it so happens, I am that hard up, but not for an employee. I want you. I’ll have my man pick you up at seven.”
“Wait, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“Oh, Kitten, your mind was made up the moment you texted me back. Seven o’clock. The restaurant has a dress code. Black tie.”
I was about to text him back, telling him I didn’t have anything black tie. My wardrobe was filled with cheap crap from cheap fashion stores and scrubs. Cute, but not exactly the sort of thing you’d wear to a mysterious dinner date with the devil. A heartbeat later, another text came in as if he could read my mind from here.
“Check your porch.”
What?
“Hey, Dad. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
He glanced over at me, his gaze dropping to my phone. “Is that a boy?”
“Um, no, it’s Mel.”
He lifted a skeptical brow. “Then why are you blushing?”
Shit. “Uh… I’ll tell her you said hi.”
He rolled his eyes, not believing me for a second. “Alright. You and Mel better use protection.”
“Oh my God,Dad.”
He chuckled and waved me away. “Have fun, kiddo. Love you. And stay safe. The city is dangerous these days. All sorts of monsters running loose.”
There was that stab of guilt again. “Uh, yeah. I’ll be safe. Love you too.”
Outside, sure enough, there was a package waiting on my doorstep.
“What the—”
I scanned the street for any sign of the person who’d dropped it off. It was probably one of Lucifer’s lackeys who’d delivered it. How had they gotten here so fast? How did they know where I lived?
Grumbling, I recalled Lucifer’s background check software company. I stooped to pick up the package and went back into my half of the duplex.
Setting the box down, I searched for some scissors from the junk drawer. “There can’t be any good precedent of people excepting mysterious packages from Satan and having it turn out alright, but hey,carpe diem, right?” I muttered to myself.
Opening the box, I pulled out a white paper bag with red ribbon straps. “Holy shit, Alexander McQueen.” Opening the bag, I pulled out a scarlet red floor-length evening dress. It had thin shoulder straps, a plunging neckline, and a scandalous slit running all the way up to where my hipbone would sit.
I hated how much I loved it.
Toward the bottom of the bag was a handwritten note that sat on a pair of black Louboutin stilettos. I wasn’t sure why I felt anything at all, looking at Lucifer’s handwriting. But somehow, there was something to his slanted script, with its sweeping flourish and the thick, ink-blotted lines. It was somehow elegant yet heavy-handed all at once.
“I loved seeing this color on your cheeks last night. You look absolutely sinful in red.” ~L
I held the dress in my hand and squeezed my eyes shut as I leaned against the counter.
What am I doing?
Dating a playboy millionaire was one thing. But going out with freaking Satan to discuss the life of my father in exchange for something…? Something Lucifer wanted. It sure as fuck wasn’t my help at the bar.
I read the note again. My body flushed red, apparently his favorite color on me. I don’t know what pissed me off more, the fact that he thought he could buy me off or the fact that I was actually considering letting him try.
Whatever he wanted from me, it was something huge. Probably dirty. A fist squeezed my heart as I set down the dress and picked up the contract. I’d always thought contracts from the devil were supposed to be written in blood or something. Like on ancient parchment with maybe a poof of fire and a floating pen, with a big ominous X where I’m supposed to sign my soul away at the bottom. This contract was neatly folded printer paper.
As a celestial of limited powers, any miracles performed by Lucifer Morningstar, son of God henceforth, must come with an exchange of equal or greater value. A stipulation to be determined by the King of Hell, Lucifer Morningstar.
