I rolled my eyes at him so hard they nearly fell out of my head. “Why, because unlike everyone else, I don’t kiss your ass and tell you how brilliant you are every five minutes?”
His grin widened like a shark who’d spotted a particularly juicy seal. “Baby, you can kiss my ass anytime…but that’s not why.” Suddenly, his face grew serious, any and all traces of joking gone. “It’s because you don’t respect me…yet.”
Heat flushed my cheeks like I was some teenage eejit caught with dirty magazines, and I opened my mouth tovehemently deny it, but one narrowed-eyed glint from Gabriel made me reconsider. Maybe pissing him off even more wasn’t the smartest choice when he already looked like he was mentally composing my punishment assignment.
Gabriel stepped closer, actually forcing me to look up at him—not something that often happened to me at six foot one, and definitely not something my ego appreciated. The bastard was probably enjoying this. “I’m watching you, Eamon,” he said in a tone that could freeze hellfire.
The dude had mastered the art of speaking softly but menacingly. A shiver ran down my spine despite my best efforts to look unaffected. Still, I tried to hide it from him, straightening my shoulders like I wasn’t intimidated by his whole dark-angel routine. “I had a feeling you would be. Do you have popcorn for the show, or is this more of a serious documentary situation?”
“You’re on thin ice, brother. Trust me when I say you do not want to get on my bad side.”
“I didn’t know you had a good side.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. Apparently, my mouth had a death wish.
His lips pressed together in a thin line. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Or what?” Because clearly I was committed to this path of self-destruction.
“Or you’ll find out what I mean by punishment.”
I snorted because sometimes bravado was all you had left. “What, you’re gonna spank me? Because honestly, after three centuries, that might be refreshing.”
“Spank you?” Gabriel clicked his tongue as he shook his head like I’d suggested the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Boy, you wish. No, you’ll be serving retirementcommunities in Florida—and I’m talking about the ones where they do water aerobics at six a.m. and discuss their bowel movements over breakfast. Or those all-women retreats where they sing kumbaya around crystals and learn to play Tibetan singing bowls while discussing their chakras.”
Pure, unadulterated horror filled me like ice water in my veins. “You’d stick me with all the aggressively happy people?”
“Without a second’s hesitation or a moment’s remorse.”
I clenched my teeth so hard I was surprised they didn’t crack. “You’re not playing fair.”
“I don’t have to. I’m the boss.” He said it with the kind of smug satisfaction that made me want to punch something. Preferably, his perfect face.
He had me by the proverbial balls, and we both knew it.
“You said this assignment wasn’t punishment,” I managed, my voice coming out slightly strangled. “But you did put me here on purpose.”
“Of course I did. A town called Charming? With a wedding cake baker who has motivational quotes on his kitchen towels? I couldn’t think of a more perfect spot to torture— I mean, test you.” Gabriel’s smile was sharper than a blade dipped in honey.
I swallowed hard enough to practically choke myself. “Test me?”
Another step forward, and now Gabriel was in my face, our eyes only inches apart. I could smell his ridiculously expensive cologne—probably something with a name like Divine Authority or Celestial Intimidation. “Yes, Eamon. A test. Fail, and you’ll get the shittiest jobs I can find for the next century. Think kindergarten guardian dutiesduring flu season, or protecting motivational speakers who use jazz hands unironically.”
He wasn’t kidding. Hell, I didn’t even think the man had a sense of humor—more like a cruel appreciation for irony. “Is there, erm, like a certain list of criteria? To pass, I mean? Maybe a study guide? A cheat sheet? CliffsNotes?”
“It’s called a job description and a code of ethics, and if you haven’t memorized either by now, you’re in even more trouble than I thought. They’re not exactlyWar and Peace, Eamon.”
“Eamon?” Charles’s voice drifted from the house, sweet and domestic and everything I should find annoying but didn’t, surprisingly. “Are you coming inside for cherry cobbler?”
Gabriel smiled as he stepped back, but it was the kind of cool smile a cat gives a mouse right before pouncing—one that spoke of amusement and superiority, as if he knew with absolute certainty that I was gonna fail his test more spectacularly than the Hindenburg disaster. “You’d better go. Your boyfriend is calling you, and we wouldn’t want to keep him waiting. Especially not when there’s homemade dessert involved. How perfectly…domestic.”
The way he said “domestic” made it sound like a communicable disease. “He’s not my?—”
He was gone already.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, and one more fuck for good measure. This was bad on every level—like finding out your parachute was actually a backpack full of bricks kind of bad. I’d have to figure out a way to placate Gabriel, to somehow pass this test without completely losing my mind or my dignity. Though at this rate, dignity was already circling the drain like yesterday’s bathwater.
“Eamon?” Charles’s voice was much closer now, and Ispun around. He was standing in the doorway, framed by the warm light from inside, looking concerned and absolutely edible in his flour-dusted apron. “Didn’t you hear me calling you? I’ve been yelling for like five minutes.”
I had to swallow past the panic lodged in my throat like a golf ball, but I pasted what I hoped was a convincing smile on my face and stepped close enough that I could feel the warmth his body radiated. His presence immediately calmed my frayed nerves, which was either really sweet or a sign that I was in way more trouble than I realized. “Sorry, I was lost in thought. Deep, meaningful thoughts about…security perimeters and strategic positioning.”
