Opening Glyma’s binder to the first page—pink and scented with vanilla and cherry blossom—Quin nodded. “Okay. Then let’s take a look.”
They poured over the binder, then Quin quickly clicked through the presentation Glyma had created. Quin referred to her own slides full of graphs and statistics that made Glyma’s brain and soul hurt, but she paid attention because this was why she was here.
She had a dream, sure, but she had no practical knowledge on how to make it happen. Given Quin’s reaction, her presentation probably wouldn’t be well-received at the bank as it was now. So even though her mind wanted to wander as Quin droned on about profit margins and SWOT analysis, she forced herself to focus.
At the back of the binder, Glyma had included several print-outs of current rental options that she hoped would be in her budget—if she got the loan from the bank, of course. Quin studied each one, making notes on her computer and looking up the locations on the map.
She paused at the last one. “Purgatory?”
“Yes, but hear me out.” Scooting closer until her knee touched Quin’s, Glyma turned the page to show the pictures of the interior. “It’s honestly kind of perfect. It’s already set-up well fora cafe, and there’s even a small flat above where I could live, which would cut down on my personal costs.”
“But it’s in Purgatory,” Quin repeated. “No one goes to Purgatory. The most they do is pass through.”
Glyma shrugged. “So we’ll let them pass through after putting a coffee in their hand and a pastry in their bag.” Quin didn’t look convinced, but Glyma soldiered on. “Purgatory is still new, and yes, it’s not a destination. But there is a lot of foot traffic because people commute, and they all have to go through Purgatory. The trains are always running late, and there are no cozy places for people to wait. Seems like a perfect place to set up shop.”
“And the fact it’s significantly cheaper to rent has nothing to do with it?” Quin said with a playful flick of her keratin-tipped tail, and Glyma rolled her eyes.
“Okay, that’s obviously a nice bonus, but it’s not the only factor.”
To Quin’s credit, she didn’t immediately dismiss Glyma’s claims. She sat back in her chair, clicking the pen in her hand as she contemplated. Her red tail, which had been lying dormant at her side before, swung lazily back and forth beside her calf. For the first time, Glyma noticed her hooves, black and shiny, like she waxed them regularly.
Or, rather, she probably paid someone else to wax them. She was a Duboi, after all. Her family was known all over the Pentagram. Business tycoons, mostly, with their fingers in every pot imaginable. Financial markets, real estate, building and development, and pharmaceuticals. Not all of their dealings were above board—at least, that was what the rumors said—but they were rich and powerful enough to be untouchable.
Glyma hadn’t made the connection when she’d first found Q&A Business Consulting as the third internet search result. Quin obviously hadn’t used her family name in the businesstitle, and even in her personal bio, she’d left it out. In Glyma’s opinion, she’d gone to great lengths tohidethat she was a Duboi.
Which was interesting. Generational wealth and notoriety were, in most cases, excellent business boosters and usually something to boast about. But Quin hadn’t. Even her office was a modest little spot in a strip mall at the outskirts of Greed.
It was why Glyma was here. She’d nearly canceled her appointment when she’d realized that Quin was Claryn Deboi’s daughter. Getting caught up in dealings with the Duboi’s was the last thing she wanted. But Quin’s modern but simple website, her office location, and her sincere bio had made Glyma pause. She had a kind face, and the five-star testimonials from other businesses she had consulted for—middle class people just like Glyma—had pushed her to keep her appointment.
And she was glad that she had. Quin didn’t carry herself with the ego or judgment Glyma had feared, and even now, she listened to Glyma’s ideas and took them seriously. Not to mention, she was a tasty treat for the eyes.
“A cafe in Purgatory,” Quin mused, tail flicking. “That is either the worst or the best idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Go big, or go home,” Glyma quipped, and those dark eyes shot to hers.
They were closer now, knees still touching, heads inclined. Quin inhaled sharply at their sudden proximity, and her energy, which had been a pleasant pulse against Glyma’s aura, crackled with sudden intensity. The hunger in Glyma’s gut roared to life, and it took every ounce of control not to unleash her Succubus energy onto the unsuspecting Daemon.
“It won’t be easy,” Quin said, voice a little breathy.
Glyma smiled, and it was only forty-three percent flirtatious—deities as her witness. “I’ve never been afraid of a challenge."
Another zap popped against Glyma’s aura as Quin’s gaze dropped, momentarily, to her mouth. For a moment, Glymatasted thick custard and caramelized sugar on the back of her tongue. Oh gods, of course the Daemon’s arousal had to taste luxurious. Like crème brûlée and sweet cream. She imagined using a whisk to cover Quin in globs of the stuff, then licking her clean slowly, diligently.
“Your tail,” Quin whispered, the words weak.
Glyma cocked her head. “Hmm?”
“Your tail is getting fresh with me,” Quin said stiffly, and Glyma glanced down at her tail, which was currently stroking the tip of Quin’s.
She squealed and yanked her tail away, shoving the traitorous thing under her ass. “I’m so sorry! It’s a dastardly thing. I try to keep it in check, but it’s like it has a mind of its own and is hellbent on disobeying.”
Quin arched an eyebrow. “Your tail is sentient?”
“Well, I sure hope so because it sexually harasses people all the time, which I do not condone,” Glyma blurted, and Quin laughed.
Well, it was more a snort, followed by a husky chuckle, and it took Glyma off guard. Apparently, it took Quin off guard, too, because she slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle it. Glyma smiled, even as her face flamed with embarrassment.
“I really am sorry.”
